A Nation's Wrath

New Players! Welcome to the Nation's Wrath RP. If you wish to join in do NOT post in this thread. Check out the OOC thread HERE instead

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There was an eerie silence as the crowd hushed in anticipation. The ruler sat, clad in ornate armor save for his helmet, with dark brown almost black hair falling nearly to his shoulders. Mixt stood from his decorative throne sitting in the balcony on the side of the arena as the crowd awaited the judgment. Raising his hand up in the center for an agonizing moment a smirk crossed his lips, but it was hardly visible from the distance he was at. Then he pointed his hand in the direction of the East side of the arena, naming that contestant the victor. There was a roar from the crowd, but most did not care for the outcome, they simply wanted to see the resulting bloodshed. The victor charged onward impaling his target with his halberd. As the corpse fell to the ground it dissipated into wisps of smoke like darkness. Unseen to the audience this was recollected in another room for their resurrection. All the audience saw was the champion raising his weapon in triumph.

With magic amplifying his voice Mixt was able to speak clearly across the vast stadium. “This brings an end to this stage of the competition. To celebrate the accomplishment of those who have made it this far, and to welcome in the lasts legs of the tournament, a ceremony shall be held tomorrow. Come and enjoy the festivities with the warriors in pursuit of being this great nation's Wrath!†The announcement was short as he had never been a man of many words, but the crowd cheered all the same as he turned his back and left.

 

The smell of smoke tickled at the nose, making it slightly hard to breath thus bringing about her awake. A overwhelming feeling of dizziness and confusion rushed throughout her head. It felt almost as if she were dealt a blow to the head by a hard object since her forehead hurt so much but she barely found a scratch or even a bruise. Still puzzled the only thing she could remember is being stalked by a couple hooded figures before she was struck from the back and blacked out afterward but now she found herself laying near a campfire. Her vision blurry and her hearing returning slowly as she could hear the shouts and the unintelligible speaking of men in background and then suddenly she found herself being lifted off the ground by her arms and dragged up a flight of stone stairs. When her sight and hearing came to she found herself in a dark and dreary world, where the sky was as dark as the mountains off in the distance and in front of her a massive building. A building she couldn't tell what it was used for.
"Make way we are taking her to the lord, he shall determine if shes fit enough to fight."
She heard the armored man on her left whose face was shrouded by darkness. Phisoxa however was too confused and bewildered to make of what was going on and just allowed herself to be dragged. It seemed the trip went on forever since the there were so many floors inside of the building and Phisoxa had her eyes staring down at the floor below, so she could only tell when they were passing through rooms by the change in tiling.
Then with one forceful throw, she was released from their grip and she hit the ground, she struggled to move or even look up the dizzy feeling was still upon her but her sense of hearing was good enough to at least make out what was going on around her. Phisoxa could feel the coldness of the polished stone against her cheek since she was lying face down.
" Here is the intruder sir . ."

 

A metallic echo rang out every time Mixt's armored feet made contact with the stone floor as he walked over to woman before him. Ordinarily he would have just left her out on the street to fend for herself but something about her struck a chord with him. A ghost from his past he would rather forget. With a swift motion he swooped down and grabbed her snow white hair pulling her up so he could see her face. The two sets of yellow eyes stared at each other for a moment, hers looking more vibrant and warmer than his own. Just as suddenly as he grabbed her Mixt let go, having her fall back to the floor as he returned to full height. "I hadn't thought I would see again unless you were going to put a knife to my throat. Being a warrior of light and all. But here you can barely stand. Truly pitiful Phisoxa." Mixt said to her. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before asking. "What brings you here? My world is not one to be stumbled upon on accident."

