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Fantasy ~Rebirth: Rise From Discord~

Shura

Shura

Pounce Ninja


World_in_Chaos.jpg




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Where we are now...


Eighteen years have passed since the king has taken over. The once great civilization of Ixchel which was built on technology has fallen to greater forces. Countries remained but held little power, armys were disbanded and destroyed until the only one left was the one under the kings control. Communication is limited and monitored. Some small rebel groups have tried to form but are always caught and the people publicly executed as a warning.


Despite being in control the self proclaimed “god” has noticed a shift in the balance of nature. Forces tugging at the elements just barely noticeable but still there. A new front has been put into place as the army has started to scour the earth to find this possible threat to the kings rule. Out of paranoia citizens who seem even slightly different or that they could pose a threat have been imprisoned.


Reminder

The point of the RP is for it to be a collaborative work from everyone involved, meaning we all work together and plan ahead of time to make up the story whether it be the overall narrative or individual character arches. That being said, surprises are allowed I will be throwing in a few challenges in myself.


If you are going to participate in this RP you have to be active.


Check in once a day, this doesn't have to mean make 6-7 post's a day just simply check in to see if anything has changed or progressed. This is mostly so the RP doesn't freeze for several days and goes forgotten. Even if no posts can be made feel free to suggest ideas.

  • If you have been tagged in an interaction please try to respond with in a day or two. If you can't because of life off the computer please post in the OOC to let the person who tagged you know it might be a bit of a wait.


Posting Format


There are three things that I require when posting. Your characters name and please tag who you are referring/ talking to. If they are away from the main group please add where they are.


Example Mary Sue


Kawaii Cafe


Extremely cutsie post referring to tea and cookies.


@Whoever she's with.
 
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General Tolgan / Captain Lobo / Kyle Yi / Otto Wrobel

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Pat, pat, pat, pat...


The sound of a guard’s boots stomping across the lobby of Lysia Detention was followed by a call for attention. A total of One hundred and sixty men were assigned to work the night shift, and there was one head guard on call. This man’s name was Ronald Tolgan. A rigged-jawed snake, with jet black slicked-back hair and an eye for mischievous behavior among prisoners and guards alike. He was a rather large, intimidating presence standing at six-foot-eight and walking around at close to three hundred pounds, he was built like a brick shithouse. The regular guards which were employed all stood in a row along both walls of the lobby, staring straight ahead as the man slowly traversed the length starting from the left side. Ronald’s voice was low in pitch, almost rumbling as it escaped his lips.


“If you are not aware, there has been a rather large influx of freedom fighters who have been admitted into the prison today. One particularly notorious gang along with a couple of small others were taken. Those who were alive at the end of the fight have just arrived this morning. I want to make sure you keep extra precaution when patrolling, and do not feel reserved to pull any of the stops you find necessary to eliminate an immediate threat.” He continued walking on, taking a pause before he resumed. “I expect Captain Krite and Captain Lobo to be able to attend to each and every need you may have. Krite is assigned to overlook the left, and Lobo is assigned to the right. I want everyone to get through the night safe, so we could continue putting food on the table for our wives and children. I will be in the Staff Office. If any situation arises, do not bother me. I will find you if the need be.”


The staff office was where General Tolgan enjoyed spending his time during his shifts. His typical behavior involved doing anything but work, and every guard in Lysia Detention was well aware of that fact. Ronald Tolgan's normal business involved staring at the multiple cameras set up in the detention center and pressing a gigantic red button which triggered alarms when he saw things getting hectic. Aside from that, he had on multiple occasions invited other guards to gamble and drink in the Staff Office. Everything that Tolgan did seemingly involved the alcohol; whether it be starting the shift drunk, drinking throughout the shift or ending it drunk. People were able to see that the man needed the sauce to operate.


However, this also meant that there were issues with Tolgan's behavior. He was especially mean when he was completely trashed, even unreasonably so to other guards. The man often passed out at some point of his shift and was rendered inoperable at random parts throughout the night. This left both Captain Krite and Captain Lobo to do a majority of his job. Often times, Krite was the one that people ignored completely. While he was a Captain by rank, he as commonly rejected as a credible leader by all of the guards including Lobo, who was considered the prison's actual leader. Krite was the kind of man to lock himself in the Janitor's closet when the going got tough. His posture is somewhat permanently bent, giving him an appearance quite fitting of the rat he was.


Lobo was the trigger man. A disgraced army captain who just happens to be the useless son-in-law of the king, Lobo is known for his rather crude and obnoxious behavior. He constantly abused prisoners, had a ring of drugs being supplied by an external force within the prison, and generally was connected to a lot of the more important prisoners of a previous criminal syndicate that expanded every country belonging to Ixchel. Whe people wanted to get something done, they ran through it through him for a hefty fine. Lobo's spikey, red hair is the most notable part of his appearance. The one hundred and sixty count of men would break in half, with eighty guarding the left side and the other half guarding the right. In terms of time spent working the detention center, there was a wide gap between the youngest and oldest guards at the joint. When it came to the guard who had been working at the detention center the longest, he was known as an 'old man'. Devout of rank, but full of experience, at the age of 56. Guierllmo Jorge had worked at the prison for over thirty five years of his life.


The youngest happened to be working his very first day on the job, a private named Kyle Yi. Kyle was a man of little faith in the system, but had failed to get into the king's army as he had wished. His father's heritage is filled with men who served in armies or fought in valiant wars, but he himself had not made the cut. While he promised to keep trying, he decided he would do the his job to the best of his ability nonetheless. Moving from the Sally Port to the right hand side, the guard - clad in leather armor just as every other one was - walked past the rec room and the Staff Office to approach the Watchroom.


Like every day, the dayroom was littered with prisoners. For a total of five hours, the prisoners were allowed to sit about the various tables out in the middle of the cells. Usually, they were chained to the tables - as to avoid confrontations with others, and the guards. Kyle Yi walked in among a group that had all ready gathered in the Watchroom. It was rather large, surrounded by glass that was easy to see through but not in from the outside. This provided maximum coverage on all sides, with a way to look into each and every cell if the need be with use of a computer. People were putting on helmets and getting ready to go into the Dayroom so that they could usher prisoners back into their cell, one by one. Like his coworkers, Kyle loaded his standard mandatory firearm, a pistol provided by the prison, and turned the safety off. At his side was a baton, the second mandatory weapon that all guards were ordered to hold. Officers, such as the General and two Captains, had rapiers instead.


Lobo spoke to his men. "Same as always. Get in, unlock the chains. Push the prisoner into their cell, close it, and repeat the process until every prisoner is where they are supposed to be. After a count, we can resume our night just as any other." All of the men, without audible response, began exiting the watchroom. They hit a standard gate, which slid open to the right and allowed the eighty soldiers, including Lobo, to walk into the dayroom. He stopped in front of the collection of tables, looking about as his men got to work. Two guards would escort both Mayumi Advally and Rose Knayl to the cell they shared, handling the two relatively roughly as they unlocked the chains from the table and walked them to the cell. Standing at the cell, the guards would wait for the doors to open before pushing both prisoners into the cell. The chains that bounded their wrists had done so behind their backs; there were chains around their ankles as well. One key unlocked both keyholes, allowing the shackles to drop from their person. While one guard took off the chains, the other held both prisoners at gunpoint.


The procedure followed for each prisoner in the dayroom. Aisha Corrina and Jerom Jaksin were moved to the cell they shared. Marcus Soltanus, Feng Chongbai and Auvan Kyvean were next to return to their cell. Sinda and Danica Blaire followed soon after, with Jett Lawless mouthing out ridiculous nonsense as a guard practically beat him unconscious on the way to his cell, which he shared with Cu Chulainn. Grigori Ivanov, Casey Ward and the old decrepit gentleman known as Pawle Jenner would be brought to the cell they shared, followed by both Tyshiro Lascar and Piper Alyss. Aiden Goldman was taken next, alongside Otto Wrobel, who was being held by Kyle Yi.


Yi had grabbed Otto by the back of the hair instead of his chains, causing Otto to clench his teeth in pain. It felt as though the man wanted to rip the scalp from his head. Struggling to keep calm, the young man - alongside Aiden - were brought into their cells. Yi cocked the gun at held it at Otto's head, who in turn spat in Yi's face as he was unshackled. Yi, in immediate response to Otto's revolting action, slightly cocked his arm back and jammed the butt of his pistol into Otto's forehead. As the metal hit his forehead and busted it open, a few streams of blood began to trickle down around the contours of his nose. Then, his body immediately dropped to the floor, with Otto holding his forehead and screaming in agony. Yi bent over and wiped the spit off of his face with Otto's shirt before he turned the gun to Aiden just as he was being unshackled, before the two guards walked out of the room. As the door shut, Yi remained in front with a smirk on his face, watching Otto roll around in pain. Meanwhile, Otto was screaming as loud as he could.





"FUCK YOU!"






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@Godman873 @LotusSan @The Kaosophile @Alsmen @Rifleman @Kharmin @Karma200 @HighnessesReign @Draven Valentine @Flawless @Hales @WritingMan
 
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Aisha Corrina

Prison was the last place she'd ever expected to be. The surrounding weren't too different than what she was accustomed too. Stone walls, dim lighting, people pacing the halls. Though there was a lot more yelling involved, and fighting and there was a general tone of oppression far greater than that which plagued the land already. When she had ventured out on her own it had been a sizable shock seeing the state in which the rest of the population lived in. The mountains where she had grown up were high and isolated from the rest of the world. They also lacked common amenities like unlimited electricity and technology. Things were simple.


