The General was determined. It was a fairly common trait woven between the snippets of his bloodline, those grasping, resolute, voracious veins that bled ice and fire, that knotted transgressions and upheavals until they blended into menace and domination. There was no surprise when the characteristic gnarled and gnashed its way through his skull, became an enticing filament beguiling him from any other task (the usual associations with his rank and childish endeavors: hunting, fighting, or looking for the next greatest adventure). It poured through him in various ways, channeled, funneled, stuck and held fast to his schemes and machinations, overcoming the heathen rites and bonds, scraping past the diligent, Machiavellian pursuits, and delved beyond the voracious, unrelenting web of avarice, because he knew, he knew they were worth more than the languid, jaded hole they’d all fallen into. He was determined they would overcome the listlessness, the tired, worn, desolate features of their castle. He was determined to protect the ramparts, the fortifications, the icy sheen and summit of the Aurora Basin. He was determined to put effort into something beyond himself, but to also, steadfastly, valorously, not screw up.
 
The prince understood there would be onslaughts, backlash, and tyranny stretched his way – it was a pattern in the Basin to be bitter about something. Perhaps he was too young for the role. Perhaps he’d been groomed for the part, hoisted by favoritism and blood ties. Perhaps he thought himself far too clever, or he was too inexperienced, or the weight of the role would send him crashing into the ground and they’d be left to find someone else in a fortnight. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d surprise them all.
 
At first glance, he may not even have looked like a soldier, like a warrior, like a heathen rushing headlong into audacity or bloodshed. He grinned. He held compassion. He stuck his neck out for his friends time and time again, even when they forgot who he was, even when they never bothered to speak to him seasons later. He embraced convictions and promises when they suited him. He employed mischief whenever he thought it was suitable, humorous, a necessary art to diversion and subterfuge. He loved and cherished because he’d been taught to believe in everyone and everything from a tender age. He was selfish and selfless all at once and the world didn’t know what to do with a cretin like him, who stuck his foot into shadow and light. Then, maybe, when others glanced closer, when strangers peered across the layers of his skin, they’d see the scars from when he charged into battle, from when he’d stumbled and fallen and lost, from when he’d carved pathways to Gods and helped them fall, perish beside his brethren, from when he’d conquered and triumphed and dared to do it again.
 
So Erebos stood along a taller knoll, regal, the fortitude and might of a noble scion, and called to the few guards kept in their walls – remembered their faces but not their names from the meeting, called them his brothers and sisters in arms because he pledged to die for them, reaching out to see if they could start mending the gaping, bleeding wound that had become the Aurora Basin. “Fellow warriors, come to me!” He shouted across the breeze, along the ice, sliding into the rime – wondered if it sounded like a command or a dream, if he’d sunk too deep into his own cavernous hole and they’d consume him whole (but he’d give them a fight before he was swallowed, before he was consigned to oblivion). Orsino smirked nearby, watching, waiting, and pondering if they’d even listen to the tones of a boy who smiled instead of frowned.
 
He didn’t know them and they didn’t know him, and somehow, they’d mold together to become the shields, the swords, and the munitions for a herd who’d forgotten what it was like to simply live.

[Warriors’ meeting! Let’s discuss how to whip everyone into shape! ;D Even if you don't have a soldierly rank, feel free to come in if your character is interested. ^_^]

Erebos

clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in

The boy counted his first measure as a success when the daggers, the knives, the demons of the Basin wound their way towards him, as they stopped and stared, expecting something, anything, from the youth who’d been catapulted into legions and warfare. He grinned again, exuberant and wild, a touch of potent, vivid savagery layered behind the wiles and charisma, stare glancing over those who’d been summoned, beckoned, from the desolate palisade. They proffered the quickest perusal, towards the bulkier Arion, whose heritage must have leant him some capabilities on the battlefield, to the chilling, ivory Beloved (Beloved? For what? To whom?), and even to the caustic Albrecht, lurking in the shadows (a silent judge?). He nodded, always polite, always courteous, barreling past the apprehension suddenly curling through his veins – because he stood along a precipice of uncertainty, no matter how his father had told him he’d be fine, no matter how he pressed and pushed himself to greater, grander heights. There were no jokes now, no silly virtues, and no boyish adventures waiting beyond the corridors when he tarnished and stumbled, when he faltered and slipped. He couldn’t afford to be chased out of the only world he’d truly ever known.
 
