Welcome to Surrender Dawn. Before starting your journey, make sure that you read everything that's on the Beginner's Guide Board:
First, make sure that you get to know the rules by which we manage our site and community.
For this, visit the Guide to Rules.
After that, it's fundamental to read all that there is to know about the world your character will be inserted into.
In order to do so, go to the Guide to Lore.
Lastly, please take a close look at all the mechanics that dictate our roleplay and its characters.
You can do this by checking out the Guide to Mechanics.
When you've done all of the above, you'll most likely be ready to start creating your character:
Create your Application Thread on the Character Creation Board.
To do so, follow the instructions on the Character Application Template Thread.
Once you're done, just copy the link of the thread and head over to the Grading Center.
To submit your application for review, use the General Submissions Thread.
We hope you enjoy your time with us! Happy Roleplaying!
Updates
11/11/19: Open for Beta Testing! Feel free to explore the site and start creating your characters! If you have any doubt feel free to contact a member of the Staff Team.
Those who search will find, as they say. Then again Yazmyn's been searching for the past give or take six hours and she hadn't found jack shit.
The reason behind why she was wherever she was? Well, it wasn't too intricate. Yazmyn was getting a little short on gold and decided to pick up some extra work and stretch her legs a bit. That idea seemed very appealing simply due to the fact that for the past month or two she hadn't really gotten the chance to get and roam the Outlands. For that she blamed Nathan and his whole Hunter Dare; granted it was her own stupidity that led her towards accepting a Dare that was completely lined up against her, but fuck it, who cares about the small details. Anywho, Yazmyn lost said Dare, and now she had to pick out a newbie-yet-to-be-Hunter and take them under her wing according to the whole Ace tradition that Hunters followed. Besides that idea being a piece of shit in and out of itself as far as Yazmyn was concerned, what made it worse was that no singular place had anybody that even remotely interested her. Three series of Hunter Trials - nothing. Nada. Zilch. It was actually getting kind of frustrating.
But anyway, back to the point. So Yazmyn, since she hadn't gotten any chances to go into the Outlands and do a job or two or five because of the reason above, she was getting a little short on money. Since this whole thing was Nathan's fault to begin with the guy would've probably helped her out financially... but like hell was the blonde Huntress accepting aid from that old bastard. So Yazmyn decided to pause the hunt for a newbie Hunter and took up a job with a few older Hunters who were heading Northbound. Nothing too major - clear out a few nests of monsters and recover some cargo from a shipment that had been lost. Fair enough. Didn't take them more than three days. The pay was pretty nice too and so Yazmyn decided to splurge a little with the older Hunters who wanted to go out and get some drinks to celebrate. The evening went about how you'd expect. Lots of laughing, making fun of Enforcers and Vagrants, discussing hunting grounds, the Trials, all that stuff... until it suddenly turned towards something that caught the young Huntress' attention.
"Man, they're sending me off to Haven again..."
"Warduul?"
"Yeah... they think he's going to bend this time... not like that'll ever actually happen."
"Who's Warduul?"
Well turns out there was this old man back in Haven who was one hell of a blacksmith/engineer, from what information Yazmyn could gather. Supposedly even this information was rather hush-hush and she wasn't exactly supposed to know about it since she wasn't high up the ladder in Hunter hierarchy, but... well, with a little bit of alcohol and the persuasive power of one hell of a bust, Yazmyn was able to get what she wanted. Old guy, legendary with his skills, used to work in Vantalux during his younger years, responsible for crap tons of the Vanta weapons people use today. Despite being an okay engineer, messing with Vanta weapons never seemed to work for her to the point that a few of them almost exploded... almost being the key word, of course. As such, her mind began racing. Undeterred by the other Hunters saying that it was a fruitless effort on account of Warduul not bending not even to the government's will, she begun planning her next journey to Haven quite eagerly.
And now there she was, smack dab in the middle of Midtown with no real idea of where to go. Having sat down on a random bench, she took a quick swig from her flask as she pondered over her options. How hard could it be to find a smithy in the middle of all this spas and apothecaries? That place should've stuck out like a sore thumb by comparison. Eventually the girl visited a few pubs - no better information dealers than bartenders, this she knew for a fact. Lo and behold she got a location and went straight towards it without a second thought.
Fixing her satchel over her shoulder, Yazmyn was in front of the shop in minutes, bright lavender eyes glazing over the two story building. Sparkles of Hope, it read. Cheesy name, that was for sure, but considering how legendary this one man was supposed to be she figured there was a reason behind the name... y'know, plus the whole shtick of magically disappearing from Vantalux and refusing to work on Vanta anymore. There was probably a deeper story there but that was for another time.
Carefully, almost quietly, the blonde Huntress let herself inside the shop. Nobody seemed to be at the counter - slow hours, she supposed. The first thing that caught her eye were the many weapons, armors, and all manner of other contraptions strewn about on the walls, the stands, the cupboards and even the counter itself. She whistled to herself quietly as she walked around, examining anything and everything she could notice. Some she even took into her own hands - a crimson knife which she spun in the palm of her hand, a dark chain which she swung about her arm to test out, an ax she hefted over her shoulder... she could tell these things weren't made my no novice - they just felt so good in her hands, almost as though they were made for her. The craftsmanship behind it equaled nobody she'd ever met before and that astounded her.
And yet... no a single item in the shop was made out of our favorite pitch-black Vanta steel, much to her dismay. Then again she wasn't really surprised given the information that she had in her possession.
Looking around, Yaz figured it was finally time to introduce herself. Meet the man, the myth, the legend himself, or so the Hunters back in Vantalux called him. She had her doubts at first but having seen and felt some of these weapons in her hands, she was starting to slowly reconsider. She approached the counter and gave a few knocks against its wooden surface.