The world beyond her humble mountain world was far more complex and far more... depressing. There was a general air of fear and tension in the air as people went on with their day to day lives under the watch of guards. The control stretched even into the media where there was mostly news and propaganda on the wondrous King Ivan, Elemental God of Ixchelia. It was almost sickening to Aisha. In small towns it wasn't so bad however in large cities it almost seemed like a factory. Waves of people all set to a pattern of wake, eat, work and sleep. There was always a curfew which started at 7 and extended a full 11 hours. There were always the few stray cogs which strayed from the main machine. Rebels, as they were called, a muddled word which had been applied to too many people. Even those who simply wanted a little freedom and to embrace the little joys of life such as watching the night sky free from an area with lights would find it difficult to leave their homes to do so.


This was the mistake Aisha had made. Wrong place at the wrong time so to speak. She had been traveling from one city to another trying to get some piece from the heavy stares that were often sent her way. While the watch over the city was endless it was not without its faults. Ever system had their back doors and blind spots. Aisha had gotten fairly good and finding them to continue traveling. Otherwise she would have been stuck as a refuge nobody wanted around. Her luck had held out until a few weeks ago when she left a city under cover of a moonless night. All seemed to be going well until a sharp whistle caught her ear. The teen had bolted deeper into the surrounding woods however was unable to find a good hiding spot before she could be caught.


While capable of fighting back Aisha did not want to bring more hardship and pain upon herself and gave in, still earning a few bumps and bruises but it was better than a broken arm or leg. Two weeks in a cell had been nearly maddening for her as she grew more and more restless each day. In an effort to try and give herself something to do she practiced her meditation, when that didn't work she attempted to make friends. It worked mostly with those her age, or younger as most of the adults had been harden and worn with time. Saddening but not a rare thing to occur.


With a soft sighe Aisha's amber gaze scanned over the population in the day room. Men and women of all ages, even children, all gathered in chains under and under constant watch. She glanced over to the person she had been paired with in a cell who was only a table away and smiled slightly. He was at least nicer than her previous cell mate, then again if she were next to be publicly executed her mood probably would have been just as sour. Her eyes traveled to the rest of her prison mates Identifying the few who she had come to know if only by nickname in her mind.


There was Kitten, a young girl who seemed to be very clinging and cuddly much like her namesake, very cheery and fun to talk to. Mr. Chatterbox a man who was fairly pleasant but could talk from dusk till dawn. Mrs. Snippy a fairly intimidating woman who looked mad all the time. Aisha had honestly not said a word to her for fear of setting her off and causing issues. Mr. Silent, a man she had yet to hear talk aside from grunts and nods. Though he still seemed nice and didn't mind other sitting with them. He was a very good listener. Then there was Feng, a fellow monk who she got along well enough with. Though had spoken very little to. Otto, possibly the only other name she really new aside from her cell mate, Jerom. She had met home once many months before while trying to get out of one of the cities. She could tell he was a true rebel, the kinds that were always made examples of in public. But he had a good heart and at least tried to help people. It was only sad that those who tried to help were often rewarded with harsh violence and insults.


Aisha moved back to her cell with out much of a fuss She had been probably one of the better behaved prisoners which lead to not being treated as roughly. Though there still was the occasional hair grab or shove. She gladly accepted that kind of treatment than when the guards hand 'accidental' slip too low along her back. It took every fiber in her being not to whirl around and smack the guard when this happened the cell door would slam shut providing a very good barrier between the guard and her wrath.


A pain scream caught Aisha's attention as she settled on her lumpy excuse of a mattress. She looked over seeing Otto rolling around on the ground grasp in forehead and clenched her fits slightly, it didn't seem like he was having a good day... again.


Mentioned: @Lord Jaraxxus @Rifleman @The Kaosophile @Kharmin @Tree


Cellmate: @DamagedGlasses
 
<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2015_02/57a8c1a57ec63_Danica_HorizFlip_30.jpg.25e1f4c98bfc7bba47109a0ccc7eb7cd.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="43448" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2015_02/57a8c1a57ec63_Danica_HorizFlip_30.jpg.25e1f4c98bfc7bba47109a0ccc7eb7cd.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p> Danica Blaire


Prison - Lysia


Chains, chains, chains. Everywhere Danica went, it was in chains. It was damned frustrating but given the odds, Danica really didn't have much choice. It seemed that her reputation had preceded her even into prison. But they were fooling themselves if they truly knew with what they were dealing.


Every waking minute of every day was a struggle within Danica to keep the fury within in check. The temptation was incredible and each passing day she inched closer to tossing all caution to the wind, just so that she could be free of the chains. Danica knew that if she gave in to the seething, primordial anger that the shackles and cuffs that bound her would no longer be a nuisance.


When incarcerated, Danica was told of the carnage that she had left behind of the king's men who had finally subdued her. When the fury took over, Danica had blacked out and had no memory of the event, so whether it was true or simply some distorted propaganda at her expense, she truly didn't know. All that mattered now was the present and Danica was firmly ensconced within it, held for the moment by chains.


Roughly once a week, Danica was taken to a secured area of the prison under heavy guard. Blood was often drawn to be analyzed and tested. Then, Danica was taken to a large, open room with some poor, unsuspecting prisoner as the scientists provoked her using an assortments of methods – electrocution, narcotics, taunting or a combination thereof – with the hope of unleashing and observing the animalistic fury that Danica strove to keep in check.


Only once had they so far succeeded, to the detriment of both the prisoner and the guard that had been sent in to increase the tension with a higher voltage cattleprod. Danica tried her best, but in the end she snapped and the beast within vaulted to the surface. With sheer strength of pure, unfiltered anger, Danica literally tore both guard and prisoner to pieces and was finally subdued when the observers flooded the chamber with a sleeping gas. That was the last time Danica had been free of her chains.


The guards returned them to their cells. Danica watched impassionately as the chains and restraints were removed from Sinda, but not from her. With a sigh, Danica sat and then laid down on her prison bed. The links in the chains clinked lightly against themselves as she hauled the extra weight of them alongside of her on the mattress. She stared up at the bland, grey paint on the ceiling and tried to remember what the sky looked like while she attempted to tune out the chattering of her roommate.


Mentioned: @LotusSan

 

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Cu Chulainn

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Oh the agony, or what little was running through his thoughts as his eyes slowly opened. He shifted his eyes towards Jett Lawless, the wonderful man next to him who had the pleasure of trying to make out half of what the hell Cu says. Cu began to grind his teeth as he looked up at the shackles and then back at Jett with a grin on his face. Cu was trying to make the situation as best as he could. He was locked up for quite a while and the same old garbage with torture just began to change as more and more prisoners began to arrive. Cu just watched as one by one these people were being flung into jail as if they were nothing, he was trying to count, throwing the number up there to ten plus individuals. If these people managed to piss off the King, then he was glad he wasn't the only one to test his powers for the will of the common man, or so he had thought. He knew that people were different as he was quite smart, he was able to speak with humble and just words, and now not at all, just through a series of glares and hopefully a interpreter who can actually understand him rather than the jackass next to him.


Cu grew tired of the kings tyranny towards the people of the world and wanted to establish a safe haven, however in doing so, he risked himself..... He always wondered why he did what he did, but at-least now he has even more of a reason to get revenge.


Slowly his head rotated as he heard banging up against the cell door as the sound of footsteps grew closer. A man of medium build, not as tall as Cu yet bulkier, rang a stick against the cell bars as the ticking noise gained his attention. His eyes widened as his pupils solidified, flaring with flames as he felt his anger beginning to build up, the death stare was his best attempt at antagonizing guards other than having Jett throw random verbal abuse that he thought Cu was saying out there.


"You.... With the staring problem.... Do we need to go through this again? "


Cu nodded his head as the guard sighed and moved his hand towards the keys and shuffled them into the key hole, twisting it one way with the door creeping open with a slight squeal from the hinges as the sound from the armor clanking against the floor below as Cu glared at the man, who walked in and approached the orange haired individual. The guard moved his eyes up to the tall slender individual who was muscular somewhat, but not bulky. Cu glaring into the man's eyes as the Guard balled his right hand into a fist and jabbed it into Cu's stomach. Cu grimaced in pain as one eye shut and his head lowered. Hearing the guard say shortly after.


" You done staring now? "


Cu felt his anger take over as he raised his head and spit blood all over the guard's face, and started laughing at the man. The guard's face grew increasingly sour as he wiped away at the blood and said out loud in retaliation.


" You will pay for that you little son of a.... "


The guard cut himself off as he let out a flurry of small jabs into Cu's stomach as he refused to cry out in pain, even though his face showed the opposite.....


@Draven Valentine
 
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Aidin Stephan Goldman


When the guards came up to Aidin the new guy looked a bit puzzled as he tried to find out what they would do to bind Aidin's arm as he had no other wrist. It only took a moment for them to bring his arm behind his back and bind the left cuff to an unused belt loop. He gave the guard an unsettling look before he simply smiled and moved on with his job. When Aidin was back in his cell at least he would be left alone at least to a small degree so he could work out. As Aidin walked he moved his right arm and felt the tug on the belt loop as he knew how easily he could rip it off with one good tug but doing that was probably going to get him shot or beaten, that much was obvious.


