[spoiler]Double post. Open to all. I would heavily prefer that you only reply to one of these interactions. Otherwise, it'll get complicated. Enjoy![/spoiler] [u]The Streets of Dojoville, 9:54 AM[/u] "-So he spoke, and so he spoke- That lord o' Castamere-! But now the reins weep o'er his hall- With no one there to hear! Yes, now the reins weep o'er his hall- And not a soul to hear!" [i]Ardain Storm laughed in a gravely, jesting tone, the partially drunk man stalking the streets of Dojoville early in the morning, with the citizens of the local town merely studying him with an odd curiosity. For he was easily a more.. interesting sight, in the eyes of one who was used to the futurism that plagued the Dojo.[/i] [i]When taking a closer view, one could point out quite a few of the drunken man's details: he was shorter than most, at five feet and eight inches tall, albeit just missing the average height. He was adorned in the dirty yellow and gunmetal garb of what may have been a knight of old, tattered at the hems whilst plates of hardened steel would lay underneath the cloth, a thick backpack tightly bounded to his shoulders.[/i] [i]Kept at his side, was a simplistic long sword, wrapped within a deep leather sheath, albeit the handle was a lighter leather, complemented with a simple teardrop pommel. Such simplicity and averageness almost gave off a certain beauty to it, really. The handle of a dagger would escape the pocket of his cloth, albeit the weapon was likely just as simplistic as the sword was.[/i] [i]The drunken Ardain's face was coated by a thick, deep black beard, in contrast to his sandy blonde ponytail, his skin parched with scratches and dirt. A joyful grin darted his face, where it wasn't hidden by patches of hair, stormy grey mixed with light blue eyes drunkly looming over Dojoville's inhabitants-[/i] *[b]POW![/b]* "This'll be an easy pick." [i]Ardain found himself stumbling over to the side before he was pressed to a concrete wall by a female, one much taller and uglier than he could try to be, with tattoos engraved into her face. Behind her, stood three more gang members: two males, one robot, whom spoke, with all four looming over him. Funnily enough, and luckily for Ardain.. none had a firearm.[/i] [i]In reaction, he drew his dagger and savagely rammed it through the woman's neck, forcing her dying body off as he ripped the knife from her head. Sheathing the knife, Ardain would let out an enthusiastic[/i] "Woo!" [i]before drawing the longsword: the blade was simple, yet efficient, being double-edged and suited for both one-handed and two-handed performance. Even as he was sicker than a mule, Ardain at least stood, before pressing the sword against his hand.[/i] [i]With that, the blade cut open his right hand, as he was a left handed fighter, the remaining three fingers and palm were throbbing with pain as his own blood dripped upon his iron blade. Then, the blade exploded in a flurry of orange flame, fire kindling around the edges as he raised it up with both hands. The remaining three gang members stepped back, as the drunken man slowly approach, a stumble within each step.[/i] "C'mon, you ugly twаts!" [i]And with that, Ardain would laugh - someone would surely notice, wouldn't they?[/i] --------------------------------- [u]Tatakoi Plains, 12:54 PM[/u] [i]Gideon felt the very presence of death as he meditated.[/i] [i]A chilling breeze.. a snowflake, was that it? He could hear the spirits., they were begging for him to departure whenever he could, for something was coming. Something that even they did not understand, nor did they wish for him to encounter. It disturbed him, really.. it was the beginning of fall, and yet, as he opened his eyes..[/i] [i]Snow.[/i] [i]The entirety of the plains would be coated with a thick blanket of it all, freezing the elvish wizard's bones to the core. Flakes of frost would coat his arms and hooded head, the monk's staff beginning to freeze as he took it in hand. He attempted to commune with the spirits, yet they were.. gone. As if they had retreated, at last, to whatever abode they dwelled within.[/i] [i]As he squinted his eyes, Gideon could make out.. a figure, feminine in nature, yet clad within.. ice. It was as if the being was bounded entirely within ice, glimmering like a precious jewel, yet scarred from wear and combat. They were at least six feet tall, towering over Gideon, really. And in their hands was a massive, frozen javelin, wrapped with tight black and grey leather. The figurine raised their hand-[/i] [i]Before being met with a boulder head-on, crashing into their body and sending them flying.[/i] "You would dare to bring your deathly presence here, demon?" [i]Gideon would snarl with a certain hatred, studying the frozen creature as it rose from the earth, muffed groans escaping the visor of their helmet before they found their eyes upon Gideon. From there, they brought their hand back, muttering[/i] "[b]Nathrë[/b]". [i]A sudden spike of ice embedded itself within Gideon's right shoulder, resulting in him yelling in sudden pain. The spike drove right through him, spinning off into the distance and taking out a chunk of his arm. Gideon was forced to the ground as the wound was frozen, frostbite seeping through his arm and chest already. He rose up, breathing heavily as he aimed his staff at the approaching figure.[/i] [i]To say the least.. someone best intervene soon.[/i]