We Are Our Avatars IV (Uh, closed for real now)
- Thread starter Outisakanobody
- Start date
Recommended Videos
@Outis: Crystal.
Also, I edited my last post, just FYI.
Axel followed Thanatos in silence. He seemed a bit less depressed, having the weight of his family not knowing about his fate lifted off his shoulders, but he was still obviously far from happy about the whole thing.
Also, I edited my last post, just FYI.
Axel followed Thanatos in silence. He seemed a bit less depressed, having the weight of his family not knowing about his fate lifted off his shoulders, but he was still obviously far from happy about the whole thing.
OOC: Damn it @Drak...now I feel bad about killing this guy before he could be developed more...
Than led Axel to be judged.
Than led Axel to be judged.
@Outis: Ah well, at least this whole Thanatos thing let me give him a half-decent ending. Even if most people probably aren't gonna bother reading back to see it.
Out of curiosity, where would Axel even end up? Just answer me in a PM or something, if you don't mind.
Anyway, I've stayed up too late yet again. I'm off to bed now. I'll be back tomorrow once I decide on a new character. G'night!
Out of curiosity, where would Axel even end up? Just answer me in a PM or something, if you don't mind.
Anyway, I've stayed up too late yet again. I'm off to bed now. I'll be back tomorrow once I decide on a new character. G'night!
OOC: I'm up. Well, if no one's around, I guess its time for some backstory, via flashback!
@Drak I read it. Its a better way to end the characterthan just dropping a bridge on him, although it was kind of early to kill him off. Too early to really care about his death that much.
@Drak I read it. Its a better way to end the characterthan just dropping a bridge on him, although it was kind of early to kill him off. Too early to really care about his death that much.
Jacques sat on top of an abandoned bus gazing up the Champs D'Elysees, watching as the gathering light illuminated the Arc de Triomphe. His thoughts were miles away.
Long Ago...
Jacques struck low with his halberd, sweeping the legs from beneath his screaming opponent, sending him crashing to the ground and knocking the curved sword from his hand. Standing over him, he thrust the long spear tip up beneath his jaw to silence him instantly, then leaned on the weapon, breathing heavily. His chainmail armour weighed heavily on him and his long white tabard was so stained with blood that the standard of the red cross on the chest was obscured. He scowled as he gazed around at the exotic city in which he stood. The stench of blood and fire choked the air, and although the roar and crash of the trebuchets had fallen silent, it was now replaced by the sporadic clash of swords and the screams of women. He spat on the crimson choked sand, then turned as he heard the rattle of approaching armour.
"Ah, Chevalier Leveque!" his brother at arms greeted him cheerily, his voice strangely hollow from within his heavy great helm. "Sent another heathen to be judged, eh?" Jacques stared at him sullenly, his own great helm obscuring his face and narrowing his vision down to slits.
"Salut Baptiste." He muttered, turning away to stare at the smoke of the fires again. The other man came over and laid a hand on his shoulder.
?What is the matter, brother? The city is ours! The heathens are defeated, and purging them through fire here may be enough to save them an eternity of hellfire afterwards.? Jacques whirled to face them, his chainmail clattering.
?You hear those screams as well as I do, Baptiste!? He hissed. ?You know what they are doing to those ?heathens?. Is that meant to save them as well?!? He lowered his voice again, realising that he was shouting.
?Did Saladin not prove that it is possible to take a city without any of this madness? Why must we cause all this suffering when we do the same??
?What is this, you approve of that Satan? Do not forget Jacques, we fight for God, not merely for land! If this is how the city falls, then it does so because it is God?s will!? Jacques sighed and walked away from his brother, head bowed. When he got close to the wall of a high building, what looked to be a mosque, he turned back to face him.
?Of course, Baptiste. I know that God?s cause justifies our actions. I simply wish that...?
?Jacques, LOOK OUT!? Baptiste roared suddenly. Jacques whirled around instinctively, unable to see the threat for his helmet, and glanced up. For a moment he caught sight of a white cloaked figure with a hood obscuring his face, dropping down on him from the roof of the mosque, then he was slammed into the ground, and experienced a flash of white hot agony as a blade slipped beneath his helm and into the soft flesh of his throat. Lying on the ground, his own blood spurting to join the city's defenders in the sand, he had enough time to hear his brother roar in anguish and smash the assassin to the ground with his shield before he blacked out.
Long Ago...
Jacques struck low with his halberd, sweeping the legs from beneath his screaming opponent, sending him crashing to the ground and knocking the curved sword from his hand. Standing over him, he thrust the long spear tip up beneath his jaw to silence him instantly, then leaned on the weapon, breathing heavily. His chainmail armour weighed heavily on him and his long white tabard was so stained with blood that the standard of the red cross on the chest was obscured. He scowled as he gazed around at the exotic city in which he stood. The stench of blood and fire choked the air, and although the roar and crash of the trebuchets had fallen silent, it was now replaced by the sporadic clash of swords and the screams of women. He spat on the crimson choked sand, then turned as he heard the rattle of approaching armour.
"Ah, Chevalier Leveque!" his brother at arms greeted him cheerily, his voice strangely hollow from within his heavy great helm. "Sent another heathen to be judged, eh?" Jacques stared at him sullenly, his own great helm obscuring his face and narrowing his vision down to slits.
"Salut Baptiste." He muttered, turning away to stare at the smoke of the fires again. The other man came over and laid a hand on his shoulder.