"Hello? Anybody home? I uh... I'm looking for Mr. Warduul?"
Post by Warduul Kinbar on Nov 18, 2019 14:35:39 GMT
The little backroom was filled with the smoke of his own cigarette. Well, more accurately: from the one he was smoking and all the others he had already smoked before it. How many had he gone through already? Ten? Fifteen? Lavd'aa was expecting their first son or daughter, so he should probably quit that already. But, oh god, didn't it feel nice. Not only that, but do something while you work for your entire life and then try to get rid of the habit. Damn cigarettes, just another way for the Central Government to make money. "I'll stop it", he said to himself, "I'll stop it as soon as the little comes out, so for now let's smoke as many as I can". And, so, another cigarette was finished, another one was lit up.
With only a dim light hovering above his head, he was designing a schematic for his upcoming newborn's baby crib. His wife was happy when he announced that decision, but she was still to hear the bad part: it would be made of metal, obviously. "If it has my blood, it will dream and wake up in steel", he told her... in his imagination. She'd get around the idea - Warduul was, obviously, working it in a way to make it the most comfortable possible, allowing for a mattress and whatnot, so it was more style than anything. But style matters, and it matters a lot: if it doesn't have a style, it was made by nobody.
The work was going fine. It was early in the afternoon, most people were either working, sleeping or both at the same time. More so, he knew every client he had - it wasn't like he had many - and none of them usually came at that time or day. It was perhaps because of this that he felt it. He just felt it.
"What's happening?" he said to himself as his head quickly shifted to the door of his little hidden room.
It was like the whole mood of the shop had been flipped upside down... Something... Someone... It was obvious in his heart that...
"My work is getting stained", the thought sent shivers down in his.
Another cigarette finished. Another straight back to the lips. Man, didn't he go by them fast. Carefully and methodically, he placed everything on his desk back on their right place: the paper, the pens, the pencils, the squares. It was as if he was getting ready to go to war. Then, just when he finished putting the last thing on the last drawer, like the universe was telling him "You're right", a feminine voice came from the outside.
It didn't take many seconds for, as soon as the girl finished saying Warduul's name, the man to open the door of the backroom, right behind the counter. Whilst holding the door open, the man's red eyes inspected every little detail of the shop - he wasn't even aknowledging the girl's presence, it was like she wasn't even just a few feet ahead of him. After some moments of his head and eyes going around every point of the room, he spoke.
"Y'touched them", he said, repeating after a short pause, "Yes, y'totally touched them".
He closed the door of the backroom as he left the counter, walking into the proper shop where everything was displayed. A clean towel on his hands and dressed like a regular civilian would, he began approaching some of the weapons on display. Cigarette still in mouth, of course.
"Y'touched the chain, the knife and the axe. No. The knife, then the chain, then the axe. By that order".
He methodically pressed the towel against each weapon he had just announced, wiping them spotless clean on the places he believed they had been tampered with. As he did, he continued to speak... even if he was yet to actually look at the lass. How the hell could he do so much talking with a cigarette on his mouth and smoke coming out at the same time?
"Y'mess with their balance. Y'touch a weapon that y'won't buy, y'mess their balance", he said, knowing full well what he meant even if for the listener it could probably be just gibberish, "Y'pass around whores, not weapons, y'know? That's why every'alls weapons feel dirty: the moment y'see a breast, y'gotta touch it... But it's not like them other weapon makers know a thing 'bout balance, anyways... Ahhhhh", he exhaled, finished cleaning off the axe, "So I guess I can forgive ya. Unless yer name Jonah, because if yer name Jonah ya can get the hell outta my shop".
He looked at the girl for the first time.
"I see yer name not Jonah. Well, at least not that Jonah. So yer good.", he spoke as he was rubbing his hands with the towel, "I don't know yer face. What's the name? Wait, just tell me yer name if yer a customer. If yer not then I don't need to know it and every answer of mine to yer questions will be 'no'".
Cigarette out. Well, time to pull out a new one. Oh, and had he ate lunch already?
When she spoke, this Warduul fellow answered pretty much immediately. Oh no, it wasn't by way of actually talking to her, no. Heck the guy didn't even acknowledge her presence, which, to be fair, she didn't really think was that... odd. She'd seen geniuses of all kinds in her time back in Vantalux and all of them seemed to be on their own wavelength on terms of both social understanding and, well... appreciation of their own craft. The way Warduul was acting didn't surprise her in the slightest, to be completely honest. He came in and was pretty much inspecting his stuff the second they were in sight.
Y'touched them.
Impressive, Yazmyn thought to herself as she crossed her arms beneath her chest and watched the old man go through the weapons she had decided to inspect for herself. Her brow raised when he actually managed to pin-point the order of the weapons she had inspected, genuinely stunned by the precision of this man's eye. She watched him clean them, taking note of the care yet effectiveness of how he handled the blades and, as a result, learning a thing or two about it for herself. She nodded, agreeing with him about their balance, yet didn't really say anything, only listening. Observing. Analyzing. It wasn't like he even acknowledged her in the first place anyway... and she figured he wasn't really talking to her either but rather to himself... or the weapons themselves. She couldn't really tell with these types of people. Minds one-dimensional but in a way that often overflowed towards other spheres of things. It was kind of mind-boggling at times, if she were to be painfully honest.