When he was finally shoved into his cell Aidin had quickly moved onto the ground and began to do crunches to keep in shape, it didn't matter since he was now in prison but it at least helped him pass the time. He kept his breathing steady and calm as he counted under his breath between crunches. "One." Aidin kept doing crunches on the hard floor as he had now become accustomed to it, he did miss the days where he had a nice mat to do this stuff on though. He came up again and let himself drop back down as he finally hit the mark for ninety. "Two." His current record for crunches was three hundred. With any luck he could beat that record, after all he did nothing but work out nowadays.


His counting was barely audible as he paid little attention to Otto who was in the same cell with him. While Aidin didn't mind Otto he certainly didn't trust him, after all the last thing he would know Otto could plan to frame him for a prison break them be a 'good smaratin' and try to get off several years early. Even though Aidin doubted that you would be given time off for good behavior time any person could be desperate enough to try. While Otto hadn't really given Aidin enough reason to trust him he also hadn't given him a reason to distrust him since he still woke up every morning, which could possibly be because of his intimidating size and physique. Aidin pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he kept counting his crunches. "Six."
 
Piper Alyss


Piper’s discomfort could not even be put into words. Even with the sudden influx of prisoners the guards had for some reason determined that she would be one of the people placed in a prison uniform. Of course, her white lace dress would’ve made her look special, and they wouldn’t want to do that now, would they? She tugged at the sleeves as she sat in the dayroom and her eyes fell to her shoes, reminding her once again that they didn’t match her new prison outfit or the chain clasped around her ankle.


It wasn’t like she had intended to get arrested in the first place. Piper had been careless. She hadn’t looked around before beginning to practice with her knives. When a king’s guard heard the constant thump of her daggers hitting trees, he had come to investigate. Piper had tried to talk her way out of it as he dragged her out of the trees surrounding them, but other guards came to help and she was gagged. Now she was in prison; she had been there for about a day.


Piper heard chains clinking and she looked up to see the prison guards escorting some of her fellow inmates out of the dayroom. Free time must be over, she thought simply, not that it had really been much of a free time since she'd been chained to a table. She watched as others were brought away – the guards taking varying levels of caution with different people. Then Piper was approached. The guard unlocked the shackle on her ankle and grabbed both of her arms, yanking them swiftly and painfully behind her where she was once again shackled. Piper stood up obediently – she had no desire to find herself against a whipping pole yet again. As she walked, Piper felt his hand brush against her butt – briefly – and she rolled her eyes. So we’re going to play this game, she thought briskly. “You enjoying yourself?” Piper inquired of the guard.


His grip tightened around her wrists and Piper winced through the pain and he grabbed a hold of the front of her shirt, pulling her face to the point where it was inches from his. She could smell his breath and she greatly wished she couldn’t. The smirk on his face told her that he was just another stupid guy and unfortunately, his job gave him the ability to make her life miserable.


He quickly undid her shackles and tossed her into her cell. Piper managed to remain on her feet and she glared at the guard as he walked away.


Piper heard noise from the cell just across the way and she saw another person being similarly thrown into their cell, although much more violently and while bleeding. Worst of all, his inmate was completely disregarding him. Piper thought she had heard someone mention a name earlier… Otto? She’d heard mention of a rebel leader by that name, and if this really was him, then she had to give him props. It took guts to openly oppose the king, not that she was going to cut him any slack. He was a man regardless. His inmate though – he certainly earned the stupidity award. Who ever heard of working out in a prison cell? He must really only care about his own muscle. Of course, Piper was smarter than to say any of this out loud. She didn’t need enemies here.


Piper turned her attention to her cellmate. It was a woman, thankfully. She appeared to be slightly younger than Piper was herself, and Piper didn’t know how to describe how she knew it, but she got the sense that this woman wouldn’t have a problem surviving in here regardless of all the guards or the men. Piper took a seat on her bed and sighed. She very much enjoyed being able to claim that she was good with people, but the ones who were stuck with her in here were a whole different animal. It was going to be a long night.


Mentioned: @Godman873
 
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Sinda


Prison - Lysia


Sinda was free. She felt everything around her, the random splash of water from the larger waves, the wind blowing on her face. Her crew was preparing the cargo for delivery, and Sinda had made sure every precaution was taken in case of a trap.


Of course, none of that actually happened. She was still in her tiny cell with a woman so unstable that they had her chained at almost all times. Part of Sinda wondered what Crazy did to get such treatment, but for the most part she didn't care. All she was really worried about was her crew.


The four of them were with her when they were captured. Brand may not have made it, having taken a bullet to the shoulder, but the Sinda knew the rest weren't so easy to kill. She hoped that they were in another, less high security, prison. After all, they were just employees, and their alibi was always that she hired them legitimately. She took that fall willingly, knowing that their long term loyalty was worth more than a little extra to her bounty.


Unfortunately without any of their strengths to make up for her weaknesses, Sinda couldn't do much. She was too reliant on Crusher in a fight, or Brand during transactions. She had her own abilities and natural charm, but in prison that didn't help. Most, if not all, of the guards were immune to her attempts at distraction, and those who did slip, who gave her hints at all, usually ended up assigned somewhere else. All and all, there was little she could do.


"If I get out of this, the first thing I'm doing is getting a shipment to some rebels, maybe even for half off. They'd die, but it'd be worth it to make the lives of these bastards less convenient." Sinda didn't really care if her cellmate or some guard heard. It wasn't like they would do anything about it. Of course she'd probably have less 'free' time later, but false freedom was equitable to no freedom at all.


Cellmate: @Kharmin
 

Grigori Ivanov

Location: PRISON


Mental state: Could be worse...



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As the 6'4 man sat on the bench of his cell, he couldn't help but recollect on the past few months. Between fighting a loosing battle against his village starving to death, wandering in the wilderness in the general direction of "ehh this is west-ish" Not having any job, and getting caught crossing the Lysian border illegally...well one could say that Grigori wouldn't be amiss in his assessment of his current situation as being, less than spectacular, or perhaps problematic. Maybe even terrible. However...well he had something to be relieved at as he listened to the outside his cell, and heard what sounded to be two of the blmates getting the shit beat out of them. He blew air from his nose and hung his head, "I'm not one of those poor bastards...feel sorry about them..." The fact that he was relived at that, really also bit at him, more so than any wolf or bear did.


He turned his attention to his cellmates. 1. 15 year old, and 2 an old man who seemed to be on his last legs. How he was still up and about at his age, he didn't know. The man probably should be at home with his family. Unless his family had been killed by the king's forces..that was always a distinct possibility. Or hell, maybe the king had inadvertently killed them. When the weather is screwed up because of the guy...one technically could blame him for any act of God. Honestly he'd probably be able to blame him for his village freezing to death save him. Though...that wouldn't do much. Many from Xara could claim that, and the only thing that would do here, would be to earn him a beating.


So he was going to have to do the one thing he could. Wait Patiently. Much like hunting. You got nowhere by charging around like a reckless starving lunatic. Sooner or later an opportunity to do something would present itself. Or it wouldn't, in which case...well he'd be stuck here. waiting till when finally he would be released...or die...sometimes both. The regime was not known for being...benevolent. Kinda was a depressing thought. He needed to get his mind off of it. He looked over again towards the two cell mates, and spoke up. "So... anyone got anything to talk about? Got any stories to tell?"





@The Kaosophile


@DamagedGlasses
 
Christoph Welzin


Lysia Prison Complex


Christoph huffs as he is barked at by a few men, gritting his teeth to avoid saying something unbecoming of a young gentleman at first before he realizes that he is... effectively.... now just another prisoner with these people he did not know at all. Still, as a guard gives him a rough shove towards his cell, he is suddenly thankful for not having said anything. If the treatment to the ignorant commoner who mouthed off across the complex was commonplace and liberally applied. Christoph does growl a bit, however as the guard slams the door shut behind him, before sighing and looking around. The place was everything he had thought a city prison to be, and it stunk terribly. He coughs a bit and uses the sleeve of his cotton shirt to cover his nose and mouth as he turns to look into the cell. Blinking at the other two occupants. One was a rather beautiful lady who looked to be a bit older than himself, and the other a boy who looked around his own age, if not a bit younger. He sighs, running a hand through his raven black hair and then chuckles, finding the irony of the situation almost, but not quite, funny. To him it had seemed that he had simply been where he should not have, WHEN he should not have and now he was in here with people who seemed.... though he could not be sure... as if they deserved it. Still... Christoph chews on the inside of his lip... from what he had heard his parents say about the King perhaps being amongst those deserving of incarceration was not necessarily a BAD thing.


Christoph clears his throat, turning to his cell mates and rubs the back of his head, feeling entirely out of place here. Truly, one could say here about many of the 'places' Christoph was. The city for one. prison for another, Lysia for the third that comes to mind. Still, Christoph was entirely unaware how to deal with a situation like this, and so he simply sits on a mattress of his own. Shifting at it's uncomfortable weight and briefly wondering how in the world people dealt without silk sheets like the ones he had at home. Between the smell of this place, the unforgivably lumpy and misshapen mattress, Christoph doubted he could sleep here, let along even become relaxed enough to rest. Still, it wasn't stone so that was something.... he supposed. Still, he was secretly beyond furious, in reality his uncle had raised him moreso than his own father and now.... tears brim at Christoph's eyes. Now he was gone. Christoph grits his teeth and wipes his eyes, vowing that the so-called King would indeed pay, for every drop of blood of his uncle's with a drop of his own.