?What is the matter, brother? The city is ours! The heathens are defeated, and purging them through fire here may be enough to save them an eternity of hellfire afterwards.? Jacques whirled to face them, his chainmail clattering.
?You hear those screams as well as I do, Baptiste!? He hissed. ?You know what they are doing to those ?heathens?. Is that meant to save them as well?!? He lowered his voice again, realising that he was shouting.
?Did Saladin not prove that it is possible to take a city without any of this madness? Why must we cause all this suffering when we do the same??
?What is this, you approve of that Satan? Do not forget Jacques, we fight for God, not merely for land! If this is how the city falls, then it does so because it is God?s will!? Jacques sighed and walked away from his brother, head bowed. When he got close to the wall of a high building, what looked to be a mosque, he turned back to face him.
?Of course, Baptiste. I know that God?s cause justifies our actions. I simply wish that...?
?Jacques, LOOK OUT!? Baptiste roared suddenly. Jacques whirled around instinctively, unable to see the threat for his helmet, and glanced up. For a moment he caught sight of a white cloaked figure with a hood obscuring his face, dropping down on him from the roof of the mosque, then he was slammed into the ground, and experienced a flash of white hot agony as a blade slipped beneath his helm and into the soft flesh of his throat. Lying on the ground, his own blood spurting to join the city's defenders in the sand, he had enough time to hear his brother roar in anguish and smash the assassin to the ground with his shield before he blacked out.
OOC: @Saltyk Just a similarity. I decided to describe the Assassins as the ones from the game, for familiarity's sake.
OOC: @Saltyk Not exactly...
He heard voices first, distant and distorted. They gradually grew louder, and the darkness slowly brightened, until finally Jacques was able to open his eyes. Lifting his head, he was amazed at how strong he felt. He shouldn?t even be alive, and even though he was, he should have lost so much blood as to be unable to move. But he felt as though he had simply gone for a short nap. Sitting up, he saw that he was in a medical tent. Dead and wounded men occupied several other cots and the place stank of blood, gangrene and other things he associated with the workplace of a surgeon. His hand went to his throat and he was amazed to find that the wound left by the blade was almost completely gone, leaving only a scar. His armour was gone, leaving him dressed in only a simple white tunic, and so he sprang from the cot with ease. As he began to head for the surgeon?s office to thank him for his work the man came out from the partition at the back of the tent. Jacques opened his mouth to speak , but was shocked when the man blanched and stumbled back crossing himself.
?Impossible!? The surgeon whispered in horror. Jacques stared at him in confusion.
?Alright. Thank you, doctor.? He said slowly, before turning and going out of the tent. As soon as he was outside, it became clear that something was badly wrong. A number of the knights and warriors outside saw him as he emerged and they too reacted with shock and horror. They began muttering among themselves, and although Jacques couldn?t hear what they were saying, one word kept cropping up that appalled him; witchcraft. He grabbed one of the nearest men by the arm and spoke urgently.
?How long is it since I was wounded?? The soldier yanked his arm away and glared in disgust.
?A matter of hours.? He spat, and crossed himself as well. Jacques reeled with the news. A matter of hours? It was impossible. He couldn?t have recovered from such a wound, and certainly not so fast. Suddenly he felt an iron grip on each of his shoulders and looked around to meet the steely gaze of two of his knight brethren, their gauntleted hands holding him firm.
?Let?s go.? One of them said in an English accent. ?The Bishop will need to hear about this.?
He heard voices first, distant and distorted. They gradually grew louder, and the darkness slowly brightened, until finally Jacques was able to open his eyes. Lifting his head, he was amazed at how strong he felt. He shouldn?t even be alive, and even though he was, he should have lost so much blood as to be unable to move. But he felt as though he had simply gone for a short nap. Sitting up, he saw that he was in a medical tent. Dead and wounded men occupied several other cots and the place stank of blood, gangrene and other things he associated with the workplace of a surgeon. His hand went to his throat and he was amazed to find that the wound left by the blade was almost completely gone, leaving only a scar. His armour was gone, leaving him dressed in only a simple white tunic, and so he sprang from the cot with ease. As he began to head for the surgeon?s office to thank him for his work the man came out from the partition at the back of the tent. Jacques opened his mouth to speak , but was shocked when the man blanched and stumbled back crossing himself.
?Impossible!? The surgeon whispered in horror. Jacques stared at him in confusion.
?Alright. Thank you, doctor.? He said slowly, before turning and going out of the tent. As soon as he was outside, it became clear that something was badly wrong. A number of the knights and warriors outside saw him as he emerged and they too reacted with shock and horror. They began muttering among themselves, and although Jacques couldn?t hear what they were saying, one word kept cropping up that appalled him; witchcraft. He grabbed one of the nearest men by the arm and spoke urgently.
?How long is it since I was wounded?? The soldier yanked his arm away and glared in disgust.
?A matter of hours.? He spat, and crossed himself as well. Jacques reeled with the news. A matter of hours? It was impossible. He couldn?t have recovered from such a wound, and certainly not so fast. Suddenly he felt an iron grip on each of his shoulders and looked around to meet the steely gaze of two of his knight brethren, their gauntleted hands holding him firm.
?Let?s go.? One of them said in an English accent. ?The Bishop will need to hear about this.?
Jean explained what she could about what happened, being a bit hesitant when she brought up Axel's death.