So he began.
 
“Thank you for meeting with me,” he bellowed, enigmatic and vivacious, the picture of artful endeavors, sketched and refined from callous whims and mercurial ambitions – but he was made of sterner stuff too, capable of tracing over the lines in the sand, in the snow. They would need something more, something different, something new and exciting to stir the mayhem, to boil and seal the seething armaments, to ensure they all aimed for the same things: success, no matter the height of chaos. They were the keepers, the guardians, the sentinels, and they couldn’t afford to be indifferent or apathetic. He knew so little about them, and they knew so little about him, and he wondered if that would make a difference – if they should forge more than just alliances, more than just names and faces, or resume much of the old, archaic mannerisms: to snarl, to sneer, to snicker when backs were turned or disagreements brewed. They could be rancorous, but not to each other, not when their empire depended on their skills, on their strengths. Perhaps that was what he feared most of all – apathy and indifference would continue to spread, trickle down through their world until they were all just moving voids, hollowed out and glaring vessels, stretched across the collapsing sphere and doing nothing about it. “I’m Erebos,” he started, and it felt light, airy, a mere whisper of what he truly was, but they’d see in time, embrace him for it or tear him asunder. “My mother was a scholar,” he continued, and Orsino wanted to barrel into him (where are you going with this?), said naught about his father because they all knew who he was, puttering over his story so that it could hit poignancy, so that it held force and mettle between his teeth. “She taught me to always seek knowledge and be willing to learn.” His eyes swept over Arion and Beloved, even to Albrecht, pondering if he’d gone too far or if he simply just wasn’t enough, but breathed again, puffed out his chest, glorified that beguiling smile all the more. “I want to see what you know, and then we shall learn together.” We’re comrades in arms, protectors of the realm. There was enough weakness in the sovereign already – but they couldn’t afford to be. They had to become proficient, understand, nourish the foundations simmering and seething along their tiny faction.
 
Maybe it was a different scheme, an alternative tactic, than screeching at them to recruit, to fight, to spar, to force themselves into roles and rituals that had been beaten down a hundred times before. But he wanted them to be more than the same old thing – they were creatures and cretins, fledged and encompassing the threshold of winter, mountains, and power - they should’ve craved potency and prowess. This was their time, their opportunity, to show the world what talents and capabilities they contained, how to nurture, how to finesse their skills and techniques. “We’re going to play a game,” and here his fiendish eyes sparked, fizzled, an entrancing look into the ghoulish, heathen chains tied, knotted, tethered, and gnarled behind his illustrious facets – glancing at his demonic companion, nodding, as the sable kitsune’s own expertise flared before them.
 
Along the stretch of their miniscule knoll, four saplings erupted from the ground, stretching towards the sky – their trunks thick, their wood hardened, their masses primed and ready for the future – and had they not been orchestrated solely by a cretin’s impressions, they might’ve towered over each of them in a few seasons. Nonetheless, they weren’t to be used for construction or mercantile – but for demolition, for destruction, for showmanship and instruction. He winked to each one of them, bobbing his head in a bright invitation to Albrecht as well, turning his head to glance at the trees standing in the stark field, awaiting disaster and ruin. “You have targets. Picture them as your enemies. How would you destroy them? What’s your best move?” The prince paused, wandering closer towards his small collection of warriors, embracing them as a part of his own heart and soul. “Will you manipulate magic? Will you wield brute force? What’s your strategy?” His head tilted, studying them, pondering over what they’d do and how they’d tackle the challenge. “Choose wisely. You’ll only be allowed to use it once.”

 [GAME TIME! Post order is a lie. Go go go.
 