First, however, he supposes he will have to escape from this place. If not only for revenge than for the horrid smell and unforgivable lack of silk sheets! Christoph chews on his lip and looks around, thinking that the first thing he should do is get to know his cellmates. Also, more than likely, the ignorant loudmouth who got smacked would like to get out of here too. He turns to the woman first and smiles his practiced, charming social smile and nods to her "Hello milady, I am Christoph, nice to meet you." he looks around, then gives a wry chuckle "I do not suppose you intended to end up in a place like this? Honestly I do not see anyone ending up here on purpose, what with the smell and... company involved." he decides to omit the part about the sheets, tilting his head a bit as he comes to the conclusion that this girl, while attractive, did not... carry herself like someone who would be used to a higher vein of living like himself. Though he does cast a glance to the rather... aggressive guards outside before returning his attention to the woman and offering her a hand to shake. Finding it only fair and polite to mutually share physical contact as well as holding her eyes levelly the entire time with his own dull grey ones, remember what his uncle had taught him about etiquette when around a lady, though he does quickly give the other boy a nod and smile, etiquette demanded nothing less than to recognize his existence


Deciding, as he patiently waits for the woman to shake his hand, to occupy his other cellmate with his voice alone, as to not make the younger boy feel as if Christoph was ignoring him, though the boy did look like one of low-birth, but right now, that did not matter so much. "And yourself? May I know your name? I think it is only polite to share basic information with one-another." Of course normally Christoph had a much more... lax way of speaking, but he thought that if he approached the situation politely he would be more likely to garner a polite response in term. A mutual give and take if you will. So once again he acts as properly as he can to treat these strangers warmly, he'd had to do so on more than one occasion with the family of his once to-be wife, so doing so again was nothing new. In fact he had grown so used to it, and he was driven to escape so much, the facade was flawless, one could really believe he was just naturally this level-headed and polite to.. well... anyone. Not as to say he was not kind or polite, but he was still a young boy, he had his fair share of... childish moments.


@Shura @DamagedGlasses
 
Rusty Knayl


Prison


Gentle drones of mixed tones fell through the air in gentle gusts, only on occasion would one stick out as they may increase the volume of their voice or as they would reach the climax of an adventurous tale, one made of up false fantasies most predictably. Rhythmic pitter patters of soft feet mixed in with the patterned stomps of many others filled the stuffy air of the large room also, as the thick heavy clangs of their given chains held back much of their motions and dragged itself a crossed the littered ground of their current location within the facility meant to decrease supposed acts of treason and tactics which even came near illegal.


As many conversed with one another few remained to themselves, the expressions of these rarely releasing what they may be concocting within their conscious as they may roam the large room or remain by a wall; though it seemed many noticeably strayed away from the cells as if creating a distance between the two would cause it to disappear. As if stepping away would be the same as awaking from a dream, that it'd disappear and never truly return. A single women who casually thought otherwise leaned in the dull eroding section beside her cells gates, arms slithered over one another in front of her chest as she observed the crowd quietly.


For five hours a day their lot of prisoners were capable of roaming this tight claustrophobic area and supposedly socialize with those they didn't sleep in the same cell with. But for twenty hours each week it can be found that this silent women seemingly wastes it away by standing as she did now in the same spot and watch her surroundings. The women wore the same as she did when she entered a month or so before, a dull worn purple tank top, green cargo pants and some provided combat boots. But she was free of everything else, free of any real contents other then the wrappers and lint which clung to the insides of her pockets.


The women found herself commonly comparing anyone she met to canvases, tools, and art. A persons bodies and souls implanted upon whatever image had been crafted; creating an actual visual of who they were without any others bias accounts to tamper with it. Most were lathered over the surface of the fabric with a brush, an easy tool which one could do much with if they have grown used to its styling. As others have been first sketched upon, the grey mineral expressing the texture of the canvas overtly, revealing the unpredictable bumps and edges. But few like the women herself held no brush and weren't capable of holding the pencil to plan out what must be done.


All they could grasp was the air, and without much of a second thought they'd use what they had been given and instead drag their fingers and palms a crossed the canvas. They are incapable of planning out what they wish to do and are oblivious to the rush of things and holding no true hesitance. Though on thing is for certain, painting with ones hands always causes what paint they have used, to latch on their once clean skin. Their is always a mess may it be themselves or the painting, it's unpredictable.


The womens since birth had be plagued with painting with her hands, her fingers dyed with a light skin tone which would reappear atop every surface of her body. The blotches of paint that can not be removed, the only thing which had predicted a canvases out come before.


"Oh how messy I am..." Murmured the bleach blonde, using her voice for the first time that morning and only to truly greet herself. When suddenly the familiar clanging of the gates echoed through out the air in large irritating waves, followed by the clammoring noise of many feet in motion.


Such an occurence had been experienced by the women such an amount of times that she continued to stand unfazed by the event. Until a man took hold of her with an intense grip, a known sensation of the womens blood finding difficulty to flow through its passageways hovering around her upper arm where the man held onto. With this the womens natural grimace contorted her facial features, her eyebrows knitting together with clear agitation towards the man and his companion until she was finally released and shoved into her given cell.


For a moment the sudden impact of the mans harsh hands pushing her forward into her cell caused her balence to falter. Though she regained it after a single step and threw a glare over her shoulder, wishing to express more disrespect to them but instead remained to herself and dragged her body over to her given sleeping quarters. The womens bottom just connecting with the stiff mattress when just as she had been her cell made an unflattering apprarance as well by the rough shove given by the men.


The female before her seemed to truly embrace her feminine qualities, long locks of black hair constantly cascading around her shoulders elegantly. It had been a shock to the patched skin girl when she had come to the realization that her cell mate was of an elder age. But such information had to be recovered from a companion due to the lack of conversation between the two cell mates, it seemed the black haired women held a skill in ignoring others and found most comfort in silence. The bleached haired women would have welcomed the lack of silence herself but after remaining quiet for a fair portion of their day she instead chose to spoeak up.


"What's your name again, chika? I'm Rusty Knayls."





Interacted With: @Karma200
 


Jerom Jaksin​











Jerom had woken up that morning with the taste of the sea on his lips. When he closed his eyes and balled up his fists, he could hear the thrashing of the waves as they smashed against the jagged rocks that made themselves at home along the coast. The sounds of the whistling men of the harbor as they fruitlessly tried to go out and find the fish of the ocean that continued to keep away from their grasps. It had all seemed so real, so life like, even now he could feel the sand beneath his feet, but it was all for naught, as the imagination of a child, even a desperate one, was not strong enough to bring about reality.


Opening his eyes, the act being a sign of surrender for the moment as Jerom felt a dank chill enter his limbs. He wasn't sure if it was the actual state of the room, not that he would be surprised in the slightest, or just his imagination playing tricks on him, but it didn't matter. It actually may have been the chains that had been around his wrists and legs, the dreadful memory of being detained cementing itself on the psyche of the young boy. Ever since he had been sent here, he had never felt quite safe, knowing that while he was here for only being related to someone who did crime, there were others here who were actual delinquents.


Not that he was scared of those guys, of course. If he could look up at a Typhoon and not pass out from sheer fright, well, he could handle a few momma...boys. Momma. Jerom kept back the burning sensation that threatened to set his heart and eyes on fire as he remembered her. The distant smell of cleaning liquid that had began to fade even before her untimely demise. He had seen the signs, all of them, of his mother being taken away by noneother than her own grief. Everytime they shared a moment, trying to fight the grief and mourn for his Papa in the way that he would want, he was able to see the thoughts of surrender she held. Thinking about the final day Jerom had seen her, the last sight of her form before the inevitable, Jerom had hardly even recognized her.


The resemblance was there, her long locks of blonde hair that had faded into a comfortable dried out golden look that he loved and the delicate hands that belay the hardships she had went through, but she had lacked the spark. Her bright blue eyes were dull and the guards barely had to do anything to drag her around. It truly seemed she had given up, the fighting and rebellious spirit she had crafted to fight the grief having gone away along with any of the quirks she had gained in her time as a up and coming bandit leader.


He didn't even know what had come of his village, but the mere thought that they had been punished for what his mother did, or attempted to do, hurt him. He couldn't help, but feel guilty! If he had been there for his mother more often, or had helped her out while she was hurting, not just selfishly tending to his own emotional wounds, she would have been fine! Yet, he had decided to watch from the sidelines, and now, there was nothing to do, but watch from the sidelines, or, behind the iron bars that kept him entrapped. At least he had good company. His cell mate was a kind person, and she was also very pretty. They had talked very little, but he had always tried to be polite. He Papa had said that being polite was a good thing to be when meeting new people, and with the sudden loss of his mother, he hoped to meet new people quickly.