"Definitely not Jonah," she supplied with a small smile, nodding towards him. To what she was going to do next Yazmyn had a very simple solution. She turned back and went over to that very same knife she had messed with earlier. She began reaching for it, yet stopped momentarily to glance over her shoulder towards the man. Shrugging to herself moments later, she took the knife into her hand again together with the sheath. She walked back to him as she unsheathed the knife, yet showed absolutely no hostility. She spun it in her open palm for a few moments, inspecting the balance the old man touted so highly. Then, moments later, she began to shuffle the knife in between her fingers, noting with how much ease she was able to accomplish that.
"A Tanto styled blade with a trailing swage point - not recommended for beginners, difficult to use with sheathing alone. Could destroy the sheath and hurt themselves. Never fun. Sharp serrations at the bottom of the blade itself, perfect for carving harder material such as bone or even light metal," Yazmyn explained as she slowly drug her finger along the knife, finally reaching the hilt. "A forefinger groove, perfect for switching hold styles quickly if need be. The hilt is firm, made out of fine, sturdy wood. Won't break easy, can tell just by holding it. And, of course, the end - a rear hook. The lawful side of the world call it the Glass Breaker, though some dangerous individuals prefer the name Persuader," the blonde smiled at him sweetly as she took a reverse grip of the knife. "The metal itself is light yet sturdy. Multipurpose. Can universally be used for combat, utility and maneuverability. Quite versatile. Very few of its kind. The weight feels just right - not too heavy to be difficult to use, not too light to make it weak," she then sheathed the blade, her Hunter training making doing that to perfection easy. "And, of course, the sheath - light, leather, sturdy yet not cumbersome. Can barely feel its weight. Just enough to know it's still on my person. Easy to conceal, simple to draw."
"Superb craftsmanship, just like I've been told," Yazmyn added, glancing back at the man. She quickly snaked the towel from the man's hands as she unsheathed the blade one more time, leaving the sheath on his table. She began to clean the blade much alike he was - precise with an enormous amount of attention to detail. She probably wasn't as good as he was at making sure the blade was utterly spotless, but she did her best. Yazmyn cheekily gave back the towel and sheathed the blade again. "Since I'm looking for a new hunting knife and you need me to be a customer to even care about my name, how's about this - my name's Yazmyn Noir, and I'd like to buy this piece off of ya, what do you think?" The blonde huntress asked, at the same time offering the man a cigarette.
This, of course, wasn't the only reason Yazmyn was there. Sure, she would've loved to get a new hunting knife - she'd been searching for a proper one for weeks after the last one she had was torn apart in the Outlands. She barely survived that one encounter and had now made it a point to get better equipment. Can't really lose your life over something so stupid, y'know? Plus, she figured this was a good way to get to know the man, try to see what made him tick before she can try to get what she wanted. She was well aware that the man wasn't working with Vanta anymore - why or how wasn't really her concern. She felt pain. Consistently. Every second of every minute, every minute of every hour, every hour of every day, every day of every week, every week of every month and every month of every year. Yazmyn was always in pain so much so that her mind had slowly started to get used to it and she absolutely hated it, all because of the wound she suffered because of her Hunter duties... all because of her arm, The Epilogue. The Vanta weapon that was now a part of herself. She didn't want him to do anything to it. No, she wanted to learn how to do it herself. And if you asked her why, well... she'd simply tell you that it was something that would help her in the long run.
Post by Warduul Kinbar on Nov 20, 2019 16:11:59 GMT
He looked at her moving in silence. Sly steps, yet taken with the confidence of wanting to be looked at. If he didn't had his glasses on, Warduul wouldn't have been able to see a thing at all - after all, it's almost fair to say that, without them, he is essentially blind, something that speaks volumes to how great he truly is - but, with them, all the self-assurance (false or not) being expelled from this new non-invited guest could be seen as if they were the lights that radiated from the sky during Dawnbreak. She was either a big deal or someone who thought they were a big deal - either way, this customer was beginning to look more and more like a Jonah. Damn Jonah. No matter what he can't be escaped.
Just like a kid looking at a parent with eyes that say: "I know I shouldn't, but I totally will", she took the knife, the object that she had already touched and, since, Warduul had perfectly cleaned. The man said nothing, just looking at the girl while continuing on smoking his cigarette. For some moments, she would be using her hands and fingers to play around with 'Lover's Affair' - a good father names all of its children. Squinty eyes, he kept on glazing at the movements, quietly. Due to the reflection of the glasses, the type of look he was giving couldn't be really clear. However, there was a definitive thought in his mind.
"They all really do think they are just whores... At least this one has fingers that knows how to please them", he took note.
Sacred be Tellus - the last thing he needed in his life was someone with actual skill coming into his shop. Screw that. They either are annoying as hell or talk crap about things they know nothing about... or both... most often, they're both. For moments, when the girl began her monologue,. Warduul's memories kept on repeating inside his brain: a so-called great warrior comes in to tell about his valiant deeds, tries to act all high, mighty and cool and ends up having his or hers ass kicked right to the streets they belong too. How can such an interesting world create such boring personalities? Copies, after copies, after copies... "Ah, am I really bringing m'child into the world just to have them hang out with these persons?", the blacksmith had often asked himself since Lavd'aa told him the news.
As the girl with crimson eyes continued on her journey of words to make herself look as good as possible - just like a peacock showing all of his feathers - Warduul listened carefully to all of it. Truth be told, he mostly had his back turned to her by now, cleaning shelfs near them and all. A shopkeeper must always have its material clean, especially when not a single person that comes in shows manners. If a shop is to be made dirty is by the owener himself. But he was listening. And holy hell, at least this one had some good idea about the type of whore she had in her hands. Sure, she was rushing it a little too much, just like any young alpha would: quickly going over the details of a first dinner because of how good she knows she'll be in bed, but there was still enough value to it where one could say that the one-night stand would end up also being worth it for the prostitute.
