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Player Name: Prince/Dave
Are you new?: Y
Character Name: Kaladin Stormblessed
Character Fandom: Stormlight Archives

[Action:

Kaladin’s training kicks in fast, and he’s out of the loose flowing white clothes in seconds, reaching for his weathered blue uniform - the fabric thick but well used, a little rough but familliar between his fingers. Thats when he feels them first - the wings, sprouting from his back, feathered like the strange chicken’s from Shinovar, and completely alien. Also, completely attached to his back. He’d grasped at them a few times, trying to make sense of it, but eventually left them alone - it hurts when he tugged on the feathers, but he seemed to have some control of them. He shifts on his uniform, glad that they nestle (albeit slightly uncomfortably) against his shoulder blades. At least they were out of sight. Nothing could be done for the way they itch, just slightly though. He straightens the silver buttons of his uniform a single time, tan fingers tracing the lines one final time. His trusty spear is also suspiciously missing, and he is in the middle of a forest. Both of these things are deeply unsettling. Especially seeing as the foliage doesn’t recoil from his touch - or, indeed, from any pressure at all. It just sits there, still, in all its leafy glory, and the ground isn’t hard stone like in Roshar - on the contrary, its soft like sand but denser. He places a hand against the bark of a tree, and takes in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. There is a faint breeze that seems to whistle past one ear, then he sees something that resembles tousled leaves. From it, Syl appears. She glows with a faint blue light, and lands gently on his shoulder, the short gust of wind subsiding as she crumples up like a delicate paperdoll. She takes the form of a young woman only a few centimetres in height, with a skirt that hits about her knees, and seems to sway in a breeze that isn’t quite there. She hunkers down quietly, and leans against the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t ask where her usual cheer has gone - the dissonance between this… place and their own world is explanation enough. But he is glad for her company.]

[Accidental Video:]

What is this thing? [Kaladin picks up the journal, flicking open a page. Its set up strangely, thats for sure. Also, as he speaks, the words seem to be appearing on the page - yes, words that he can actually read. He makes a startled noise, narrowing brown eyes and raising a brow and pulling an incredulous face at the book between his hands. Glyphs, sure, he had been proficient at - but words? Reading? That was a women's art. He had a feeling it had something to do with the feathery protrusions on his back. After all, they were the most alien addition on top of the list of already obscure experiences. He decides continuing the conversation can't hurt his situation.]

If anyone is here.. or can explain anything about this place, now would be the time to show yourself!

[ He sort of raises his voice at the last part, but it just seems to echo through what seems to be the vast expanse of forest. No use for it then - he starts up walking. He has the feeling he's got a long way to go before he gets an explanation for any of this. ]

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[ He spins to the source of the sound with a practise born of training - years spent expecting the sudden ring of combat bells, and nights laying awake expecting attack would do that to a man. Syl huddles herself a little closer to his collar, but blinks owlishly. She is invisible to most, but a scarce few - those whom she chooses to show herself to, or those with a specific sight for spirits who would otherwise remain unseen. Kaladin thinks little of it, and wishes he had his spear. Anything between himself and this stranger, and that unsettling mask of his. That sort of get-up isn't the kind any normal stranger would wear. It reeks of disguise, and the subtle grace with which the man moves hints at the art of being unseen.

This is no ordinary stranger.]

Yes.

[ Kaladin barks the short reply, lowering his stance slightly and grounding himself. He sizes himself up against his opponent even from the distance, and takes a few steps forward - carefully constructed to be confident. He gropes about in the pocket of his uniform for his knife, and finds it unsurprisingly missing. Whoever had knocked him out and taken him here had done a thorough clean out of his inventory - Storm them, whoever they were. ]

So. Are you an assassin of some kind? From the look of your outfit, I can only think that your profession. That, or a very grim looking court Wit.

[ He wasn't even sure if the man would understand the reference - while his uniform seemed disarmingly similar to the one he wore, the subtle nuances were fairly pronounced. The King's new Wit ending up here, in the middle of this strange place with no one to bother but Kaladin himself would be a cruel and unsurprisingly humourless turn of events. Things involving Wit's often were.]

[ A fighter then, and Corvo's posture shifts to match. His weight rolling forward onto the balls of his feet and curses as his hand reaches for missing blades.