 

Phisoxa stared into his eyes, a mixture of shock and surprised filled her thoughts and she collapsed to the ground with one aching groan which knocked the dizzy feeling out of her and she sat up, trying to figure out if what she had just seen was the real thing or not.
" Calling me the pathetic one? When the second war came about you went missing for years. I began thinking that maybe you died and here you are ruling over your own world. You could have atleast shown me a sign that you were alive and well. You were the reason I came all the way out here after I heard a tip from some nomads traveling between the worlds. A tip concerning a man that fit your description down to the every last detail."
Phisoxa lectured him like a mother would with a rebellious son as she stood up, her legs aching still from all that walking through the mountains yesterday. When she reached her full height she was only half a foot away from meeting his height and she had the appearance now of a adult woman not the springy and childish teenage Phisoxa Mixt would have remembered. That youthful and innocent spark she used to have in her eye was gone too and a serious and unforgiving attitude seemed to have replaced it.

 

((I'm assuming, since I never heard otherwise, that my character is alright for use)).

When Adrian Savona had caught wind of the tournament, his intrigue had caught the best in him, and lured him out to the distant world run by sin itself. What was there to be gained in sticking around in some backwater worlds as though the law was pursuing him around every twist and turn?

The truth of that thought made him laugh inside, for in another world, the law was probably still pursuing him, only finding all over the place that he was nowhere to be found. He wondered, very often at that, whether or no they were really still looking for him at all, or if they had dropped it all when they couldn’t find him anywhere amongst the worlds. He wondered, even more so sometimes, whether or not they had even registered the idea that he managed to slip from their clutches into a completely different timeline of their reality, hiding behind a paper thin veil of space-time that separated one strand of existence from all others.

The whole debacle might have seemed inconsequential to those that had surrounded him over the passed few days in the tournament. Yet the bottom line of the matter was that if it weren’t for him having been a fugitive in his timeline, he probably wouldn’t have found out about the tournament. And he most certainly wouldn’t have been able to advance so far into it as to be recognized in any sort of ceremony.

As he walked through the poorly lit corridors, his thoughts shifted from his criminal status to the tournament. It had promised a rush, and a challenge to boot. Thus far, it hadn’t disappointed him to any extreme length. But for some reason, he wasn’t fully satisfied.

Something about the tournament had been missing. He thought it might have been the lack of truly strong opponents, but that wouldn’t have been true, as there had been many tough comers. In the end, he had pinned it on a combined lack of his favorite opponent, and the steadily conditioned apathy towards the fierce and frightening that was becoming more and forward in his demeanor. He was accustomed to the bloodshed, having killed plenty of times before to get out of sticky situations, and thus the deadly aspects of the combat had meant little to him.

The last bit of satisfaction that he clung to as he paced through the corridors within the bowels of the arena was that he had, quite literally, emerged from nowhere within this particular competition. He had entered as a zero, an unknown quantity whose worth as a whole was being stacked against many names and faces that had already made themselves noteworthy in this reality. Having come from the depths of obscurity to achieve such victory, and possibly shaken a few of his opponents-to-be up enough to give himself an edge was more than enough to get him looking passed the dissatisfactions, and towards the prospect of a successful run at whatever title the tournament would bestow.

“Now if only I knew what the Hell there was to do while I waited,” he muttered under his breath.​

 

((My bad, I thought I PMed you. But you're right, there is nothing in my outbox))

Mixt chuckled slightly, “I did not abandon the war. The war is eternal and the war is everywhere. While everyone was out fighting, I strayed to a different battle field. Now I sit as one of the most powerful rulers in the greater World. But what of you? What has your struggling accomplished?” Shaking his head Mixt took a step back and opened up his arms leaving his torso open albeit hardly defenseless. “Well you've found me. But why come all this way searching? If you wanted my head we both know you would have struck the moment you could stand, if not before then. Skilled as my guards may be they would hardly slow you down.” Said guards took a scared look at each other before backing further away from the two. They didn't want to be caught in the cross fire if the two changed their mind and started to fight.