As she drew a conclusion, she sneakly took away the towel that he was using. These young kids really had no respect for anyone nowadays. It reminded him that he needed to pray this night for his son or daughter to come out with at least half a brain. He glanced back to see how she was using it, at least. Surprisingly, she was a good imitator. Only that, an imitator, obviously trying to pick up what Warduul had done minutes ago. Points added for dedication, more taken out for lack of balls in doing what she felt was right. But just a fact that she had Warduul counting points was already much more than what anyone else could say, even if she did not know this. He intituitively opened his hands for her to give him the towel back and, even more on instinct, grabbed the cigarette she offered, lighting it up as soon as he could and placing it in his mouth, offering the girl the peculiar vision of seeing someone smoking two cigarettes at the same time. What did Lavd'aa use to say?
"I'm more afraid of the woman that gives you those death sticks than the woman who offers her purity to you".
Ahhhh yeah, that was it. It made total sense, he obviously admitted, but not even a Goddess could make him leave his dear Lavd'aa. As he often said to her with a big smile: "There's two things I love in life, my dear florist: you and my work. Just don't ask me their order!"
For some seconds, he just stood still in front of this person who proclaimed to be a customer. Arms crossed, hands occasionally just going up to handle the cigarettes - plural. Then, after the silence, he spoke.
"Y'want a treat?" he asked, followed by a noticeable pause, "'cause that is what well trained animals'sually do, y'know? Do some flashy thing they memorized and that them owner knows all about just 'cause they expect something back. Y'did the role well".
In Warduul weird mind, the above was actually a compliment. Somewhat. A little. Well, let's say that if it was anything other than a compliment it would've been quite clear. He looked into the ceiling, letting out a large ball of smoke from his mouth.
"A Noir in my shop... Bloody New Gods, what have I done to all of you", he said, almost like a confession, "That old bastard must've let out the hugest load when he found'ya out, no? Ah... All crazy tales, he had. Never allowed him to touch him, that bloody tin can", he let out a soft, hidden smile, clearly remembering the good old times of youth...
Then he slapped both of his cheeks. Back to reality. The mouth needed to catch up to the brain. Head back looking forward.
"Look, y'little one, if ya is a Noir and like hunting in them Outlands, that means one of two, y'hear? Ya's either a Hunter or batshit crazy. I'm a betting man - don't tell my wife - so I'll put my money on both. That means that me won't give ya any type of treat for free. Y'know, selling...", he began waving his finger rather actively, "... selling's same as being free, it has... no value, no, no qualities, y'know? 't's more of obligation than anything else, don't, don't ya's pay attention to it"
He took both cigarettes out, throwing them to the ground and stepping on them. Then, at an unquiet pace, he began to quickly walk in the direction of the counter while murmuring:
"Where the hell is that thing now? Now? Now? Then? Maybe there... Ah, I'm sure it was this week.. Hmmm..."
He was pushing and pulling multiple cabinets, drawers, obviously looking for something. And looking for it at a rather, well, chaotic type of way. Probably best if Yaz had her reflexes on point in order to not be hit with tools, screws, papers and all types of crazy things. Somewhere inbetween the murmuring, he'd talk directly to her, obviously assuming she was able to keep the pace... which, well, do your best, Yazmyn.
"Y'all are all Jonahs. All of y'as. Jonah from ya's brains to yer asses. No getting rid of y'all. Annoying, annoying... Y'as take a knife, and it must be for killing. To fix, to cut, none of that. First killing, and then killing again, and then y'as can note its other uses as a footnote... Coming to the shop like it's yers, touching and after that wanting to buy? Ya do that with trash, not my work, not my work... Hmmm"
In the meanwhile, he had already placed another cigar on his mouth. Maybe it was that which bestowed upon him the magical powers to found what he was looking for... which was inside his jacket's pockets all along. "Here it is!" he proclaimed as it was the most difficult find in the world.
He threw an object at Yaz without warning, counting on her to catch it anyway - if she didn't, then she could just leave. Wasn't worth the time.
"Tell me what that is. Don't describe it, don't tell all the crap about the material and all that because there's not one thing that you know about craftsmanship that I don't know twice about. Just, just tell me what it is. And quick. Use instinct. Thinking is for fools, y'know? If ya answer isn't a Jonah answer ya's can take the knife and ya can go home all happy for a walk or whatever the hell young folk're into these days"
The object? A simple - yet beautiful and unique - pocket watch. On its back, the initials "W.K." engraved.
Y'know, Yazmyn had met quite a few peculiar fellows in her years. The kid in Vantalux who collected rat tails cause he was bored. That bratty rich girl over here in Haven who turned out was just fighting her parents cause she was bored. That one Enforcer back in Fumehat who refused to use violence. Hell, even that nun in the Wharf she had found was a serial killer. So many different faces all around the world, often she'd forget just how strange people were. But... honestly? This guy took the cake in far too many ways for her to actually understand when put on the spot. The entire time she spoke Yazmyn could tell from his face - he wasn't really listening to any of it. Frankly all she felt from the man was that he was busy with some form of nonsensical conversation of his own... all happening in his own head, of course. Batshit crazy? That made two of them.
"Animal, huh..." Compliment or not, that one comment stuck with the blonde for a good few seconds. This wasn't the first time she was called an animal, regardless of the context or reason. She just smiled uneasily, chuckling as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long and hard drag. She blew out the fumes into the ceiling. "Not the most inaccurate descriptor, I'll give you that." The cage. It was always that damn cage.
Anyway.