His powers would do in a pinch, though he would ever prefer of the blade across skin, if it came to that. There was more surety to that action than almost anything else to define life by. ( the thump, thump, thump of the heart in his pocket could attest to that. )

The word of assassin comes forth from the other man -- and more than anything else, that tells the truth of him. Truth of him too, and he was thankful for the mask. For the sneer that came with hearing himself called the same as the man that had made him no more than shell and bone and death. ]

Some call me that. [ and none that he cared for the opinion of. Only that if it meant he held their fear in a skulls cool regard, and their suffering for it, then so be it. Let them call him assassin. ] And you? A guard?

[ a slight perhaps, to call a man so similarly dressed, lower than he might be. But he cared little for ceremony these days, and far more brazen words had passed his lips of late. ]

Captain of the King's guard, actually.

[ He retorts, though these is little pride to his voice. He might guard the king, but it was not the king he was loyal to. But he had dealt with assassin's before - and he had killed men who seemed more dangerous than this. The man approaches with no shardplate or blade, and whether it is because he feels he needs neither or because they were taken from him Kaladin cannot say. But he notes the grasping for a weapon not there, and can take the hint well enough. He is not the only one who has been displaced.

Syl, fortunately enough, thinks this a good time to float up, just past Kaladin's ear. She leans a little closer to him, almost conspirationally and manages to whisper,] He doesn't seem very friendly. I suppose he must have been rather unceremoniously have been shoved from the wrong side of the grave. You know, with the whole.. [ She makes a gesture to his whole face mask. She seems curious, if a little put off by it.] Un-dead thing he is working.

[ Kaladin hides the smile at her words, and shakes his head - the motion making Syl dart atop his head, her eyes never leaving the stranger. He doesn't lower his guard, but doesn't circle any closer either.]

But my title means little with no king's around. So unless you've come for my head instead, I feel we have very little to fight over.

[ Not that he had any intentions of trusting the man. But gaining what little information on this strange place would be unendingly helpful. ]

Edited 2014-05-28 14:08 (UTC)

Captain.

[ It was said with as much respect as could be afforded. Spirits take him should he ever grow to be impolite. His head dipped in greeting, a mockery in and of itself, but acknowledgement all the same.

If he hears the strange creature or not, there was no reaction to it. Regardless, he had been called worse. For things he hadn't done, for his mark, for being too loyal. He simply stood, without pause and without break. ]

You are no enemy of mine, else you would not have your head. [ it was simply put. ]

[ Kaladin tips his head in return, a stiff little gesture. He feels it is probably the right thing to do, whether or not the man had mean't his niceties. He had light eyes snarl his title through bared teeth for most of the few months he had been afforded the station, and sneered worse names when he had had no standing at all. This man could be a light eyes, but with the mask on there was no way Kaladin could tell.

All the better. Mean't he didn't have to bother with all the bowing and boot licking that spoilt nobility expected. Besides, he had yet to see any princeling, lord or noble alike to wear such a grim get up. Whatever station this man had once held, it was very obviously not something he was bound to now.

Syl, confident they were no longer fighting or in any danger, floats leisurely through the air - she spins like a leaf tipped in the wind, hovering just slightly closer and inspecting their new acquaintance.]

I think you'd find my head stubbornly fond of my shoulders.

[ One didn't get a title like Stormblessed for nothing. Deciding to defuse the hostility a little, he relaxes just slightly, hands comfortably at his side and back straight. Stretched to his full height he graces 6 ft tall, and all of him lean muscle. ]

So I take it you aren't a local resident of the area? I was hoping to get some bearings, or at least directions to the closest town.

[ Pleasantries were better served when situations were less pressing, but apparently this man he'd met, was in much the same situation he was.

Stranded, alone.

Threats and pride could wait. And he took his time in reply, weighing the options, and finding himself without many. He took a breath and ignored the way his bones ached when he shifted his weight. ]

I thought you a spirit. [ behind his mask, privately he was still half convinced the man was, watching the strange spirit of his wonder. Light like the air, and he restrained the urge to pull the heart free from where she beat restrained. Over and against his own.

She felt more than he did, these days. ]

I saw a town. But I strayed no closer to it to tell of the people that may be there.

Just a man like any other. Spirits don't seem to have quite as bad luck as us mortals.

[ He doesn't try to pass the comment off as a joke, but offers a hand for a shake. They are both unarmed. There is little danger to the gesture.]

