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* ~ EVERYTHING BELOW GOES IN THE CUSTOMIZE SECTION ~* BLOG HEADER:
Gender: Male Age: 38 Sign:
Sagittarius Country: United States
Signup Date: January 30, 2013
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09/01/2018 05:20 PM
Negotiator Category: Stories
Current mood:
accomplished
In the dark alley of the Obsidian Iles, there were two large groups standing at opposite ends of one another. It was a typical slaver’s trade off, but the only thing was it was an “illegal” transaction. As such, when involved with slaves, one would not think such a thing would exist but it did. Permits were involved, and those permits lead to taxes and those taxes helped the island of pirates and smugglers to thrive. By no means was the island planning for any hostile kingdom take over. It didn’t need to, and it would not be profitable in the long run; but the ones who stood in the island’s ruling positions did wish to keep themselves and their resources defended from others who would steal or destroy what they claimed was there’s. The land was no different than any other in that respect, and the two groups who were in the alley at the moment were worse than thieves. They were traitorous thieves.
The two each had their own personal army and it seemed they remained at an impasse of some sort. All they while that the two leaders were arguing about the price, the guards remained sharp to look around the area. There were maybe only a handful of them at best, and even fewer that knew anything at all about canceling magic, let alone detecting any. Those were the ex-templars who cast their service aside due to lyrium addictions, broken vows, or just plain disagreement with the Chantry’s system. Without a steady supply of their precious blue liquid, the hasbeens were not at their best game, so to speak.
The bickering stopped when the sound of solid boots hit the earth; echoing and vibrating the sound to bounce from wall to the next before dispersing into nothing. The two small armies looked to the direction of the solid thum. The saw tall and heavy black boots that were still wet from fresh seafoam, pants that were only partially soaked from the knees downward, a long slender sword strapped at the individual’s hip, and a heavy coat that hid underneath a white ruffled shirt. It was a man, wearing different forms of jewelry: pendants with secret blades in them, daggers with runes infused at their hilts, and rings of some unknown protection on his thumbs and middle fingers. The man looked like a dastardly scoundrel in his attire; someone just born for stirring up trouble or showing off. He didn’t much muscle on him for a “pirate” of sorts, but what he lacked in muscle he made up for in mystery. His hair was short and black. His stubble facial hair looked close to a slightly overgrown five o’clock shadow, and his features from his high cheekbones and slendered nose had shown enough in some extra areas that he was in fact of Tevinter origin.
In any case, he was also an intruder. Neither of the two armies had discussed of bringing such a man, nor to have one to make such an entrance that brought their own arguments to a halt. The two leaders stiffened in their stance and turned their sword and mace towards him instead; quick to rather take their chances with trusting one another against a third party.
“This here’s a private conversation.” The stronger man with the long sword barked at the intruder.
“Relax, mates. I’m just here to make sure the transaction goes smoothly. Guard duty and all that business, you know.” Tempest announced with his hands up in the air.
The bloodmage walked past one of the ex-templars holding a tray of lyrium dust and raked his finger along the tray. Even despite the man in heavy armor started to scowl at his backside, Tempest walked onward as he sucked the dust right off from his finger and looked steadily at the female elven slave, standing between the men. He gave a small noise of approval then -- though questionable to what it was meant for, exactly -- and looked back towards the two leaders in their paused dispute.
“Looks to me you’ve got all the necessities for one helluva party here. Sure you won’t mind just splitting the difference and call it even?” Tempest asked them. The silence grew more while more of the men began to unsheath their weapons as well. Tempest shifted his eyes from one man to the next; still pressing his finger against his teeth. “...Is that a no?...Alright.”
He bit down hard against his finger by then, shedding blood and scraping flesh from muscle. The aura of a bloodmage coated over his form. It was enough to startle some of the ex-templars there; at least enough that they couldn’t remember the right focus to use in order to cancel out that magic’s influence.
The alleyway became a frenzy of fighting. Tempest extended his arm out towards the elven slave and a large rose suddenly lifted from underneath her feet. She screamed as she was being carried up and the petals circling around her; trapping her in a shield of agricultural protection -- even though it was still a tad flimsy, it should have been enough to get her out of the way.
Meanwhile, shouts of “Bloodmage” and swearing to the Maker filled the alleyway as the soldiers poured down against him, Tempest unsheathed his blade and fought with both magic and sword. He fought with ease against the basic warrior soldiers; the ones who had no magic skills at all. He tricked most of them, using his blade’s attacks to grasp their attention while his hand holding the actual sword was more focused with summoning roots to push up from the ground. These roots either instantly impaled his attackers or ensnared around their feet to trip them, and then slinging them against the walls of the alleyway.