Jerom opened his eyes as heard the telltale sign of the door of his cage opening. He saw another cellmate, a new one, getting pushed into the room with more than a little needed force. He seemed to be taking it in stride though, besides the distaste he had from being roughed housed. He could relate to that, though, as his own first few times of getting "placed" into the jail were quite the experiences. He had had a hard time not attempting to bite someone, but he refrained, not wanting to know what they did to trouble makers. He loved his momma, he really did, but seeing her again in such a way was not on his agenda! Jerom observed the new cellmate as he introduced to them, well, the other cellmate. Jerom blanched a bit as he realized he was being completely ignored at the moment by this Christoph!


Sticking his tongue out at the man, Jerom took pleasure in his simple retaliation, but quickly stopped as the older boy looked towards him and greeted him, asking politely for his name. Jerom was grateful for the comforting and pleasing way he was addressed, but he still felt like an after thought. However, instead of confronting the man, feeling too tired after the time of rest and relaxation they had been given to argue, he replied congenially, "My names Jerom, pal. Jerom Jaksin!" Jerom got a bit childishly excited at the use of his voice, not having had the greatest chances the past few times to make use of it, so the thought of getting in a conversation was exciting!


Cellmates: @Shura @Mad Prince of Sanity
 
Marcus Soltanus

Prison In Lysia


If there was one thing prision gave a man, it was time. How precious the seconds and minutes seemed to pass by. To some, perhaps, it seemed like between the four walls of their cell time moved at a snail's pace, like a slow wave across the ocean. It was hard to tell when one day stopped and the next one began. Such people didn't value the time spent behind bars, fretting over the life they had once left and yearned to return to. Marcus was not such a person. He knew that the time on his life was growing short. He didn't need his scouts or reports to tell him that. Soon, the God King would come for him, to declare judgement upon him.


Of course, it wouldn't be as simple as being led to the gallows or simply shot in the head. No, Ivan was too smart for that. Marcus would be taken away from the prison, perhaps to Aldea, where he would face the God King in person. There, Ivan would gather the entire city to his presence and declare the crimes Marcus had committed to all who listened. It would send a strong message to the other generals that even they were not immune to the wrath or judgement of the God King. Then, at last, the execution, or perhaps Ivan himself, would detach Marcus' head from his body, and the crown would cheer. They wouldn't need to be coaxed into cheers for his execution. It made Marcus slightly sick to his stomach to think that there existed so many that hated him. But at the same time, what did Marcus care? He would be dead by then, cast into eternal damnation for his crimes.


Marcus had accepted, resigned to himself, his fate. He deserved it. Death. Damnation. All of it. Once, in the name of the God King, he put to death an entire village, simply for not holding what Ivan considered "a divine feast" in his name. Marcus could have tried to reason with him, talk him out of killing the entire town. But instead, Marcus held his tongue. He only nodded and carried out the orders. He still remembered the screams of both mother and son, father and daughter, as families were separated to be killed. The grass turned red that day as the flames of the burning town climbed high into the sky, illuminating the night. Over three hundred souls died that day. Closing his eyes, Marcus could picture the agony on the faces of the townsfolk. The contempt they cast his way. The judgement they cast upon his soul. Marcus had struggled to find fault with their judgement. Eventually, he came to realize they were right. And that wasn't even the worse judgement that had been casted upon him...


The train of thought was interrupted by the commotion coming from the area around him. Opening his eyes, Marcus saw the gate sliding open, guards coming to escort the prisoners, including him, to their cells for the evening. When it came time for his turn, Marcus didn't offer any resistance. In some ways, he enjoyed the peacefulness of solitary cell compared to the noise of the Dayroom. It provided him a more private time to reflect, mostly on his wife. And perhaps this night would just be the night that he had the guts to take his own life.


Every night since arriving, Marcus had debated suicide. He knew, if he wanted to do it, he could. It wouldn't be challenging at all. The problem was that despite his belief that he deserved death and damnation, he still was still too much of a coward to end his own life. He could hear Rosalina in his head, mocking him for his cowardice, as she did every night.


And to think, you are the man I once loved. How foolish I was to marry a man who can't even do things himself.


No, Marcus replied, You never loved me. It was all fake. All of it.


You and I both know that's not true. Our love was real. And despite what you might try to convince yourself, there was a part of me that still loved you when I died.


Marcus banished the image of his wife from his mind, stung by her words. She had cut deep. Deeper than Marcus was willing to consider. If what she was saying was true... No, Marcus reassured himself. It had been fake. All of it.


Entering the prison cell, Marcus had to abandon his self-reflectance. There had been a change to the cell. Marcus knew the area like the back of his hand. Granted, it wasn't that large of a room, but the change was obvious. There were sheets on the other two beds in the cell. And sure enough, entering behind him a few moments later were two more people.


Marcus wasn't quite sure to make of his newcomers as he moved slightly off to his side of the cell. He was a bit puzzled that the guards had added two cellmates to his cell. Had they forgotten that Marcus Soltanus was in this cell? He would have figured the God King would have kept him in solitary. Although, Marcus had heard the rumors from the prison. It was hard for even him to ignore them. Freedom fighters, revolutionaries, and political dissenters had been added to prisoners today. Perhaps that was their plan. Place two freedom fighters into the same cell as him, let them find out who he was, and let them take their anger out on Marcus. The guards wouldn't let them kill him. But he also didn't have to look unbeaten for his grand exit either. Although, eyeing the tall blonde man and bald oriental man, Mark wasn't so sure that was their plan. Unless the tall one was a better fighter than at first glance, Marcus bet he could take them both if they tried anything.


For now, Marcus sat down on his bunk, extending his palm face up and gesturing to the other two bunks as theirs. He didn't feel the need to make small talk or introduce himself. Marcus wasn't in the business of making friends in prison. He doubted he would be here much longer anyways. Another day, maybe. Two tops.


Cellmates: @Lord Jaraxxus @Alsmen
 
Feng Chongbai


Prison


One… two… three… four… Feng strained as he pushed himself off of the ground in repetition. It was the only way to get out of it, to ease his mind, to escape the endless gray walls and chains of his confinement. He had to keep doing something until he collapsed from exhaustion. The dank smell of the place, the tightly packed cells, all of it made him feel cramped and filled him with anxiety. He hated feeling cooped up. This sort of experience was not foreign to him, however, as a teenager and young adult he had experienced similar feelings in the caverns with the rest of the monastery as they hid from the authorities.


Since rejoining civilization he had received a fairly good understanding of what happened: some nutjob killed the spirits and claimed the throne of Ixchel. His group had been a religious “cult” of sorts that was persecuted by the new government for continuing to worship the air spirits. They had refused to stop their worship and in response the government had… ugh… he hated reflecting on the past. There was too much hassle that came with worrying over what had already happened. Better to continue focusing on his workout for the time being.


Instead, his thoughts turned toward the present. Since arriving at this prison, he hadn't through much about what he planned on doing with his life. He had come to the town to spread his worship of the air spirits, but was hauled off after being informed that it was illegal to worship the old spirits. That was two weeks ago, and so far, life at the prison had been uneventful. He hadn't gotten to know any of the other prisoners, as he was worried that his constant chatter would drive them away, just like what happened before.


Today, he was informed he would be receiving two new cellmates. He could feel their eyes on his back as he worked out in the corner. Feng hated that feeling. He felt as though he was being silently judged, opinions were being formed, probably not good ones. They would think of him as abnormal, just like his former "friends" at the monastery. As hard as he tried not to stress about others' opinions any more, he could not get his worries out of mind. He decided to stop momentarily to address his new companions and potentially repair any poor opinions that had been formed.


He saw two men sitting on their separate bunks, each at opposite ends of the cell, while Feng's was in the middle. One was a tall, fair-skinned, blond-haired main, who had what Feng would have described as a smug aura about him. He seemed to be content with the silence that made up the current state of the cell, and Feng was disturbed by his apparent judgmental nature. The other one was a shorter, more sullen man. He lay down on his bunk, seeming uninterested with his surroundings. He seemed hollow, as if he had experienced some great tragedy and wished for his life to simply be done with. Feng was just as thrown off by this man's lack of any though as he was with the first's abundance.


"W-well then, since we have all been selected to share a cell, perhaps we can at least introduce ourselves. My name is Feng, how are you guys?" he inquired, standing up. If this was to be his new life, he would rather not spend it in silence.


(@Alsmen @WritingMan)
 
Aisha Corrina


Prison


The sound of other being beaten reached her ears making Aisha tense slightly. The sound of blow striking flesh was not a new one, she had trained for many years in martial arts however there was no honor with in these walls. The prisoners were malnourished already malnourished, at best, making it an unfair fight. These guards hid behind and bars, out numbering prisoners and taking exception to the littlest comment or lingering stare. They were cowards. She doubted many could fight a real fair fight to save their lives and it showed in the way they carried themselves. High and mighty so long as everyone was bound and caged up.


Aisha wasn't one for violence, she had been taught how to fight since very young how ever she was also raised to believe violence was never a first choice. Still, she would make an exception for the kings men if only to give them a taste of their own medicine and show them what a real fight was. She clenched her hands into fists glancing over to the other cells of prisoners just like her. People who more often then naught did not deserve to be in such a place. Even thought they all walked different paths in lives they all shared one thing, the hatred for the oppressive king.


The sound of a door opening caught the teens attention breaking her out of her thoughts. Shifting her amber eyes over to the door she watched as a younger teen was pushed in, a young boy much like her other cellmate. She wasn't sure why she had been paired with two children but she took it as a blessing, if only because adults tended to be more standoffish or angry in general. Even better was the fact that they seemed to be respectful lads, even the new comer.