The town sounds like our best bet for some answers, at least.

I'm Kaladin. And you?

[ He couldn't not help but to laugh. His body shook, not in mirth, but a tree bent to a cold wind, the sound of it grating. Twisted as the white trees that grew in the tower, so long warn down.

Dry and bitter and wretched. ]

Perhaps, I will believe your naivety.

[ Perhaps, and only perhaps. For no creature of the void, no thing twisted by the Outsider, would ever say that and sound so sincere.

( What have they done to me? ) His hand raised, hand to chest, like any loyal man before a flag, and he begged her silence, begged her to be still, (and kept her voice so carefully close) gave her the same false promises he had in life. ]

Assassin will do. [ he had no reason to give his name, not when he damned him and he could not be sure. ]

[ Kaladin lets him have his laughter, and retracts the hand. He supposes he deserves it, though naivety is not how he would phrase it. He doesn't bother trying to prove the man wrong, and instead, begins to head in the direction from where the Assassin came. At the tone of the laugh, Syl shrinks back - she no longer seems to have her light hearted curiosity, and instead sits quietly holding to the lapel of Kaladin's collar. She does not like this man. Does not like the feel she gets off him, or the sense of something distinctly wrong. She cannot place a finger on it, but so far, she jots it down to his heart beat.

The double heart beat, that is.]

Suit yourself. So, assassin, if you're not from here, then where? Do you remember exactly how you got here?

[ He gives the man wide berth to walk around him. Hands stiffly by his side. The strange mark upon his hand shimmering dully with the same precarious itch that hummed like the void beneath his skin. A constant reminder that it would one day swallow them all.

His eyes met the spirits, for all that he looked at her from behind cold metal, he did not doubt she saw him under it all. He'd learned now, that nothing was kept from them. ]

Keep walking straight. [ It wasn't much, but as he kept even step with Kaladin as he headed back with him. ]

Edited 2014-05-28 15:31 (UTC)

[ Kaladin keeps his eyes straight, taking the lead. If his companion wanted to keep these things to himself, so be it. He found that prying often only agitated - besides, what kind of assassin freely gave his secrets? A poor one, at best, and a dead one at worst. The captain knew what he needed, and having agile and capable company would be enough.

The thought that this could all be some elaborate trap crossed his mind, and he made sure to take extra care - keeping himself exactly 3 paces ahead and taking many the precursory glance. Though the terrain was foreign and the noises completely bizarre, he felt a little assured in the knowledge that they would probably not run afoul any of the monsters from his home - no whitespines or chasmfiends to worry about. Just the curious little shelless, feathered creatures which flitted through the tree tops. The way the leaves stayed out still bothered him - what happened when a highstorm came? Did they even have high storms here? - but he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind.

Syl, on the other hand, was not content with simply sitting by. With a resolution born of stubbornness, and armed with a childlike curiosity, she gathered her courage and swooped gently from her place at Kaladin's shoulder. She had no weight, so he didn't feel her go - but she rustled, just slightly, like branches in the wind, as she curiously poked about the stranger. His double pulse troubled her. She had yet to meet any man nor spren who ticked quite like this, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. She flits about him for a moment, never resting still, till she finds the source. His chest. She flies up, in front of him, and for a moment, her breeze goes still. Her dress hangs limp about her knees, her hair so long it falls and curls about her feet. As though she is standing on an invisible floor that isn't quite there.

Then she reaches out a tiny, slightly translucent hand, and it sinks through the fabric of the man's jacket, and her finger tips touch it.

Her hand rests, just lightly, on the second heart.]

[ He doesn't think much of it at first, his eyes ahead on the road, and every so often, flick back to Kaladin, gauging his movements, learning him as carefully as he learned the tower guards.

He says nothing when the spirit moves closer, only to watch her too. Her curious glance, the way she shifted and danced closer.

There's no reaction, in the end, he doesn't rage and spill blood, not for this. There was no fighting a spirit. He simply swallowed the old pain (and new still, like a wound that could never close), and he heard the heart breath.