The Huntress was quickly brought out of her thoughts at the mention of her name. Blinking, she stared down the man with an incredibly confused expression, a myriad of thoughts running through her head at the speed of light. The more analytical part of her mind had immediately begun breaking down Warduul's words, trying to attach different meanings to all of them, accounting for every different possibility she could think of. The mention of who she could only assume was Jaeger, the notion that he had dealt with Noirs from the past... her father? Mother? Grandfather? He did seem old enough... Hell he even managed to pin down that she was a Hunter from her last name alone and from what she knew from what little Nathan had told her about her family, every single Noir before her had taken up the title of Hunter in one way or another and had managed to achieve greatness in their own right. This... perplexed Yazmyn. Quite a bit, actually. But none of it actually showed on her face beyond the immediate daze that had planted itself into her, taking root into her very core and snatching her very essence... until there was nothing again. Just a deep black void.
She hated it.
Yet before the blonde woman could open her mouth to ask, Warduul kept talking. Talking, and talking, and talking... By the Gods, did this man ever shut up? Okay yeah her intro was pretty long-winded too but by that she just wanted to show him she wasn't a complete novice. That she looked like she had accomplished judging by what he said but she could tell that he still didn't see her. Not in the literal sense, no. Despite the fact that the older man was wearing glasses Yaz was pretty sure he could actually physically see her. No, he wasn't seeing her as a person and that was quite irritating... though not something she couldn't at all understand.
As she continued with her cigarette, Yazmyn very promptly stepped to the side when Warduul very literally whipped up a storm of metal. Holy shit this guy had a lot of stuff. It actually amazed her how well he handled his creations considering what little care he put in his tools to toss them around all over the place. The papers she could understand - actually had a peek at one of them. Requisition orders, purchase receipts, commendations... hell, she even found a fine for misdemeanor. She chuckled at that as she casually leaned out of the way of a stray screwdriver that almost hit her in the face. That one didn't surprise her at all. But then she picked up on something that did. Well, it didn't necessarily surprise her but rather make her understand what was going on. A ripped off piece of a requisition order from the government itself for a Vanta weapon... So that was what those Hunters were talking about the other night. Curious.
"Who... what the hell is a Jonah?" She couldn't help herself from asking as she listened to the older man speak. This wasn't the first time Warduul had mentioned this nonsensical rhetoric during the very short time Yazmyn was here and it still didn't make any sense. All the girl wanted was a knife... why the hell did all of this crap come with the package? Well, okay, it wasn't just the knife that Yazmyn wanted - the most important reason she was here was one that was entirely different and much closer to her heart, but still... had she known this would've been so bothersome she wouldn't have even tried to go for the knife in the first place.
She blinked again when the blacksmith tossed some form of item her way. Almost as if out of instinct Yazmyn caught it with her right arm, the black metal fingers that stuck out from her fingerless gloves wrapping around what she later realized was a pocket watch. Holding it in the palm of her metal hand, the blonde Huntress opened it, her lavender eyes staring at the beautifully made watch, her brain already attempting to imagine the intrinsic design twisting and turning within. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The sound etched itself into her ears, her mind and body... until that was the only thing she could hear anymore as her eyes closed and she did exactly what she was told - listen to her instincts.
When she opened her eyes again, she tossed the watch back at Warduul and uttered only one, singular, simple word.
Post by Warduul Kinbar on Dec 8, 2019 11:02:31 GMT
As he slowly took the death stick in and out of his mouth with his right hand, he was leaning his body onto the counter. Supporting his own weight not only with his feet well placed on the ground but also with both his elbows pressed against that messy and dirty wooden structure, his eyes layed down on the pocket watch that was now on his left hand. It had been some seconds since the one called Yazmyn Noir uttered one simple word, but Warduul Kinbar was yet to reply or look at her. He just continued smoking, feeling the object he crafted only the New Gods know when in his weathered hand. Opening and closing it, flipping and turning it. It was as if the entire world was in his fragile fingers. Perhaps it really was.
"It's in everything, ya know", his words felt more like the beginning of a sentence than an actual question, "In this watch, in that blade, in me and in ya. Everywhere it is, yet y'all treat it as something to bend at man's will. Time... Ya's all shouldn't mess it with it so lightly. Y'as all should respect it more."
It was as serious as Warduul had sounded until then, and he had his own personal reasons as to why. Afterall, to the core, it was the motive as to why he left Heavy Industrial. Why he left Vantalux. Why he left the Government. Why he left... Vanta. It was all the same. It still was. They all kill to forget their own mortality. None of them understand the consequences of cutting time away. None of them assumes the full responsibility of what it is to be one with a weapon. To be one with time. They want, and so they take it. They close their eyes to what they don't wish to confront about themselves. And that Vanta thing - if only they all knew what he knew...
He threw the watch into the air and, in one motion, straighten up his posture, lifting his elbows out of the counter and, with fluidity, grabbed the object with the same hand that threw it and place it back into one of the pockets of his trousers.
"Well...", he said in a tone more akin to the one Yaz add probably already growned accostumed to, "...That's that."
He took some more blows of the cigarette as he went, once again, to the main part of the shop - where the blonde woman was standing. Fast paces of a man who figured he had already wasted too much time dealing with a young reckless Hunter and was growing tired of it. His attempt of making at least one understand had been accomplished, so she could get the hell out of there. Not caring about stepping on the papers and tools he threw moments before, he marched.
"Just, just think about that, will ya? 'bout time and stuff."
Being as clear as ever, he grabbed 'Lover's Affair' and threw the weapon straight at Yazmyn. With her experience in the Outlands and with little or not training she had received, she'd probably notice the strange accuracy, speed, precision and efficiency with which the old craftsman had just perfectly thrown and rotated the object at her. She was just now meeting him, but it was becoming quite clear that Warduul was a man of many secrets.