 

" My 'struggling" has brought the long awaited peacetime to the main world cluster. The Black Phantom has fallen and now the worlds are safe but I can't predict for how long. . . as for the reason I came here . . ."
Phisoxa went quiet for a few moments, thinking of a good way to word her next response but she couldn't make it come out no matter how much she tried. She clinched her fist tightly staring down at the dark tiling of the floor below as a gentle teardrop landed upon the ground and she turned away quickly enough that he couldn't see the expression her face.
" Oh just forget about it !! He's obviously thriving where he is currently. I should just go home before I embarrass myself even more. Anyways hes been gone so long he probably doesn't even remember half of his friends."
Phisoxa muttered under her breath as she adjusted her traveling cloak.
" I guess there was a mistake I will be on my way . . ."

 

"Actually Phisoxa, it isn't that simple. You see our policy for outgoing immigration is non-existent. My takeover of this place was hardly diplomatic, were I to let people leave freely it would not be the kingdom you see here. For me to suddenly let anyone leave would cause an uproar." At this Mixt turned and started walking towards the throne again; in part for dramatic effect as the despair sank in, but also because he needed to hide the momentary smile crossing his lips. He always enjoyed playing mind games, but this felt different. Did he actually miss her? Nonsense, she was of the light and he of the darkness. They were enemies, plain and simple. Returning to his stoic appearance, he turned and took his seat again. "I can offer you only one way out. I am holding a tournament and we are entering the final stages. The winner of it gets to make any request of me. If I permit you to enter, and you succeed, I could grant you freedom."

 

Phisoxa was already making her leave till the guards blocked her way and she spun around with the mention of Mixt's terms. As he spoke Phisoxa was eying the open window her mind formulating a plan and at the same time listening to what Mixt had to say. She was silent for a few moments after he finished and then she sighed deeply and walked towards him but stopped a few feet from the throne. The look in her eyes showing a mixture of sadness and anger but her body and tone of voice remained calm.
" . . . Fine . . . if it means a way out I shall take it. But don't act like you don't remember anything or you don't care because you drifted back to the darkside and want nothing to do with the figures of your past. Someone doesn't just forget having such good friends just like that. . . no matter how accomplished you may be, power isn't everything. I bet someplace in that heart of yours you want the most simplest thing, you miss us without realizing it for yourself, acting all tough isn't going to convince me. . . that is all I have to say."

 

"I thought even back then I made it clear. I wasn't with you because of friendship. It was a conveint way to achive my own goals." Mixt said. It was a half truth he had told them many times. It had started that way but by the end it wasn't. In the time that it would have been ideal to leave he hadn't as the group's antics had amused him. However, once he started to feel an atachment to them he ran. This vist confirmed his fears. He had held on too long.

"I'll announce your participation at the upcoming ceremony. Until then..." Mixt placed a hand on the arm of the throne and as he pulled back up an ID card formed from the chair itself in a glow of red sparks. He handed it over to Phisoxa and continued "...this should prove that you, Phisoxa Mindell, are a contestant and honored guest. Chambers for you will be prepared for you shortly. Please take this time to familerize yourself with the city. Maybe even see if you can't find the other contestants." Mixt looked at the guards in the back and nodded, they stepped aside to let her out.

 

Phisoxa remained silent throughout his response but showed little emotion. She took the card as if it didn't mean anything serious to her and held it in her hand at her hip." Good day I guess ... It was nice seeing you again after all. . . " After that she made a brisk turn and walked towards the exit but before going through the door she stopped, placing her hand on the iron handle but not turning it. " Yes I know everything you say may be the truth but, there is one thing you mentioned that doesn't add up. I know for sure you did not retreat the very first time you felt attachment, otherwise you would have left my children to live alone in the streets. . . without any guidance . . . nor would you have touched me the way you did a while back. . . I bet the darkness in your heart made you forget about that too didn't you. . . such a awfully long while of getting attached. You would know I am not the type of person who would come all the way out here to speak to someone who did a 'hit and run' in a sense." As Phisoxa spoke, the memory concerning what she had spoken of seemed to flash through her mind, a scene Phisoxa had been remembering as if it happened yesterday for years. A scene where Mixt touched Phisoxa's cheek in a loving way. She knew it wasn't fake either by the look in his eyes that day. She knew Mixt probably would make another excuse and say that it was another scheme, but even the schemer couldn't mask the emotion in his eye.