Sitting up a bit straighter Aisha managed a small smile to the younger teen. "Hello Christoph. It is nice to meet you as well, despite the setting." She glanced around before reaching to out accept and shake his hand "I'm Aisha." She informed with a slight nod. "An no... then again I don't think anyone in these cells really wants to be here... I was traveling and happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time." She shrugged before glancing over to Jerom as he made his introduction as well. When she glanced back to Christoph she noticed one thing that stood out, "Is your arm injured?"





@Mad Prince of Sanity @DamagedGlasses
 
Noam Aschsi


Prison, Lyria


Noam struggled against the guard despite how sore he had become. The shouts from his allied rebels encouraged his repetitive squirming. A grunt was drawn from his mouth when the guard abruptly shoved him against a bruising wall, and he worried about the sudden pressure on his ribs. The following cold as hell feeling of the metal that was placed around his wrists was extremely unwelcome. He called back to his friends as he was brought into a room apart from them.


The guard tugged him into the next room and he was "greeted" by other yelling and shuffling prisoners. There was not much effort put into his restraint, being that he was not strong, and no part of his appearance had this impression; His haggard clothing hung over his small frame only added to his look of defeat. Nevertheless, he continued his attempts to break the guard's hold, not giving up even when a door was opened to a seemingly unoccupied cell. The rough push between his shoulder blades sent him into the cell to land on his ass, which elicited a partial groan.


He attempted to push himself up, hindered by the metal binding his wrists behind his back. He was only able to get onto his knees when the guard walked up behind him and grabbed his right forearm with a punishing grip. Noam could tell the man was smirking at his mumbled curses while he unchained his hands. The guard then quickly stood straight and kicked him onto his side before walking out of the cell. The door was surprisingly silent, but Noam barely noticed it being quietly locked. Instead he focusing on the fierce pain in his side and letting out further curses. He shifted onto his back and softly running a few fingers over his bruised wrists.
 
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Auvan Kyvean


Prison


Auvan's luck and wits had finally run out. Or at least that's what was going through his head for the umpteenth time as he was returned to his cell. It was an unwise move that he made, trying to use his skills; abuse them really, and to mention the king as well. It was not only unwise, but a major and most likely lethal mistake. Auvan had never been in any real danger in his life, but now that he was in a prison, buried emotions and memories seeped under the surface of Auvan's psyche, but were hidden behind Auvan's always calm and almost never changing expression.


Within the cell, Auvan didn't do much, he simply sat and observed the situation, his head unkempt due to his missing hat. The mindless and emotionless grey of the prison was depressing to Auvan, but nonetheless he kept a smug aura about him as usual. Auvan had noticed that he had two cellmates, one rather gruff looking man, and another more distinct man, one with the prose and appearance of a monk or acolyte. This preconception was broken the second he spoke. 'My name is Feng. How are you guys?' The question rung in Auvan's head. Auvan was puzzled with the spry man's question. They were in a prison; and as far as Auvan knew there was only a certain set of emotions that one in prison would feel. Regret. Harrow. Anger. Vengeance. Auvan felt none of these, but he was unsure of the state of the other prisoners, within his cell, and in the entire prison.


His questions were answered with an abrupt end to the sterile and depressing sounds of metal bars and doors locking. Two words to answer a set of questions. 'Fuck you.'


"Auvan. Auvan Kyvean." Auvan replied to Feng as he stood and walked to the bars and peered out to find the source of the cry. The owner of the yell was a young man, rolling on the ground with blood streaming from his forehead. Auvan sighed a bit, shook his head and returned to his bunk and sat. He then continued to answer Feng's question. "As for how I am, I have a better question." He started as he turned his head to look at him. "Why are you here if you're so lively? You seem harmless."


Mentioned: @Tree


Questioned: @Lord Jaraxxus / @WritingMan
 

Mayumi Advally

Prision
​



How had she ended up here? In a cell for days in a place that made her feel as if it was possibly going to close in on her, it was a good thing her fear was of heights and not small rooms. She'd have gone crazy if it was. The woman who called herself Mayumi tried to recall what had happened and truthfully she didn't really think it mattered. Hm... it had been about a month after Mayumi has left her village in Ari. Ah, now she remembered clearly. Mayumi had been in the middle of hunting a rabbit somewhere in... Zeev? It might've been Zeev. She'd been hunting when she'd seen the knights of the King walking down a path with horses and a thin child with his arms tied behind his back. It angered Mayumi but she hid herself perfectly within the shade of the trees. Stay out of it. If the woman had just stayed out of all of it, she'd be free and continuing her adventure. No, she just had to jump from her spot with her sword out and swinging. She'd managed to cut two men down but when she had helped untie the boy, another got the best of her. Now? Now she was paying the price for saving someone. Again. Last time she had barely managed to escape wild dogs after saving a man who had been traveling, he never even thanked her now that it came to mind... how rude.


Helping others never did any good for Mayumi and her sitting here in prison was proof of it. Now all that was left was to die and accept her fate... but what if she didn't want that? What if May wanted to live and find a way to be free? To be herself and not be questioned on whether or not she was a threat to the throne, just a woman of her tribe or a warrior. A warrior, the word still made her swell with pride. Even while sitting in this dark and depressing place. Dreams... these were just dreams that she needed to kill quickly. It did nothing to help with reality and her being in this place was just a cold slap in the face with exactly that.


When the guard shoved her inside of the cell she'd been forced to become accustomed to, Mayumi didn't say anything. Just held back her anger and walked to her little bed. Sitting down May leaned against the wall, looking unblinking out the cell with her dark green eyes that were seemed to look as if it had a sheet of glass wrapped around them. Her long black hair fell, the previous braid it had been in had obviously became undone because of the lack of a bow to hold it. Getting a piece of string from her blanket wouldn't be hard. Lifting a hand she ran it through her hair, throwing it out of her way. Ugh, man what she wouldn't give for a bath. The stench in the entire prison was disgusting; Mayumi wasn't sure if it was from the prisoners, just the building itself or the guards. They always tended to smell like sweat, not that it was surprising seeing as how they had on armor. Plus, none of them had manners. Always pushing the prisoners around and it was pretty irritating but there was nothing May could do in this position. It was bad enough having to put up with the itchy rags she had on, it was loose on her frame and would brush against her skin. Completely uncomfortable.


"What's your name again, chika? I'm Rusty Knayls."


Mayumi wasn't sure why the woman was talking to her, after days of silence she now wanted to break it? It was weird talking to someone because since she ran away from Ari, using her voice wasn't all that necessary. Besides, what the hell was "chika" supposed to mean? Her people in Ari never used that sort of language before so May just ignored it and replayed the woman's words... without that strange one in it.


"Mayumi Advally... how'd you get those marks?" The blunt words slipped from May's lips but it was a question to something she was a bit curious about now that she looked at her. When Mayumi had first seen the woman named Rusty, what had amazed her was the white hair. It wasn't something she'd ever seen in Ari... she thought it to be a beautiful and unique feature. The marks on her skin didn't bother May even though they caught her attention, they'd soon loose her interest when or if she got her answer.


Interacted with: @HighnessesReign
 
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Luhan Taylor~


Prison


The young man sat there, slumped against the corner, the stone wall digging into his back. A gust of wind blew in, carrying the scents of the outside world, away from the dank, dark place the prison was. He had been there for at the very least a year, it was hard to keep track of time as the prison was dark during the day and dark during the night. There were no windows, and the walls were too thick, the only light you would be able to witness would be the cracks at the corners or the ends of the walls, which were often non-existent. Staring down at the wall, Luhan was motionless as he heard the sound of flesh being hit, the dull thwacking noises resounding from inside the closed walls. Someone was being beaten again, and he wondered what the poor person had done to deserve this treatment.


Leaning heavily against the walls of the cell, eyes blank. They had lost their bright sparkle years ago, after his sister had passed. Sitting in the pitch black, Luhan ran his long fingers up and down the worn walls. It would be nice to hear someone else talk for once, other than him and his cell mate.


Settling down into his usual routine, he began counting sheep in his head, boredom raging through each number, yet ther was absolutely nothing he could do. Ever possibility of entertainment had been taken away, leaving the cell barren except for a toilet, two cots, and the pitch black to accompany it. Running a hand through his hair, he worked at the notes, that seemingly reincarnated from last night, attempting to dust the dirt and debris off his shift and face, to no avail. He had lost all hope, figuring that he would never be able to let out. Standing up on his wobbly legs, wasted and flimsy muscles crying out. Hobbling to the bed, he nearly laughed at his physical state. No one would ever believe he had ever been able to wield a sword. His body ached, mentally and physically, missing everything he had been able to do. Wallowing in his self pity, he opened his mouth, singing softly, a small rebellion. Scratchy at first, his voice rose, softly, as the lyrics swelled as they left his mouth. Tears dripped down his face, leaving little trails of water on his cheeks. It had been a long time since he had last sang anything.


((Sorry about the length. I have a fencing tournament later, meaning I won't be able to update until extremely late. This is the best thing I can come up with now, I'm really sorry. Next post will be longer, I promise.))