There were will be several rounds of ‘destroy a tree’. This one entails merely showing your best move. What’s your go-to strategy? :D I’ll be posting after each round with IC tips/tricks (so it’s a game/lesson mode). The rounds will get progressively harder. Remember, you can only use a certain move once. (i.e. you may stab the tree, you may kick the tree, but you won’t be able to do kick/stab it again in the following rounds). Think of some varieties. ;D]

Erebos

clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in

If they thought he was a fool, a dunce, inept and silly, they didn’t bother to mention it (something in his heart, in his mind, in his soul, melted at the notion – perhaps he wasn’t doomed, damned and consigned to oblivion before he’d even truly begun). He watched as all three – one by one – began to clatter, thread, and wind their way towards their chosen targets, and the General followed them, watched in rapt fascination as they began their task. Beloved laughed, becoming the first to interact with Orsino’s saplings, eyeing him as if he’d sprouted five heads, but relishing to the assignment all the same, and his gaze settled on her demonic form as she rushed towards the unmoving trees, slashing at the limbs with her sword, watching as the green buds became nothing more than fallen stick figures, landing in the snow or falling off opposing boughs. He chose to ignore her frantic motions thereafter (perhaps she hadn’t been in the mountains long if the glacial components bothered her so much), but grinned at her from nearby, pursuing the length of her assault with pride and satisfaction. “An excellent choice,” he nodded to her, tipping his skull in recognition of her clarity, “to use the weapons already forged for us.”
 
Then his stare slanted towards Arion, the newly named Corporal, as he headed towards his intended target. The other beast chose a slower approach – didn’t hasten across the grounds in a wild, savage chase, didn’t rampage along the ice in vicious, abhorrent upheaval, didn’t fly at it like an unrelenting assassin. Instead, he opted for light, swift beats, and the boy watched in eerie intrigue as Arion rammed his shoulder directly into the trunk (didn’t that hurt?), bending a portion of the sapling with power and prestige. Erebos, who’d always employed two central strategies (in fighting friends, comrades, and allies, he ensured small, minute movements that didn’t lend to brutality, and in engaging foes and adversaries, always instigated and antagonized with blunt, contemptuous assaults), was curious, questioning, over the leisurely pace Arion had set. Did he use the time to analyze his opponent? Or had it taken him long to prepare the appropriate assault? “An interesting decision,” the warrior said, lending the conviction of his experience slide into the arena, stare ghosting over the broken tree, “But take heed when the enemy is larger than you.” Then he grinned again, immersed in mischief, listening to the foreshadowed cackle of Orsino blistering through their connection.
 
Thereafter, only Albrecht remained – and Erebos’ smile was the largest for the elderly stag as he opted to join them in their escapades, content, satisfied, thrilled that he’d chosen to take part. It was necessary to know how to defend oneself, and the movements, though lethargic and brittle, showed much more cunning – because the boy noticed the evident difference in ivories as they crunched into bark and wood. “Now there’s a handy device,” he laughed through the hum and echo of power, not at Albrecht, but with surprise, with amusement, with a wildness seeping through his bones, along his veins. He even seemed to hum with pride, for them, this comically small group of warriors and phantom who had taken it upon themselves to become something more for their empire; for that alone, they should’ve been commended.
 
The youth wandered down the row to the last remaining tree, eyed it squarely for a moment, then placed his maw against its hardy structure, barely blinking an eye when the soft, minute glimpse of his touch caused it to burst into flame. The fire crackled along his ears, roared in petulance, in defiance, and he smiled once more, Cheshire and seditious, offered his attention only to those gathered, fervent and eager for the fray. “Thank you! I’m pleased to see we all had different maneuvers. You need to have an array of abilities when facing an enemy, because you never know what they’re going to do next.”
 
On cue, Orsino’s magic stirred again, rendering the saplings back and whole, as if they’d never been touched by enchantments, by gnawing teeth, blunt force, or horns. They didn’t bend, they didn’t bleed, they didn’t crackle – tangible and real and defiant, but altered in appearance. For Beloved, the tree grew more and more limbs, until it seemed to be a towering mess of appendages and buds, like a Hydra, sprouting arms from fallen limbs. For Arion, the sapling became taller and wider, rigid and powerful within the middle, granted a supportive trunk. For Albrecht, the young tree’s bark morphed into an inflexible conundrum, unbending, unyielding, inflexible, and firm. Even Erebos’ ceased its crackling measures, no longer burnt, seemingly inflammable, a thicker core of substance lacquered to its exterior.
 