 

With the inevitable lack of activity between rounds finally sinking under his skin, Adrian began pacing the corridors in thought. There wasn’t all that much to do before the time to turn in came, and there wasn’t even the slightest sign of any of the other competitors lurking about (whom he’d have certainly struck a conversation with if the opportunity were there). Eventually, his thoughts lead him around to a final conclusion: if he wasn’t going to be doing anything, then he might as well pull out something to do before he got too bored.

Where he was, he leaned back against the wall, and gently slid himself down to a seated position on the floor. His hand dove into an interior pocket of his overcoat, and, without very much trouble, claimed a small, neatly folded stack of paper from its contents. There was only a scarce amount of space on the papers that had been spared the mark of ink or pencil and a mere glance at the ruffled mass indicated a very rough penmanship, and some considerable weathering that only age of neglect could have caused.

Carefully, Adrian unfolded the papers at the deepest seam, revealing them to be decent compellation of short notes. All of them were in the familiar writing of his brother, a semi-chicken scratched style. It was only barely decipherable, and even then, Adrian had to reread the words very carefully to make sure he understood it all correctly. Yet even after all of the reads of his brother’s trail of one way correspondence with his mother, Adrian was unable to glean anything other than the hope that somewhere along the way, his brother had managed to survive for at least a few years after he was presumed dead.

For a time, it had been all the hope he needed to know that Dmitri was still well and good somewhere in the worlds; whether in his home timeline, or another one completely different, it was a comfort. But as the months had waned on and on, and no clue as to his whereabouts at the last letter, or at any of them, was to be found, Adrian’s frustrations had mounted.

There, sitting upon the cold floor of stone, Adrian’s disappointment in his brother’s lack of clue dropping reached a peak. Papers still in hand, he waved his hands out, releasing every sheet and torn fragment about and exhaled in a loud groan or grunt. “Useless!” he spat at the falling drafts. “All of you! Useless!” He flung himself to his feet, and drove the palm of his hand into the wall before him. With another loud grunt, he expelled a fire spell, which sparked briefly as it struck the stone surface, and let off a distinguishable flash of light down the otherwise dim corridor. “How hard would it have been?” he asked himself in a whisper. “How hard would have been to just leave a hint or two so you could just come home? We could have fought our way back.”​

 

A man in a black coat stood at the door, waiting for Phisoxa to pass. He kept his hood on and kept his face hidden as he watched the two talk. He kept his expression neutral (Even though no one could see his face) but deep down he was hurt by all the pain between the two. He leaned against the door as the two kept talking, hoping they would soon finish.

 

Kana Rya was strolling the grand halls, taking everything in. He had never known places like this growing up, the closest he ever been to "nice" in foster care was tiny rooms with bunkbeds usually shared with disgusting or bad-tempered roommates looking for a punching bag to take out their anger on. Of course, they usually learned quick enough not to judge him by his size, but still, that was why he had run from that life. And that was why he was here, because he had nothing left and he knew how to hold his own in a fight. He had sailed through the preliminaries, destroying his opponents with relative ease, and now he was ready for the big-time. He felt the anxiousness that comes before a major fight and it was exhilerating. He couldn't wait for the upcoming battle, and he felt confident that he would win.

Turning a corner, he saw someone sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, muttering to himself. probably another contestant, he thought. Time to check out the competition! He walked up to the guy and smiled. "Hey," he said. "I'm Kana Rya, one of the contestants. Are you fighting too?"

 

The man looked back at this man Kana, "Yes, I guess I am, I'm torxber" he said plainly, hidding the pain from watching everything. "What can I do for you, and no, I do not train people" he said examining this other contestant. He stood up straight as he replied. "So, what can I help you with?"

 

Kana Rya scoffed as Torxber stood. "Like I'd need training!" He said rudely. "I've never lost a fight in my life! Anyway, I just thought I'd introduce myself, see what the competition's like. You're the first guy I've seen around here, I don't know where everybody else is." Kana Rya looked around as if expecting to see another fighter come around the corner. No one came, however, so he turned back to Torxber. "So, what's your story? Why are you in the competition?"