"Now take t'damn thing and get the hell outta m'shop. Ya'lready messed with her balance, anyways. Twice at that... Ya, y'know? Here."
He walked close to her and, took out the watch once again and, using both of his hands, went to place it in Yaz's right hand.
"Take it too. That way ya'll remember m'annoying voi-"
He stopped himself suddenly, both in words and movement. Looking at Yazmyn's fingerless gloved hand, it was the first time Warduul eyes would be really looking at the female... well, more looking at her arm and not her face yet, but you take as many wins as you can with that old man. Was it possible?
"What the..." the sound of his voice was one of perplexity and disbelief.
Without asking for permission and instead of giving her the pocket watch as intended, Warduul quickly and in a swift movement took Yazmyn's glove off. It would be a quickness that would come unexpected from someone as the older man, especially when in the motion straight after he would use the same hand to lift up the cloth covering the rest of the arm.
The prosthetic would now be, in practicallity, fully revealed.
Warduul Kinbar took a couple of steps back in shock, adjusting his glasses while doing so. Not one one second his vision drifted away from the Hunter's right arm.
"The bastards are really doing it", he thought to himself, a thought that sent non-visible shivers down his spine.
"Y'Noir...", he called out to her in the new found small distance in between each other, all while he pointed at her arm, "...Why the hell do you have Number 87 on your body?!"
A mind like Warduul knows exactly how many things he designed in his life. And exactly which number belongs to each design. Not that the one he was talking with would know this. Not that he cared about it.
"Some twenty'ears or so ago that I designed that and now it stumbles in m'shop?! Did they sent ya just to make provoke me?!"
For him it was normal, for any other person with some amount of knowledge the thought of someone having designed a Vanta Prosthetic Arm so long ago would be ridiculous, not to impossible.
"Who's th'bastard that stole it?! Jonah?! I've been wanting a good reason to kick him in th'forehead! Or was it Jaeger, that ancient piece of junk?! I'll scrap him, ya bet I will!"
He was now pacing back and front, having thrown the cigarette on the floor and placed the watch back on his trousers. By now, it was rather obvious that it wasn't the fact that Yazmyn herself had the prosthetic arm that was driving him insane, but... well, the fact someone stole his design. Rubbing his hands against his hair, he continued to vent.
"All rats, they all rats... Ya-ya-ya know what? F-Forget about all that time stuff me was talking about, f-forget about that! I'll punch them all! Oooh, I sure will! I'll go up th'Royal Peak right now and punch all them right in the nutsack, I'll tell you that much!"
He kept rambling similar insults, not only crossing his mind how big of a revelation he had just made to Yazmyn Noir.
The idea of time had hit Yazmyn like a freight train, making the cogs in the blonde's head wheeze and whirl endlessly in protest. Time. Such an interesting concept. An unstoppable phenomena, made faster by events that induce sheer happiness and joy... and delayed by that which causes severe pain and suffering. Time was a cruel mistress and she waited for nobody, not even her. Yazmyn herself had felt it. Those eight years that had been taken from her. Those eight years inside a barred metal box that felt like eight centuries of utter torture. Time. After having so much time taken away from her, she knew to value and respect it. Time was all she had, after all.
After deeming Yazmyn's answer to be fairly satisfactory, Warduul decided to straight up throw the weapon at her like she was some damn pinata to be skewered. The Huntress's eyes widened just a tad when Warduul effortlessly tossed the blade at her in a way she'd see a seasoned Hunter use a throwing knife to kill. She managed to caught it, but the quick and precise throw had taken her aback a little. He wasn't just a simple blacksmith, was he? Curious. More and more mysteries kept cropping up around the old man. Why he left Vantalux. Why the government even let him leave. Why were they pestering him to come back now? Why was he so good with weaponry? And why the fuck was he such a goddamn basket case?
When she attached the sheathed knife to her waist, Yazmyn stood still as Warduul approached. He was giving her his pocket watch? What, did she leave some kind of impression on him? That'd be rich. The guy hadn't even looked at her properly the whole time, not even when she gave her answer to his question. She would've scoffed... had she had the time. Before the watch was even placed in her hand the older male froze in place, holding the Epilogue tight. Blinking dumbly, Yazmyn hadn't even realized her glove and sleeve had disappeared, revealing her Vanta prosthetic in all of its glory. She was just about to protest... before she noticed the look on Warduul's face, stopping her.
...Number... 87...?
That single statement gave her more questions than it answered. Her mind, hazy with all of these new revelations, tried to process what had been said. Truth be told, this wasn't too much of a surprise but maybe rather an uncanny coincidence. The Epilogue was one hell of a weapon. Despite being flawed by way of causing her consistent and immense pain, it was the only prosthetic Vanta construct of its kind. Superior craftsmanship was only a fraction of a statement that fit as its descriptor. Based on what she had heard about Warduul before coming here and then coupled with what she had seen in both the man's other creations and how he acted, this... wasn't necessarily a surprise. But, then again, his reaction was still a little alarming.
Was there some history behind Number 87?
Her eyes narrowing, the blonde forcefully pulled her arm out of Warduul's grasp. She wasn't exactly a fan of being invasively touched without consent and that would shine through her posture alone. Taking a few steps back, she sat down on a random chair and leaned forward. Elbows on her thighs, she inhaled from her own cigarette, trying to wrap her mind around things. Hearing Warduul going off made her groan and shake her head.
The pain was spiking.