So the boy’s stare wandered from tree to tree, from soldier to soldier, and the grin remained. “Never underestimate your opponent,” he nodded, beseeching, encouraging them to go again.



[Post order is still a lie! Choose another move! ;D The rounds will be getting progressively harder. ;D
 
OOC Note: Please remember that you can’t actually dictate what happens to the trees. While ordinarily I wouldn’t mind, in this case we’re practicing what would occur in a sparring scenario. You need to use phrases such as ‘tried to’ and ‘attempted to’, because if the trees were actual roleplayers/characters, Beloved’s and Arion’s posts could be considered powerplaying.
 
In Beloved’s post: which snap, and sever, or dangle meekly, clinging to their posts with stringy remnants of bark and twig. If you decided your spar or challenge partner’s limbs were suddenly severed, you’d receive some serious penalties on your rubric.
 
In Arion’s post: A dark smile of satisfaction spreads across his visage as he feels the spine of the tree begin to bend. If you decided your spar or challenge partner’s body suddenly bent, you’d also receive penalties on your rubric.
 
So, next time, please make sure to utilize careful phrasing. It’d be better to say ‘Beloved tried to swing her sword over a few of the limbs’ or ‘Arion attempted to shove his shoulder into the trunk’, because that allows the other roleplayer to decide what’s going to happen.
 
Albrecht’s was more vague, which would allow a roleplayer to be able to respond accordingly without being told what happened to their character, however, you can also practice using ‘tried to’ and ‘attempted’, etc. ;D]

Erebos

clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in

They came again, didn’t give in to the changes, to the malleable warping of the saplings, and the boy watched again – eager to see where they’d triumph, where they’d falter, and how he could assist in between. Beloved, all white fury, all devilish incantations, forgot the eerie nature of her giggles, of her torrential laughter, and progressed towards her tree again (though he noted her discordant glance, and he smiled in return, full of impish delight at her irritation). She rose towards the multiple, outstretched branches, roaring, slashing, diving against their mighty boughs, and they fell, one by one, four or so littering the ground with their vanquished threads and broken munitions. “Very nice!” He called out to her, the grin never narrowing, never faltering; truly pleased she’d at least acquiesced to his request, despite the noxious vexation likely building through her foundation. The diversion was amusing and educational – he enjoyed witnessing what these few disciples had in store, what caused their ire, their wrath, what inspired them to move forward, to drive their forces into an adversary, an enemy, an opponent. The youth turned to glance at Arion too, waiting for the inevitable pull of the Corporal’s strength or tenacity, but nothing came, and he furrowed his brows slightly, taking note of either a line drawn in the sand, insubordination, or unrest.
 
However, Albrecht returned to the fray. The boy wondered what the phantom would utilize next (because the metallic tool had been so intriguing; weaponry hidden in its wares), and riveted his attention solely upon the elderly stag – but nothing came. He seemed to stand there for a few moments, either contemplating, scrutinizing, or biding his time, and Erebos wondered if he’d do the same as Arion, and fizzle into nothing, oaths and promises, convictions and tenacity unfulfilled.
 
Was this one more disaster in the making? Had he erred somehow? The prince nearly withdrew to his own sapling, striving to discern another noteworthy plan to annihilate its limbs and trunk, when he heard Albrecht’s voice over the valley – his ears turned, his fixation molded once more – the impersonator’s gaze segmented completely on Beloved.
 
The resulting nuances, the silent incantations, the bestial shades in which everything turned impressed and disgusted the scion. He could appreciate the way manipulation worked – the twisting, the turning, the placement of just so methods and ploys that distorted another into something they’d never truly do or encompass – besides, he had his own means and measures of corruption seething behind his skull, whittling away at his bones, roaring at his behest. He couldn’t completely judge Albrecht’s notions without looking back at himself, without lacquering the world in hypocrisy, but where they likely differed was who they implemented the enchantments upon.
 