Cellmate: @IantoP
 
Jett Lawless


Lysia Prison


Enter the luxurious life of the one and only Jett Lawless. Always very intimate with his words, he staved off the harsh feelings that one would normally become acquainted to when they were locked up for years and forgotten about, though not so much from the guards. Fuck em. Such a petty crime(at least to him) that had caused him to be in this mess. From filthy rich to nothing in a matter of mere moments. After awhile he didn't mind though. He was still able to swindle his way around, getting an abundance of cool shit. Mostly drugs and cigarettes though. Even with the tight knit security watching their every move, Jett had his ways to get what he wanted. Some of the lesser willed guards were mesmerized by his enticing words, which cut him a tiny smidgeon of slack.


The day room was pretty much the same as always. He was chained to his own table, the guards didn't want him interacting with the others, though it happened anyway. Hazel hues scanned the area, his eyes bouncing between the other prisoners and the guards. His hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a clump of toilet paper. He then moved his hand to the table and lowered his head, using his nose to move the folds of the clumped up tissue, revealing a small bit of cocaine. He pressed his nose into the powder, inhaling sharply through his nose. His head jolted backwards, his nose covered in the white substance.


“WHOOOO! GOOD MORNING LYSIA!” He yelled, standing up as he threw his hands into the air. By this time the guards had already began undoing the chains and hauling the prisoners back to their cells. As the guard approached him, he pointed to the toilet paper on the table. “You know what that shit is right? It's cocaine, man. I'll tell ya what. You can have the rest of that. I mean, just look at ya.” He said, turning to face the rather round guard. “The stuff makes you not eat, which we all know you could do without for a few days.”


The guard looked down at the mess of tissue and drugs, then back towards Jett. The guard then grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head back while kicking out his legs, making sure to guide Jett's head towards the table, letting his forehead smash into it. A sharp grunt of pain escaped his lips. “Well...okay maybe you're not into it today, maybe nex-” He couldn't finish his sentence because the fat guard had already thrown him into the next table. The back of Jett's knees crashed into the bench of the table, causing him to buckle over backwards, falling yet again to smash his head on the ground. “That's...gonna leave a mark..” He winced, the guard grabbed him by the neck, dragging him across the ground. He made sure to drag the man into a few more tables before they left the room. Once they got to the cell, the guard lifted him up. “Hey man, thanks for dragging me. My legs hurt really bad for some reason and I didn't feel like walking.” Jett said, flashing a big smile to the guard.


“No one cares for your shit.” The guards gruff voice boomed. Then he kicked him in the stomach, pushing him into the cell. He lifted him up one last time, as another guard came in, pulling out his gun. “Every time you guys do this I feel like I'm being robbed. Which is something I'm totally not okay with.” Another sentence came from his lips as the fat guard undid his chain. They did the same to his cell mate, his old buddy Mr I can't talk worth shit. Jett took it upon himself to be his interpreter, because no one else could understand what he said, and Jett felt he knew him the most. Once they were both unchained, the guards left and locked their cell.


“Today wasn't that bad, was it buddy?” He brought his hand to the back of his head, wincing. He pulled his hand to the front of his face. “Oh, lookie here.” He said, holding his bloody fingers out to his cellmate. “They made me bleed, again. I just love this place. It's like BDSM. Have you ever tried that? Let me tell you what, some bitches on the outside are crazy.” He slumped onto his bed, letting out a sigh.


A while later he heard the rattling of a guard's nightstick against the cell door, he turned his head over to Cu, who looked like he was about to kill someone. “Hey big fella, calm down. You're gonna get my ass beat if you keep it up.” That's when a guard decided to speak up, looking into their cell. “Ay, you know he can't talk, but I can tell you what he's saying.” Jett said, standing up from his bed. “He's saying that once he gets out of here he's going fuck your wife with your nightstick. Or...was that me that said it earlier? Oh well.” He shrugged his shoulders, though he backed up once the guard had opened the door. He couldn't help but smile once Cu had spit blood in his face, which caused him to kneel over and laugh. “Ooooh! He got you son! You might want to get a penicillin shot after that, who knows what kinda shit my friend has.”


That's when the guard started to punch Cu in the stomach. A stoic look washed over Jett's face. Of course they would beat him up. While the guard was having his way with Cu, Jett slowly tiptoed behind the guard. “Uhm. Excuse me” He said, clearing his throat as he tapped on the guards back. Once the guard didn't pay any attention to him, he leaned over,his lips close to the guards ear. “HEY, EXCUSE ME.” He yelled at the top of his lungs. He was sure that everyone in the area could have heard him. The guard jerked his head to the side, moving his hand from Cu to his ear.


“Hi. I'm Jett Lawless. You may know me as the loudmouth prisoner, which is true. I just wanted to say you have a nice set of armor.” He said, flashing the guard two thumbs up. The guard responded by punching him in the face, busting open Jett's lip, causing him to stagger back and trip over his bed. “See if I ever give you a compliment again.” He groaned. The beatings were worth any chance to fuck with the guards.


@Rifleman
 
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Tyshiro Lascar


Prison - Lysia


Shiro's burning glare of barely concealed temper and restlessness swept over the guards as her fingernails drummed a slow, steady pattern onto the table she was leaning on, her head resting on her hand. She hadn't been here long, but already the oppressive atmosphere of this hell-hole was getting to her. It was suffocating. Her body was tense as a spring, sparking with a restless energy. She needed to run. To breathe fresh air. To be free of these shackles. Or, she was afraid that she would do something to one of the guards that might scar some of the younger inmates.


She didn't regret standing up to the soldiers at the gate that day, lapdogs of that mere excuse for a king, even if it did land her in prison. Her pride wouldn't allow it. And she certainly believed that she had the moral advantage from that scuffle; she had, in the end, been heavily outnumbered, not to mention they took her down from behind. She had woken with a splitting headache and ugly brushing all up her ribs. Yet, at least she had actually woken up in the first place.


Her chain jingled merrily as she shifted herself slightly, noting that free time appeared to be up, judging by the others being escorted to their respective cells. She flinched slightly (but would never admit it) as the guard that had chosen to take her back to her cell placed a hand on her shoulder. Not a gentle reminder that time was up, more like an iron, bone-crushing grip only just short of dislocating her bones.


"Up, scum!" he barked. Shiro bristled. She rose, but certainly took her time about it, leisurely stretching her legs out as she got up. Angered, he dragged her from the table and roughly unlocked the chain. She yawned in an highly exaggerated manner as she gave him a glare, purposefully making it difficult for him. Reckless, yet somewhat satisfying.


He growled, backhanding her forcefully across the face. Her head whipped to the side, dizzy black dots flying across her vision. A small, brilliant red cut opened up along her cheekbone.


"You will do as you're told!" he bellowed, furious at her insolence.


"You.. You little shit!" Shiro yelled right back at him, instinctively reaching up to the wound as she recovered her balance, catching herself on the table. His eyes widened, nostrils flaring. His blow this time sent her to the floor, skidding a little. He added a kick or three to her ribs for good measure, earning a small whimper as his boot made contact with her already sensitive flesh. Great. Now my bruises will have bruises.


"Worthless trash like you doesn't speak to me in that manner, understood?" he growled, lifting her by the back of her collar. She snarled in his direction, not giving him the satisfaction of being bullied into agreeing with him. Fed up with her already, he stood and began practically dragging her across the floor to the shared cell. She stumbled and tripped, trying to get to her feet while keeping up with his relentless pace, all the while yelling and spewing curses that would make a weathered sailor cringe. She finally succeeded just as they reached the cell, only to immediately lose it again as he tossed her in. She managed to catch herself on all fours, saving herself from a very unladylike faceplant on the stone floor. Yet being 'ladylike' was the very least of her worries at the moment.


She got up, letting out a sigh as she brushed herself off like nothing had happened, before wiping the small trickle of blood away. She winced as she moved her arms, and slowly peeled the side of her shirt up to check the damage. Her blue and yellow mottled flesh had the new company of several angry red marks, clear imprints from his boot. She huffed, dropping the material, before flopping down face-first onto her bed. She immediately regretted doing so, only just reminded of how hard the beds were.


Only then did she start to take notice of her cell mate; she gave her a curious glance out of the corner of her eye, half of her face squished onto the mattress. She looked like the pretty, educated lady that belonged in an upper-class estate, not a prison. She immediately was curious; how the hell did she end up here in the first place?


Shiro rolled onto her back, cringing again as her weight transferred, if only briefly, over her sides.


"...I know what you're thinking. This place is hell." she said, speaking to the other woman. "How did you even get here? You don't exactly look like someone who belongs in prison."


She paused, glancing back over to this girl with brown hair and blue eyes with a wry smile.


"Well, would you look at that. I forgot to tell you my name. I'm Tyshiro Lascar, but call me Shiro."


Mentioned/Interacted with: @Hales
 
Rusty Knayls


Prison


Thin clumps of Rustys bangs gradually slipped in front of her yellow gaze at a gentle pace, the curtain of hair hiding the bleached skin which decorated the right section of her face and enveloped the edges of her artificial eye crafted by her own fathers aging hands.


As this occurred for a moment the women remained passive to its interruption, the rhythmic bouncing of her left knee all that stole away her energy at that moment. Until in a pungent fluid motion she rose a tired hand and flicked the given section away from her expression, the sudden movement causing her hairs staggered ends to skim her caramel shoulders gracefully, giving off the same sensation as skimming fingertips hovering over the surface of her skin. The small tickle causing Rusty to raise a blotchy hand and drag it around the edges of her collar bone and the tops of her shoulders before setting each of her elbows atop her knee caps as she leant forward casually as she awaited a response from her cell mate.