 

Still grumbling his displeasures with his “long lost” brother under his breath, Adrian swept across the corridor floor, picking up the letters, however short, and stuffing them back into his pocket, less neatly than they had previously been. He leaned his back forcibly against the wall, and stood with his head bowed down. Drawing breath, he tried his best to calm his nerves down. There had to be a clue to his brother’s fate hidden somewhere in the notes he had written, some way to track him down, or at least determine that he was still alive and well. Although the last note was penned over a year ago, Adrian maintained that there had to be some way to arrange all the strips of paper into something coherent and informative.

Maybe when I win this tournament, I can ask that host of ours to lead me in the right direction, he thought. No. That wouldn’t work. He’s never been to my stretch of this reality before. He wouldn’t know anything about my misadventures, outside of whatever I might have made known when I entered. But then, I could still make a request to suit the need more readily.

“Hey! You there!”

Adrian looked off to his right as a stern voice called from down the corridor. Fifty feet away from him stood a man dressed in a Romanesque armor, brandishing a spear in one hand, a shield in the other, and apparently holding a short sword at his waist. Despite the classically threatening aspects of the man’s appearance, Adrian let off an unconcerned air as he replied to his call. “Yeah? What is it?” he asked, not really looking at the warrior.

“You’re the one that’s been making al that noise around here?” the solider questioned, and wasn’t, by any means put off by Adrian’s spitting words.

“Yeah. That was me. What of it?” Adrian replied again.

“There’s an infirmary just down this hallway,” the soldier said, indicating the hall he had come down. “There are people they’re trying to get some rest. They’d appreciate it if you could keep it down out here while they recuperate. Think you could do that?”

“Yeah. I suspect I could. In fact, I don’t really think I can stand being in this hallway any more. You know where I can find someone else with this tournament? You important enough to know that?” Adrian hollered to the soldier, blatantly being noisy against the request. He could see the man’s face growing more stern, his glare seeming to narrow down the hall as though he’d charge down in a rage. But to Adrian’s surprise, the warrior was more adept than to charge a person on the grounds of a coax.

“I do happen to have an idea where you could find others,” the warrior said in a voice of reserved anger. “You’d be best to make your way to His Majesty’s throne up in the arena. I hear that warriors enjoy getting a peak at His Majesty after successes in battles. Now get out of here, and keep your noise down so people down there can rest quietly.” The soldier then departed down the hallway, having had enough of Adrian’s button pushing.

Adrian opted to do the same, departing down his corridor, in search of where “His Majesty’s” throne was. He didn’t’ quite have a bearing on the direction he needed to go in, but imagined that if he stayed in the inner halls, he’d find a staircase or something that stuck out enough as one marked for royalty.​

 

"I wish, to correct a mistake" Torxber said looking at Kana "I have made so many, but I only need to fix one. By the way, being arrogant like that will get you beatem, and if you act like that when we fight, you will lose" Torxber said plainly. He didn't want to be around this 'Kana' person so he started walking away, he would have to have his talk with Mixt later.

 

Kana laughed at Torxber's "advice" and also turned to walk away. Well, THAT guy was no help. He sighed, still feeling restless and itching for the big fight. Maybe he could pull an all-nighter training for the match. He would just have to be careful to keep a bucket of water handy, just in case things got out of control.

 

Mixt remained silent. Both having no counter point-nor wishing to admit defeat. He had claimed before that he had watched over the twins so that he would not owe a debt to them, but why not just kill them before then? And of course that day that emotions got the better of him. It was a memory that he had tried to forget, but Phisoxa mentioning it made it come back. He loved her. Even if he couldn't accept it, he couldn't deny it. Why else force her into the tournament. One such as her could never be Wrath. She was too good hearted to want the job or be respected in it. He didn't really have an issue opening the gate for her, he simply wanted to be with her longer. In the end it was futile and he knew it. She could never be happy here and he would never abandon it for her. Whatever fates orchestrated their relationship were cruel ones indeed.