Erebos had never strived to bombard one of his own with the spiraling, dangerous, potent granules of control, influence, and supremacy. He’d never insisted on whispering directions into their minds, into their hearts, into their souls, and played puppet master on fellow members of the glaciers and mountains. That Albrecht did was concerning; because how many other times had this happened? He waited until Beloved had agreed, forced into bludgeoning the opposing tree, before striding down to the both of them, features hardened, smile missing, words conjured to infer his mixed emotions on the matter. "What an intriguing magic. I must applaud you for your cunning,” he started, eyes narrowed, focusing on Beloved for the moment, on the crooning, on the madness, that likely wouldn’t have been there without the beast’s influence. “However, to use it on a fellow herd member is disastrous, disloyal, and treacherous.” There, his stare found Albecht again, the storm brewing his eyes segmented entirely on the aged frame, the snake in the grass, the serpent beneath all of their noses; he didn’t want to presume he’d do it again, but the notion was locked there, in his crown, in his figure. “We aim to protect and trust one another. Sew your discord upon an enemy, but never a friend.”
 
He turned back to look at Beloved, speaking to Albrecht as he studied her. “Release her,” came the command, not to be deterred or ignored, then twisted back to his own tree. The enchantments seared, simmered, and emboldened past his chest, fuming from the recent exploits, and molded the limbs, the boughs, to cruelly curl back on themselves; splintering, fracturing, coiling in an unnatural, eerie state.
 
He nodded to Orsino once more, and the kitsune sneered, growled, and orchestrated their last bout of the game – reviving the saplings. They bloomed new limbs from their fallen constituents, they sprung from warped holes, from broken, barbed roots, and regained their promised prowess. This time, instead of being stagnant, unmoving, still pieces of wooden armaments, they seemed alive, springing in varying manners and measures. Beloved’s instantly became mirages, split into ghostly images of five, aiming to surround her, to encircle her frame with their swinging limbs and outstretched, gnarled fingers, only one real and true, the others mere hallucinations. Albrecht’s gained an ominous endeavor, reaching forward to try and grab the companion swaddled in its wool, trying to slash, to lacerate, to pin and devour. Arion’s rose to an absolutely enormous height, a titan, uprooting and maneuvering forward to attack, a gigantic monster with eldritch motivations. Then Erebos’s, perhaps even more vile, turned into the outlined shape, a silhouette, of a figure he knew too well (Enna, he noted immediately, and here Orsino cackled, gaining more and more amusement from the barbs and thorns thrown into this merciless wake). “One more round,” he uttered to his soldiers, to his citizens, to the ones he pledged to uphold, protect, and strengthen.


[Post order is still a lie! One more round! Choose one more move. ;D Complete this one and there may be something good for you at the end!
 
Beloved: Tree shows up in various images, tries to encircle and surround her. Only one is actually “real”.
 
Albrecht: Tree tries to snatch/steal Albrecht’s snake.
 
Arion: Tree rises to an unnatural height, starts moving towards him.]

Erebos

clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in

The youth was a witness once more, biding his time away from assaulting his own tree (he knew it wasn’t really Enna, but the way it wielded and molded and shaped itself into her likeness was unsettling, and if he ignored it for a time, perhaps it wouldn’t remind him of too many things), stare fleeting on each subject. Albrecht appeared to dismiss his disapproval, maybe he’d heard it all before, but the boy wouldn’t relent so easily – he’d ensure the phantom was watched (because if he’d committed such an act on one of his own, what had he done before the rest of the world?). Orsino almost laughed at the inquiry floating through the prince’s head, and Erebos shoved it down alongside so many other potent thoughts and feelings, trying to forgo the eerie sense of slippery slopes and grating scales.
 
