Arnickles Renodin/Maura/The Leader
| Roleplay from Vahanian Blint | |
| Training
Vahanian stood by and watched Harrdun and Stheno rush at Bartok and try to reach the brass bell behind him, they failed. Bartok was tall and strong, but deceptively quick. Vahanian had been watching them go at this for 2 weeks. He shouted "Enough!" anger seeping through his voice, he strode out onto the sands and stared at his two charges. "You've yet to grasp the point of this exercise, and that is why you fail! Stop blindly attacking and think. The stronger swordsmen doesn't win, the smarter one does!" Harddun's eyes lit with rebellion and he grumbled "Easy for you to say old man, you don't work at this each day." Vahanian surpressed the fury quickly and said "Bartok hold nothing back." Bartok nodded and readied himself. Vahanian approached him and readied himself and Baldwin shouted the start command. Bartok didn't hesitate and launched himself at Vahanian, who sidestepped and fired a kick at Bartok's knee, Bartok blocked it spinning Vahanian, who allowed the spin to happen and use the momentum to coil and snap out another kick aimed at Bartok's chest, his foot connected with power and speed enough to knock Bartok off his feet and the wind from his lungs. The man lay gasping on the ground as Vahanian strode over and rung the bell. Harrdun wasn't convinced, he grumbled out "Loyalty of everyone but family.. typical" Vahanian walked over to his son and let loose with a backhand that made an audible crack as he struck his son's face. Harrdun went sprawling in the sand spitting out blood and phlegm. His eyes snapped to his father with furious rebellions burning through them. Vahanian stared down at his son and said "You think I am a disappointing father. You're mad I wasn't there for you while you were growing up. We get it. Your point has been made. Now what are you going to do about it? Keep whining like a petulant child or grow up and act? You think you can lead this family better than I? Then take your shot boy." Bartok had recovered and Baldwin had inched closer and closer. Stheno looked from son to father with worry and anticipation on her face. Harrdun had become her friend, her training partner, but Vahanian was family to her. He'd been the closest thing to father she'd ever known. Harrdun stood and with surprising speed drew his sword and slashed at Vahanian who brought up his arm and the sound of steel clanged through the training ground as his dagger blocked the sword. The three spectators moved forward and Vahanian called out "Nobody move! Nobody interferes." His tone brokered no argument and he pushed back against the sword readying himself. "Come boy, kill me if you can." In what can only be described as an emotion fueled aggressive attack and a technically perfect, masterful defense, father and son fought. Harrdun was strong, spurred by his emotion and anger, Vahanian was calm, and experienced. In a matter of moments the fight was over. Harrdun overextended himself with a lunge and Vahanian cut his arm, not deeply, but enough to loosen the boy's grip on the blade and then he punched the wound, causing Harrdun to drop the blade. Vahanian grabbed Harrdun's throat and swept his legs from under him, landing with his knee on his chest and his dagger at his throat. "Yield. You live because I allowed it." Harrdun nodded his submission and Vahanian didn't move yet. "I don't care if you don't like me. I don't care if you hate me. You think your hatred makes you stronger? Fine. But if you ever question me like that again, I will kill you. I am trying to teach you something. But you're either too stupid or too arrogant to see that. If you can't abide my training, leave. I will find someone else to train with her." He nodded to Stheno. "We all get it. You hate that I was more of a father to her than you. Fine. But she's been more of a child to me than you. She's learned when to listen. She knows how to show respect, and she understands that sometimes gratitude will get you further than mouthing off." Vahanian stood and let Harrdun up. He said "Take the rest of the day. You start again at dawn. Or not. But if you don't show up tomorrow, you never show up here again. Either accept my training or renounce my name." With that Vahanian strode off the training ground leaving the rest stunned and silent. | |
| Vahanian Blint | |
| Roleplay from Maura Arnickles Renodin | |
| Onlooker
In the shadow of Basilica one could think that Rines was a levelled city - a peculiar illusion. In truth the city was full of high towers, tall spires and all sorts of elevated buildings. Grand Inquisitor enjoyed one such vantage point, beholding a training yard about three hundred feet away and four stories below her current level; the figures placed upon the arena could hardly be identified if she didn't know their identity in advance... in that regard she also enjoyed being the Grand Inquisitor. It wasn't that she ment to hide or had to observe from afar - she simply didn't want to intrude, especially not after the ordeal with young Stheno. The big man - apparently one of Vahanian's retinue - schooled two smaller figures: Stheno - one of the main reasons she observed the spectacle, and a boy - a young member of house Blint. There - she thought as she saw Vahanian step in to instruct... nay - to illustrate how it should be done. Even with the advantage of perspective she could just barely keep up with the flow of the battle and sneer knowingly just a split second before the final blow happened. She could almost swear she heard the kick connect, even from this far. The old