Bastions

Faye:
Faye rounded the corner and totally sold Owen out because Luke said she would. Luke then asked me, Cole, a question before and demanded an answer before he stepped in the bathroom making it difficult to answer that question.

Owen looks on in horror as the fourth wall is completely torn down.

(Time for a serious post now.)

Faye: Following suit, Faye hugged the wall. "What is it?" She whispered to Owen.

Introducing a new character:



Name: Waylon Rawl



Age: 24

Gender: Male 


Occupation:



Appearance: Stands at 5'5", lean and muscular with short, mousy black hair, and green eyes. 

Other/important information: A capable, tortured young man.

"We may not be the only ones the guards are searching for," he murmured, keeping his voice as low as possible. His expression was dark and his tone urgent. "We need to find another way."



                                                                                                        

Owen wordlessly gestured for her to follow him down a narrow gap further back along the path they had come. He padded up to the break in the alley wall and assumed a crouching position. "Go," he whispered. "I'll keep a look out."

Cabot had been hiking through the thick jungle for days now. Far from his home, or anything good for that matter, soaked from the constant rain, and sullied from the swamps full of muck and sappy trees. He cleaned his armour from time to time, and right now all he had was mud all over his greaves and tabard trails. Well, that and soaked socks, but all was well, for the most part!

As he trudged up a steep incline, he heard twigs crack and the brush ruffle. He heard it a lot more often than usual, lately, and he was very much hoping that it wasn't anything bad following him. He was running from someone, after all. But he was also aware of the dangers of the wilds. And Cabot wanted not to be torn into pieces! Quickening his pace, he soon made it to the apex of the hill. His heart skipped a beat when he realized there was no more ground in front of him, letting out a panicked yelp, nearly falling off a sheer cliff face, that must have stretched a hundred feet down. Pushing himself back, he crashed into the trunk of a tree, allowing him to catch his breath and survey the view he got from atop this apparent mountain. Before him stretched a sprawling city, a bastion of light in the dark wilds. At first, he was simply relieved to see civilization again. But then, surprise took him once more.

'Another Bastion!' he thought, standing up straight. Before he could really ponder the significance of the city he was sure his own Bastion did not yet know of, his pursuers made themselves known. Seven very tall men wearing little more than mismatched leather and hides emerged from the tree line, each wielding some form of savage weapon. Either for bludgeoning, or spearing, or slashing, Cabot didn't like any of them one bit. Holding his hands up, he clearing his throat, and stepped closer to the edge of the cliff.

"Um, no need for violence, fellows! We're all reasonable men, I'm sure?" Nine times out of ten, this would not work. The largest of the seven tribal hunters yelled loudly, as if to signal an attack. Widening his eyes, Cabot rose an arm as a hunter lunged forward with a spear. The weapon's sharp tip impacted with Cabot's forearm armouring, which gleamed with a silver glow around the area, and shot the spear back. "Ah-hah! Fell for the ol' refraction barrier spell." Cabot quipped, drawing his sword. And then they all lunged for him. The Knight "noped" the hell out of there with a distressed curse, falling off the cliff. Holding his breath, he muttered a few words under his breath, holding his sword's hilt against his chestplate. In a brilliant flash of white light, he vanished, leaving the tribesmen perplexed, and staring over the edge.

Cabot's spell had taken him beyond this new city's walls, but it didn't change the fact that he was falling. Crashing down into a roof, he send the shingles clattering in all directions, and the the alley below. Yelling in confusion, he tumbled off the roof, and into a lower one, and then again against window sill below, before plummeting into some stacked wooden crates full of cabbages, crushing many, and sending others rolling about. Some of them would roll to gently bump into a woman's feet. She seemed to be in peasant's garbs.

"My word..." breathed Cabot, lifting his heavy armoured head to look around, stopping to peer up at the lady, before letting it fall back to the ground with a clunk. Today had been a rough day, so far.

Faye:
With an exclamation of suprise she stumbled back wards. Her foot caight on the cabbage by her foot nearly tripping her. Kicking away the reat of cabbage, Faye turned to the armor clad figure that in the destroyed cart. She didn't recognize the armor nor any of the emblems on it. Cautiously moving forward she asked, "Are you alive? "

The frantic voices bombarding Waylon's ears began to quiet, fading gradually into the background. Slowly, he let out a shaky breath and lowered his hands from his head. Only a few of the voices still remained clearly audible as though emanating from somewhere close-by. It occurred to Waylon that he recognized one of the voices, an old friend perhaps? Yes, that had to be it. A sense of calm fell over him at the realization and he knew he must reacquaint himself with this person at once. He looked down at his blood-soaked torso and made a slight grimace for he certainly couldn't meet them looking like this. He scanned the alley briefly before looking once again upon the body, slumped against the wall and surrounded by bags of refuse. This person had clearly lived well as they wore an expensive and masterfully woven, crimson cloak. Waylon pulled the affluent individual from their resting place against the wall and unceremoniously lifted the garment from their shoulders. The young man swept the fine cloth shroud over his own shoulders and raised the hood over his head. He retrieved the jagged glass shard from the ground and walked briskly to the edge of the alley, stopping at the corner, just beyond which, the voices originated from. He mustn't keep them waiting.

Hearing a loud crash, Ulvjeger instantly sprang to his feet. This cannot be good he thought, as he moved to the rooftops and dark alleys to investigate the sound.

"Oh um, we aren't-" Owen had scarcely begun to speak when movement from further down the alley caught his attention. A cloaked figure staggered out into the alleyway, straightened up, and began walking with purpose toward them, twitching visibly. The strange figure held something tightly in its hand that glinted as the sparse rays of light from above the alley passed over it. An oddly serene voice emanated from under the hood of the shrouded man: "How long has it been now?"