"Calm down and quit your ranting, old man," Yazmyn said, glancing up at him. "Nobody sent me. I didn't even known you existed until a couple of days ago when a few drunk Hunters I was with started whining about you being difficult. I can see why." Rude? Sure. Then again you give what you get." Yazmyn was starting to get tired of the consistent back and forth. How this entire conversation had given her more questions than answers. And, honestly? The Huntress was starting to lose her patience, especially with how much her side had started to ache.
"This arm. The Epilogue," she raised the Vanta prosthetic, the cigarette smoldering between her metallic index and middle fingers. "I had it attached to my body after one... job, let's say, I was on went wrong and I lost my actual arm. If you're the one who made this then you're awful at your fucking job because this shit hurts even more than it did when I lost my actual arm. Every day. Every single fucking minute of every single fucking hour." She paused. "Your magical creation here screwed with my nervous system and I am now in consistent pain. It's crippling and I'm sick of it." She glared at him. There was no real blame towards Warduul for the pain she felt. It was something she had accepted and learned to deal with. But- "That's ultimately why I'm here. No, not the knife. That was just extra. And no, I don't care that you know my last name or my roots. Maybe someday I will be but that comes secondary. I'm here for one and only one reason. To learn. To have you teach me how to work with Vanta so I can fix what I now see is your own goddamn mistake."
Now all she had to hope for was that he was enough of a self-respecting blacksmith to want to fix his mistake.
She hadn't intended to be this cunning. She never was. Nor did she ever really whine or even remotely talk about the pain that she felt on a consistent basis. As mentioned previously, she was used to it. It was just something that was a part of her life by this point. Yet... it was the source of so many things wrong with her it was actually insane. As a result, the Huntress wanted to right that wrong. She wasn't expecting a handout. As easy as it would be to just have Warduul fix it, she didn't want that. She wanted to do it herself. Because, if she didn't... was the arm really a part of her to begin with?
Post by Warduul Kinbar on Dec 16, 2019 9:50:16 GMT
The sparkles were flying everywhere. It was like the night sky filled with a shower of meteors. They were, however and despite the illusion of their beauty, warnings of a destruction that was to come. Yet the hammer kept on hitting and, as such, the flickers of heat continued to emerge into the air. The man hitting them was young and full of dreams. He was young. On his ankles, shakles that didn't allow them to escape the prison that was his workshop. But did he really want to leave?
"You know what you are doing and you are the one choosing keep going", a firm voice told him from the other side of the door.
The shackles were attached to no wall and their chain was completly broken. The man knew this, but he kept on swinging the only weapon he ever knew: a weapon to make weapons with. His juvenile body turned mature, his mature body turned senile, his senile body turned to bones. And the bones kept on working, loyal slaves of their own destiny. Never would they stop: he fought and fought to be free, but he himself knew that freedom wasn't what he desired.
"Honey. Honey, wake up", his angel whispered.
In the sheets turned wet from his own sweat, Warduul Kinbar woke up. Breathless, eyes wide, heart pounding.
"Shit... Did it hap-"
For a question that had been repeated countless times over the years, a look at the lover besides him was enough of a response. A look at her scratched arm was all that he needed to know.
"Lavd'aa... I'm s-"
Lips pressed against his didn't allow him to throw once more into the world his words of forgiveness. After both mouths touched, the gentle hand of his soul mate caressed his tired face.
"Worry not, dear. Now go back to sleep, will you? Just try to dream of me this time.", she told him, a smile that could warm any ice.
And so he did. But, before closing his eyes for the rest of that moon, he looked at his hands.
David had called them "Heaven's Hands".
Warduul called them the greatest curse he had been born with.
~~
The owner of Sparkles of Hope had stopped both talking and walking when Yazmyn began opening her own mouth. Instead, midway around his speech, he had just pressed his back against the nearby bookshelf, arms crossed as he listened. And listen he did. Enough listening to realize that this girl was just a enraged cat who thought of herself as a powerful lion. After a few seconds of silence, Warduul looked at the Hunter. For the first time, he truly looked her, his red eyes covered by his glasses piercing through the female's crimson ones. Then, only then, did he spoke.
"It's yer mistake", he said, a brief pause following before he would continue, "If ya didn't create or put yerself in the job that made ya lose yer own flesh, ya wouldn't be dealin' with'any pain. If ya took responsibility for it, ya'd take out that fake piece of Vanta-junk and assume the life of havin' only one arm in ya and be proud of it. It's yer pain, it's yer mistake, not anyone else's, young lass."
His voice and pace of sentence was the same as before, yet his voice was more serious. But not an exactly good type of serious: it was one that spelled the attitude of a senior not wanting to deal with the self-centered excuses of a stranger. Even if this stranger showed some kind of potential, just like a beast waiting to be tamed.
Even if this stranger was a mirror into a younger version of Warduul himself.
He sighed before breaking eyes contact, taking out his glasses with one hand as he used the fingers of the other one to rub his old eyes.
"She ain't a Jonah, but she is way worse to deal with than him", he said in a confession-type tone to himself before raising his voice, addressing the female directly once again, "Look, Yaz...Yazmyn, wasn't it? Ah, anyways..."
He placed his glasses back on and crossed his arms once again, remaining in the same position. He looked at her once again, his gaze now more relaxed than previously. His tone was, however, back to the tone of his first remark.
"If I was the one that built Numb'87, or Epilogue or whateva' fancy name ya gave it, ya'd by now be the most famous Hunter in Ordus, have perfect synchronization with yer nervous system and kill all them beasts of them Outlands with as much as flick of yer fingers. Compared to my original design, those rats that stole it made ya one big ol'glorified doll arm. And yer cocky enough to come at me with all that pity talk and that I was the one doin' the amateur work on yer thingy, just to say ya want to learn from me anyways? That shows ya willin' to settle for mediocrity if that strokes yer ego, not a thing about wantin' to learn."