The ones who knew little magic, Tempest in contrast actually attempted to apply his swordsmanship towards; which had improved over the years from being in war against other slavers and Magisters in general. He was easily able to slice at the neck, block an attack to find an opening and kick his enemy away, only to turn around and using a slightly weaker bloodmagic spell to rejuvenate himself from whatever damage he may have inflicted. He was carving his way through the bloodshed, turning mortals into fountains of crimson that soaked the sand at their feet. The bodies piled up fast and Tempest laughed from each murder, finding it growing even easier than the last with each challenger who rushed towards him. By the time he came to one last man, he found him on his knees. His current enemy was shaking and mumbling numerous prayers to Andraste which only seemed to tickle Tempest a little more.
“Come on. Stand up.” He said with glowing eyes and turned his hand with power to cause the root to coil and stab, sewing a path up the man’s leg. “It can’t hurt that bad. Ignore the pain. Use it! Abuse its limitations!”
The man only hollered more from the fresh pain he was given and the fear of the red aura reflecting off from the bloodmage. Until he could not stand the pain anymore, he reached for his dropped sword and turned the blade upon himself. The double edge tore into his fingers as his tight grip slipped from blood and sweat, but only a little as he shoved its tip as hard as he could into his own chest.
Tempest looked at him with surprise and amusement, reaching down to the hilt of the man’s sword and finally granted him the mercy he wanted. Though once his final breath had gone away, so had the look of a demon beginning to dwindle away. His thoughts collected as he looked around the area, seeing the bloodshed of so much death and it practically bored him and quickly. Tempest lifted his hand across the land and made an ariel sweep so that the land would rise and swallow the bodies quickly underground; essentially cleaning up his mess.
“...Its just too easy now…” He mumbled.
He thought about Lasher, the redheaded stalker who chased him and fought with such a stubborn equal need for bloodshed. The fact that he made himself a templar just to find Tempest a second time only made more joyfully ironic. Though those days were long gone, and as far as Tempest knew of the man, he was probably dead or dragged back to Tevinter for a possible arranged marriage of some kind. His future wife would suffer in discovering what kind of devious cannibalistic lyrium addict that Lasher truly was. He was a lost cause, but a fun toy till Tempest grew tired of playing.
Tempest rubbed the blood onto his jacket as the glow from his eyes began to subside. The free-flow of his blood finally began to slow, naturally so the tell-tale of him being a bloodmage had finally vanished as well. He walked back towards the large red flower and used his magic to shrink it back down into the earth. The petals opened up, revealing inside the elven slave sitting on the soft collection of yellow pollen at the center of the blossom.
“And what a pretty fairy you make. I hope you’re not allergic to pollen.” He welcomed her and extended his hand rather than tugging at the leash just yet.
The elf looked around the area frightened and with caution. She didn’t see either army in the alleyway, but there was a lot of blood and the smell of fresh violence had still lingered in the air. Her eyes settled back to the only person that was standing there, seeming to have welcomed her with no visible malice. It was a relief, and possibly of one expressed too soon. She slowly smiled and exhaled as she stumbled forward from the large flower that had been restrained in. Her arms flew open in a gracious hug; believing that he had freed her.
“Thank you!” She exclaimed with almost tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much…”
Tempest returned the hug and breathed in the scent of soap and rushed endorphins. Upon the given reaction, his hands slid down her back and he pressed her slightly closer to himself.
“Oh, don’t thank me just yet.” He said, sliding one hand to rest at her ass and squeezed it teasingly.
The elf gasped and she scooted slightly back to look at him, but she couldn’t push herself too far away (without resorting to violence) because Tempest still had her positioned to stand against him. He teased her again with only this time a mild verbal reprimand and waited for her to have calmed down before pressing his forehead to hers.
“Maybe before long it’ll be me thanking you, aye?” He asked and waited to see a small smile give away from his captor.
That had been all the confirmation he needed, and Tempest acted upon it. He kissed her, shown her what hunger stirred just from breathing in what light arousal had been there (whether spiked form stress or gratitude), and slapped her ass once to make her jump in his arms. Pulling back and dragging his teeth across her bottom lip finally, he turned and reached for her leash to gather in his hands.
“Not here. I’ve got a bath seating four thats waiting on me.” He told her and guided her with him down the alleyway.
accomplished