But there was nothing this time from Albrecht; not a lofty incantation cast at a herd member, not a set of teeth brandished from some other creature, not a momentous swing of unrelenting speed or refinement. The General watched as he seemed to grow distraught, limbs flailing, bellowing, and then the elder stag manifested into a buckling nuance, a shattering mess, an audible pop crashing through the sounds of wooden branches creaking and diving. Erebos’ eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, coiling a feral command through he and the sable kitsune’s bond with a voracious Stop, and the fox rolled his eyes but did as he was instructed. The tree ceased movement and motion altogether, frozen with a few boughs hanging perilously, cracked and splintered from Albrecht’s abrupt bucks. A modicum of concern centered through the gallant portion of the scion, heart beating a little faster, worried that perhaps he’d pushed too hard, too far, and this truly would be all for naught, shouting over the horizon, down towards the cloak and daggered thief. “Do you require a healer?” They could end this all swiftly; he could send Orsino for one of the Menders, patch him together again, wonder why on earth he’d even bothered (and if this would be a monumental screw-up, a mistake, a blunder, poised aloft on his head well before he’d even had a chance to become something other than a nameless figure).
 
Then Beloved began her assault, and he had to turn to seize her moment too. Her irritation bubble and fumed, brewed and pervaded, tangible amidst the wild, savage winds of beckoning trees and savage saplings, but her laughter was still there, still vivid, still eerie. Even as apprehension seared along the roots of her motions (maybe she’d never been assaulted by images and illusions, by the wake of so many moving tyrannies), she still didn’t give in (and that earned her a brilliant grin across his youthful face, boyish and exuberant, almost daring to cheer her on). The pulse of her warrior invocations blurred across the ground, reverberating, pulsing, and the maneuvering saplings couldn’t stand any longer, forced to fumble along twisted roots and gnarled footholds, faltering in place and then descending altogether, falling to the ground without a thud or thump. “Nicely done!” He yelled, not mocking, not searing, only simmering in a rush of triumph for her methods, plots, and schemes.
 
It was his turn thereafter, and he swallowed down the bile clasping over his throat, not looking at the sapling structure of Enna. Instead, he rummaged down deep into his soul, pulled at the strings of a rugged madness lingering in the nefarious depths, in the vicious condemnation, in the roll of undulating fury, and contorted it towards her likeness. He didn’t even spare a glance, couldn’t dare, couldn’t dream of it, as the wave of anger and fury bore down upon it (at Orsino for provoking him in such a way, at the sentiments of failure still clinging around him). It crumbled and folded away on a wisp of spring air, echoing with a silent cry, a haunting cry (How could you?) he knew Orsino had conjured from some poignant dream, gnashing his teeth, grinding his jaw, striding away from the ruined spot, ensuring everything came to a close before he flickered apart.
 
“Congratulations,” he boasted from the grounds, as if everything had been a rousing success and their meeting hadn’t been a dying ember, between Arion’s silence, Albrecht’s wounds, and Beloved’s faltering at her own comrade’s incantations. It’d been a learning curve, a starting point, at the very least, and now that he understood their skills, perhaps he had a chance to enlighten them, guide them, and provide them with a pathway down to refinement in bloodshed, in abomination, in protection and annihilation. From his mane, twisting his neck to take it out of one of his black locks, he produced a single moon amulet, a beautiful, darkened sphere born from the deity of shadows and soullessness, holding it between his teeth and tongue. “For you,” he presented to Beloved, reaching it out across to the ivory she-devil, infusing it with a coating of his nefarious magic, brandishing the lacquer of corruption and devastation until the vessel seemed to have its fill; devouring and holding it until Beloved felt the need to utilize its cunning and potency. “A reward for completing your task and trials without failure.” He nodded, dropping it at her feet with a roguish grin and a delighted snicker, too much Cheshire in the wings of hollowed outlooks. Then he turned, trying to encompass them all, dying to ascertain where they’d go next and how they were to grow from here, bobbing his head, bowing to their presence, noble words echoed along his mouth. “Thank you for participating. It was intriguing to see your skills – and now, we can begin to hone them.”




[Thank you for coming!!!! Beloved is rewarded with a moon amulet with Erebos' corruption magic stored inside for completing each round. :D

Stay tuned for our next warrior meeting! -bows-]

Erebos

clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in