( I will be glad to rest ) And it double thumbed against his chest, cold and familiar. She sighed and wept and laughed and bubbled like time itself kept contained. ]

Leave her be, she has seen enough. [ Though in the end, even as he walks, he doesn't shove the strange spirit free. He simply stands, feet planted like he might take root. ]

[ Syl blinks, slowly, tiny hand still resting against the heart. She hears the woman's voice too, contained and trapped as it is in that wretched vessel, and tears herself away. It reminds her of shardblades, and she hears the voice of her people, of spren, trapped and contained within swords and then used for awful, awful things. She shudders, and insteads hugs herself tightly, as if caught in a chill. The short exchange catches Kaladin's attention, and he pauses long enough to flick a glance over his shoulder - Syl had appeared to people before, but usually, only if she deemed them worthy, or they specifically asked. She must be in full visibility for him, and she inches closer, hovering just before the nose of the mans mask. The captain doesn't falter in his stride however - if Syl wanted to commune with their masked companion, so be it. ]

You need to let her free. [ Syl states, voice small and quiet like the echo of a breeze. She stays there, still and motionless, her gaze pointed fixedly at the heart. Something dark was keeping her there. The little spren didn't like it at all. ]

[ His head tilted up and away, wary of having her so close. She was not of any realm he knew, and after the things he had seen done in the dark, he would not risk having her close enough to do him harm.

Do her harm.

( he could not lose her again ). ]

She is not mine to free. [ He hadn't done it to her, and he had no idea how she had come to be. Only that after days the sickening reality of it all sunk in, and by then, he already needed her too much. But he had always, always needed her. ]

[ Syl nods, just once, as if she understands, and looks very sombre. She's still hovering just infront of his nose, but the breeze that she always has seems to curl about her once more, making her skirts shift and hair flow. She nods a few times, as if thinking things over. Before looking back to him solemnly. ]

She seems very sad, to be stuck in there. But I think, once, she was very strong. Very just.

She would have wanted you to be, too.

[ his teeth grit and his words were a sharp bark. He was harsh because he had to be, must be, because it was all that was left to him, and he could not stand to see what rested underneath. ]

Desist, shade. [ he'd have drawn a blade if he thought it would help. ]

[ Syl huffed, affronted at being called a shade, her advice rather obviously ignored. She flits back to Kaladin's shoulder, and hunkers down there, comfortably tucking herself into the collar of his uniform.

Kaladin doesn't bother chancing a glance back at his companion, but does throw back a comment.]

So, you mentioned spirits before. Are there monsters lurking in the woods we should be wary of?

[ It seemed a legitimate enough concern. After all, the man had questioned if Kaladin was even real - that either spoke of madness, or spirits, or perhaps a combination of both. ]

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(no subject)

i cannot believe this is so cute and MATCHING UNIFORMS??? obvs gonna be bros

GUNNA BE SO GREAT also he's high chaos be warned he's crazy to say the least

oh my god i. kaladin is so screwed

he's mostly. well. he has a code. we'll go with that. SURE AS HELL DON'T HAVE HONOUR NO MORE

it is funny you mention that as you have just stumbled across Mr. Honour of the year 5 yrs running

gdi Kaladin you make him feel old as balls

flexes young n hot bod and waggles eyebrows

gently smothers him with pillows

wriggles in a young n hot way n uses winkin powers thru pillow

8[ beats to death with pillow instead

bite the pillow im.. getting.. beaten???

fear the mighty assassin

death by pillow is not super fear inducing

look he could make it a broom. death by broom. would that be better.

slightly better. kaladin could probably use that broom. hes mighty useful with long shafts of wood.

... possess him and makes him throw himself into the sea

no subject

(no subject)

i cannot believe this is so cute and MATCHING UNIFORMS??? obvs gonna be bros

GUNNA BE SO GREAT also he's high chaos be warned he's crazy to say the least

oh my god i. kaladin is so screwed

he's mostly. well. he has a code. we'll go with that. SURE AS HELL DON'T HAVE HONOUR NO MORE

it is funny you mention that as you have just stumbled across Mr. Honour of the year 5 yrs running

gdi Kaladin you make him feel old as balls

*flexes young n hot bod and waggles eyebrows*

gently smothers him with pillows

wriggles in a young n hot way n uses winkin powers thru pillow

8[ beats to death with pillow instead

bite the pillow im.. getting.. beaten???

fear the mighty assassin

death by pillow is not super fear inducing

look he could make it a broom. death by broom. would that be better.

slightly better. kaladin could probably use that broom. hes mighty useful with long shafts of wood.

... possess him and makes him throw himself into the sea

no subject

flexes young n hot bod and waggles eyebrows