He took out a cigarette out of his pocket. Damn it, it was the last one. Using the lighter he took out of the same pocket, he lit the little stick up and put in on his lips, blowing some smoke out.
"Yer just like fookin' Nathan: all bravado even when yers the ones askin' for something", he sighed loudly before taking another hit of the cigarette and resume what he was talking about, "My answer is no, so you can now get the hell outta my shop. If them Hunters spend their free time talkin'bout me, y'also probably know I don't work Vanta no more. Besides..."
He took another hit and allowed the smoke to exit his mouth.
"...I don't help entitled brats who think th'world has to bend to their will", he finished, a callback to what he had previously said about time.
Then, turning his face sideaways and up, he screamed loudly at someone that wasn't there at all. The shift to a more sweet tone was obvious despite the louder voice.
"Lavd'aa, love! Ya can start cooking, I'll be goin' up soon to put the table up!"
Warduul already was a man difficult to both talk to and convince. Yazmyn, with her more recent words, had chosen the most difficult route to do both of those things.
It was never easy to deal with people. Yazmyn knew this. Let alone people who had a few screws loose in their own odd ways. She was painfully aware of this particular fact too. The blonde Huntress herself - clearly - wasn't an easy one to deal with either. She could have blamed her upbringing for it all. Or, well, rather the lack of one. She had no memory of her life before she turned eighteen. All she had were torn images, blurry and incomprehensible in their core design, of the life she lived prior to her being taken into Vantalux. None of those images were ones she wanted to revisit. All they held for her was pain and torment, up to a point that her loss of memory was simply her mind trying to block those things out. This lack of memory made her... well, less of a person, really. Interacting with people, even after nearly five years of freedom, was still a concept she hadn't fully wrapped her head around.
As Warduul spoke, Yazmyn could only turn away in shame. Her blonde locks fell over her face and shadowed her fiery eyes as she bit her lower lip. It was always the pain, wasn't it? And her lack of self control. Lately it had been getting worse and worse. Sleepless nights that she spent in bet covered in a cold sweat while her body felt like it was overheating. Rage, sadness, pity, guilt... the feeling of being utterly lost in this rat race. Every single word Warduul told her was true. Everything. Even about her being entitled. After all this time, she had started to feel angry. Yazmyn started to feel like she the world owed her something after everything it'd put her through, but that... no, that was wrong. She knew this, too. The world owed her nothing. The world would just take, take, and take. It was up to her to build something within the chaos while she weathered the storm. Controlled anger, is what she always told herself. Never give any quarter. Take what was yours. But be smart about it.
After a little while of silence, Yazmyn clicked her tongue, still angry with herself. "You're right," she finally said, her voice a little quieter than it had been before. She still refused to look at Warduul, and while her words left her mouth it felt like her mind was somewhere else completely. "About me. Then again that's probably not at all surprising. I am acting like a spoiled and entitled brat. No, the world doesn't owe me anything. Nor do you."
"Though there are some things you got wrong," she then added. A moment of silence followed her words before she finally decided to turn to the older male. Yazmyn's eyes had turned back from her aggressive and ferocious crimson... to a more serene, deep lavender. One that spoke of intelligence rather than pure aggression. One that betrayed that, despite her age and lack of memory, Yazmyn was indeed an old soul. "It was never my choice to have Icarus attached to me."
"Something happened. I won't bore you with the details. You probably don't care anyway, but... I woke up in some research facility near Haven, surrounded by people in lab coats whose faces I didn't know. The only one that I knew there was Nathan, and even his dumb metallic face made me see nothing but how guilty he felt. Don't think I've ever seen him feel this perplexed, then again you can hardly tell many emotions from that dumb droid. In any case, they told me they had to put this thing on me. Nothing more, nothing less. I tried coming back there after my rehabilitation was done. To ask questions, y'know? To see if we could fix this shit that happened. But by the time I got there there wasn't a trace of those people left. I'm still looking for them but, well... the very few answers I've found didn't lead me anywhere."
"Yeah, I could've had it taken off. I wanted to. Oh believe me, I did. The pain felt secondary to the idea that someone had messed with my body without my consent," Yazmyn admitted, and while she spoke she felt pangs of electric pain hit her like a freight train. "But..." she placed her healthy hand on Icarus' forearm. "I don't know how to do anything else. I'm a Hunter, first and foremost. And I have people depending on me. Sure, I could have learnt how to do things with one arm, help them in other ways and do it proudly, like you said, but that's... inefficient. It's not me and I don't give a shit about pride. I have none to speak of anyway. So I decided to stay with it. Try to work around the pain and make this arm something that it now is - a part of me. Just for that reason I even modified this thing's gimmick so it can help me use the fighting style I used before I lost my real arm. But, for now, I lack the skill to keep improving it."
A low breath left her as she paused again and was turning to leave. Yet, before she did, a small smile crossed her lips, "You got one other thing wrong, too. I'm not planning to settle on mediocrity. Even if you were mediocre, or if any other sad sob who decides to teach me is, I don't plan on staying on the same level. Even mediocrity can teach you things. And whether or not I'm taught by someone who's a legend or just a novice, I plan to go beyond them. That's all it is. That's all it'll ever be. I have people depending on me, after all. My ego has nothing to do with it."
She bowed her head to Warduul, "I'm sorry for my earlier outburst and for taking up your time. I'll see myself out." And with that being said, Yazmyn fully turned around and began heading for the door. If Warduul didn't stop her, she'd make a beeline for the train station and Vantalux, now having a lot of things to consider once again.