wolf certainly still has it in him, he could... oh - she lost her stream of thought as young Blint fell to the ground from Grand Templar's blow. Maura leaned forward, she knew it wasn't unrestrained temper or deliberate punishment, no she didn't knew Vahanian to the core, but she knew him enough to know what it was - a challange; or more preciesly - an incitement of one. Even though she knew the young pup doesn't stand a chance, she was somehow more fascinated by this fight than by the last one. The boy attacked with blind rage - a mistake - not that it mattered, old Blint would prevail through sheer force of experience even if the boy did everything perfect. Several swings in the air, several sparks of steel on steel and there - the boy was on the ground and at his opponent's mercy. Vahanian's canines flashed as he spoke something that elicited submission from his opponent. The crest - Maura almost shouted in her mind - the coat of arms. She suddenly understood the wolf in the Blint family heraldry, the comparison was now apparent and the paralleles started to sprout in her mind faster than she could count them. You may find alliance, kinship, even loyalty in the pack of wolves, much less oftenly love and indulgence - she thought - a weak wolf is a liability to himself and to the entire pack. A tiny smile would've crept up on her face if it was not her face, trained to remain untelling, always. As the alpha left the arena the pack remained in that meaningful kind of stillness. She watched him stride the cobblestones a while longer until he disappeared from her view as well. Watching the troubled figures in the distance she let out a sigh - part envious part wistful - and quickly looked to see if anyone was there to spot it. There wasn't. | |
| Maura Arnickles Renodin | |
| Roleplay from Maura Arnickles Renodin | |
| Deamons of the Past
Small lantern enlighted Maura's bedside table as she scribbled messages. She would never entrust a scribe with Grand Council letters - paranoia was always one of the Inquisitor's tools of trade. She hesitated a bit, thinking about the contents and looked anxiously at the empty space in the corner of her bedchamber. There was no blue dress; the first thing she saw was an outstretched bloody palm and a dark-haired shape of avarge height. She waved it aside. The next thing that appeared was a disturbing daimonic mask, covering something that would likely prove to be even more disturbing, whatever it was. Another wave of hand dismissed that counselor as well. A gloomy tome promissed answers, but not the ones she sought. Finally a flash of empty, soulless eyes announced the visitor and glee of inhumane pleasure filled the room. The image could almost be seen, the voice could almost be heard. Tsk, tsk, tsk, that blue dress, kid. To a hungry man lack of an apple is more obvious than an apple. The hell do you torture yourself for?! You have me for that! The filth of that self-satisfied grin would not be scrubbed away by a wagon of soap and an ocean of water. Seriously now - he was on the bed, sprawled like a cat - you know what to write. Why do you need me for? The half-shut eyes of Grand Inquisitor tore into the parchment - wrathful, impatient - her tongue produced no words however, for mares of the night are frightful creatures and quick to flight. Or perhaps you know too well, and you don't want to admit it? - he cackled and upped his pitch by an octave - oh no, the Earl did it! - then dropped the act with a laugh - if you tried to appear less like her you would quickly recognize how much more like me you really are. He was by the window, bowing ceremonially - Very well, you know me, happy to serve. Where do we start? He pointed at the letter - You know how it goes: first you take away something superficial, say - confidence, you make them think that's all... but there's more - He was sitting on the bedside table - then you lull them into the false sense of security by taking away their food and water, perhaps the light of day, make them think that's all - he was leaning forward, speaking seductively, moaning every odd word - then you up the ante and take away something personal, like a thumb. Shock! All things crumble, how can I not have it?! Certainly that's all, that's the worst it could get, isn't it? Isn't it, love?... he he he. He was behind Maura, whispering in her ear: But there is more, you and I we know it intimately - it is a war of imaginations - there is always more. The sharp set of teeth on her earlobe could almost be felt the second before she shot up from her chair. Standing straight she screamed, her eyes still half-shut: "The fat lot good it did you! Daimon of Vorstadt. What a joke! You ain't no daimon, you ain't nothing anymore, you dead f*ck. And I, here! I am Grand! F***ing! Inquisitor!" Yelling out the last of sounds she was certain he would not be there, once she opened her eyes, but he was. His lips were not moving, yet the words were somehow there, not coming from the almighty sneer of the hellish Earl, rather from somewhere within: "Yes, you came so very far from the kennels... tell me, when you dream of me, and I know you do... do you still growl?" She tossed a jar of ink right at his smug face, her aim was never good but that time the projectile flew right to it's target and... passed through it, shattering on the wall. Figments of imagination, however real, are always incorporeal.
"N-no, stay out!" - Maura growled - "Wait! A new jar of ink. Swiftly." "And a new servant" - she thought to herself, knowing that this one heard way too much. | |
| Maura Arnickles Renodin | |