Many of those within the prisons walls just as herself took on the stereotypical appearance of a criminal, Rustys natural grimace giving enough evidence to not trust her and send her to their current facility as a 'precaution'. But the one before her as well as a few others rather then seeming as those within Rustys category, gave off an aura of innocence and looked far from someone who would partake in a fight. But Rusty predictably was being predjudice and basing others off of her own bias accounts of other individuals who held the same exterior persona as those she had witnessed from her many travels through out their peculiar lands.


Rustys conscious had nearly returned to a nostalgic section of her brain which produced emotions of pure melancholy and judgement when the women before her spoke up, introducing her title before questioning Rustys patches of seemingly dead skin as many would.


Mayumi Advally, it was an name of obvious elegance that few may mistake for pretension, one completely un-alike to Rustys who had been given a shortened version of her own fathers name. But Mayumi, such a title fitted the women before her well Stitch thought with integrity, her eyes befalling her cell mates own a moment before speaking up herself.


"Born with 'em," she spoke truthfully in a bored tone as she rose her arms up above her head and gripped her left arms elbow loosely as she began to stretch subconsciously just as she would right before a quick jog to warm her body up. Though she held no intention of attempting to do so in ther small given cell. "Unless you want me to come up with a more exciting reason, then give me a minute and I'll say something as fake as some of the lies the other prisoners say." Rusty groaned, tugging her elbow towards the right as she leaned her upper body in the same direction. The feeling of her muscles dragging apart burning her left side with pleasure as she continued to erode her apparent stiffness.


"Do you do okay in here? Being such a looker and everything, Bonita? I imagine some of the creeps out there give you trouble." Patches replied blunty and without putting much thought into her words as she had begun rolling out her neck at a slow pace, leaning back on the palms of her hands as she did so.


Interacted With: @Karma200
 

Casey Ward

Location: PRISON


Mental state: Potateh!
​



"Okay, thanks, mister" Casey chirped.


"Don't mention it... No, seriously, pretend none of this happened," The guard said, lowering his voice.


"I like to pretend!" Casey replied.


"Yeah, I'm sure you do. This is your cell, stay in it. Got it?"


Casey nodded, quietly taking in the surroundings. The dark, solid rods that made up the cell's bars, the kindly looking old man and strapping young lad that already inhabited the cell. There was a dull scent of coffee from the guards, subdued by the human musk of inadequately washed bodies, the blood of the two gentlemen currently being beaten senseless in another room, and the salty twinge of tears. Casey heard some hushed conversations, but didn't pay any mind, it would be rude to invade someone's... privacy...


Casey shook her head clear of the well of thoughts that followed, and focused on her cell mates. The old man had a raspy breathing that sounded like an old cat repeatedly yakking up a hairball, his skin was wrinkled enough to read as a fingerprint, and his teeth were either fake or extremely well kept for someone of his age. His eyes, however, had a steely sparkle that said he had a few more good seconds left in him.


The younger one, despite the poor heating of the Lysian prison, appeared to be uncomfortably warm, suggesting he came from somewhere up north, probably Tyr, or Hazari. Casey wasn't used to smelling anything but drugs or potato, so the crisp scent of alpine that wafted from the young man was refreshing and energizing. Casey felt magnetized to him like locusts to potatoes. He said some words that Casey didn't catch, and as she tuned in, Casey heard "...any stories to tell?"


"Ooh! Ooh! I have a story!" Casey Eagerly chimed in, "One time at school these guys said I was cute so they wanted me to join a club and I went with them out behind the gym and they took my clothes off but then they ran away for some reason then a teacher came by and asked me why I was naked and I told her about the guys that were there and then she took me to the school counselor and he said I shouldn't make up people that weren't there and that people get scared when I do that and I said okay and then when I went back to class those boys were there and they got all red and two started laughing at the other and the teacher said for them to be quiet and I thought 'wait if they aren't real how does the teacher see them?' and it turns out they were real and I told the counselor that they were real and in my class and he got all quiet and sent me home and when I went back to school the boys were gone and I haven't seen them since so maybe they weren't real after all wouldn't that be weird?"





@DamagedGlasses


@Der Kojote
 
It didn't take long one of the cellmates, the Oriental one, to start running his mouth. Why couldn't he just get a mute cellmate? That would be perfect for Marcus, sitting in the silence. There were always those that hated silence. Marcus had learned this long ago. It bothered them. It bothered them so much that they would have to talk or make noise to interrupt the silence. Such behavior perturbed Marcus. He had a fine appreciation for the beauty of silence. In silence, there was nothing, is nothing. There was no screams across the field as commanders yelled out orders, no sounds of guns and bullets whizzing all around, and no death. There is nothing in silence, save for a man and his thoughts. And when a man in a place such as a prison, waiting to die, he and his thoughts are all that he has left.


Marcus held himself in reserve as the other man, tall and lean, stood and walked towards the prison bars, stating his name: Auvan Kyvean. It wasn't a name that held any relocation to Marcus, not that he was surprised that was the case. Unless the man had served in the God King's Army, was a politician, or a revolutionary leader, Marcus wouldn't know him. This man seemed much more controlled than Feng. There was decided deliberateness to his movements as if each one had been precalculated before he made it. Marcus didn't know anything about the man, but just by watching his range of motion and speech, Marcus knew that this man was an intellectual.


As Auvan asked a question to Feng, Marcus decided he might as well get his part out of the way. He still would have preferred silence, but perhaps speaking would get them both to remain silent. Clearing his throat loudly at the end of Auvan's question, he made it perfectly clear to both of them that he was about to speak.


But what was he going to say to them? That was the dilemma Marcus faced. Did he tell them a fake name? It would certainly avoid any confrontations regarding who he was for right now, but it still left the door open for confrontations later on. After all, it wouldn't be hard to get a guard and tell a prisoner who he was, especially if they thought it would result in him being worse off. On the other hand, did he need to add another burden to his soul? Had he not been lied to and lied enough over the years? But what was one more small lie to strangers he would never see again? No. He didn't need to add another burden, not now. And by telling them his name now, he would be prepared for anything if they made a sudden move.


Looking over at Fang, Marcus began to speak. "You asked me who I was. You may shortly realize that you wish you had not." Marcus rose to his feet, putting his back to him, as he positioned himself towards the open area near the prison bars. The movement was two fold. Marcus liked to move while talking, and the open area provided him with more room to work with if a situation quickly arose. Marcus turned back around to the two men, looking at them both while speaking. "I am Marcus Soltanus."


Marcus stopped there, wanting to see what weight, if any his name carried. If they did not recognize his name, perhaps it was for the best. He could live out his final days in relative peace. If they did recognize his name though, Marcus was ready for that.


@Lord Jaraxxus @Alsmen
 
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Piper Alyss


Piper couldn’t help but grin slightly as her cellmate flopped face first onto the bed. Piper had caught a glimpse of the bruises along her side and couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. Then again, Piper had scars as well - scars that could probably match anyone else’s here - she just didn’t show them. As her cellmate rolled over, Piper cringed at the mere thought of the pain that would’ve caused. It was then that her cellmate seemed to notice her. “... I know what you’re thinking. This place is hell.”


Piper’s grin widened. It sure is. The sounds around her merely confirmed it. She could hear the sound of nightsticks smacking flesh as prisoners struggled futilely. She heard people cussing at the guards and the guards’ not too pleasant responses. She’d had her own encounter with the guard which, in reality hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. Then Piper glanced down at her wrists, where the guard hadn’t been too kind with the tightness of his grip; she was gaining bruises of her own. It really was like a living hell… Her cellmate’s continued words interrupted her thoughts. “How did you even get here? You don’t exactly look like someone who belongs in prison.”


No, no I don’t, was Piper’s first thought. Even though the people in charge had taken away her fancy dress, her poise still labeled her as a lady. Piper’s mouth opened, starting to form words, when her cellmate spoke yet again. "Well, would you look at that. I forgot to tell you my name. I'm Tyshiro Lascar, but call me Shiro."


Piper was caught off guard by that. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be nearly so friendly and she was fairly certain her face confirmed it. Piper had thought maybe she might get a first name if she was lucky - maybe. “I’m Piper. Piper Alyss No…” Piper caught herself. She had been about to introduce herself as Piper Alyss Noname - it had been what her grandparents had called her since she really had no right to claim any last name - but this didn’t seem like the right situation to use that, and Piper really didn’t want to play twenty questions. “I’m Piper Alyss.” She stated it with so much certainty that it was the truth that she almost believed it herself. “I learned to defend myself when I was young - I never thought it would cause any problems. Just a few days ago though, I got caught practicing in the woods and the king’s men jumped right to the conclusion that it meant I was a rebel.” Piper decided that that was enough of the truth to maintain civility.


It wasn’t a lie. It just lacked the detail that would have made it the full truth. Piper glanced at the floor quickly, still unsure of whether or not that was really enough. Then she nodded her head briskly and looked back to Shiro. “So what’s your story? You don’t look like someone from my line of life so you must have something more interesting…?”


@Flawless
 
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