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PostPosted: Oct 27th, '08, 18:21 
Masters of Fate
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Joined: Feb 8th, '08, 23:30
Posts: 288
Location: Kallahaaaa--portsmouth
Time seemed to stop for the Ananth.

How long had it taken in planning? Six Months, perhaps more but ahh this was it, this was the moment of truth, of wealth in glory or death, that fine little line between the weeks spent preparing and honing to accomplishment or to find it is all for naught.

He fell, from the window of the highest tower, the arrow firmly lodged in his shoulder, hands rapidly working to slide the paintings into the magical satchel. A glance up the way he came. A line of faces rapidly growing smaller through the chaos of light refracted through the singular shards of colored glass - his body heavier than blood as it falls past ornate sculpted columns on it's way down, wind whistling and bellowing sweetly in his ears as the goggles untangle themselves to float, as if weightless ahead of him.
A red smeared grin, his eyes flashing a delicious dark auburn with mirth and joy in an act so wondrously conceived.

His ill-gotten prizes secured, he turns, hands tucking to his waists and legs arcing as time seems to flow once again, faster than ever before as he rockets down the length of the ivory tower, lights spilling from the windows he passes, catching the red ribbon of blood marking his trail rapidly towards the welcoming earth below.
A dull thud followed by a deafening boom, the top of the tower erupting as fire and mortar rush outwards in every direction, great columns and gargoyles falling, slowly at first as if wary to leave their perch upon the grand building.

"Too much? No, deserving," A grin, impossibly wider than before, a laugh barked through teeth that rings in the ears for naught a second before wind carries it away and up from it's owner.

The ground was getting closer now, the sun rising over the lakes to the East, the moment of truth. He waits, still, heart pounding, body flooding with pure ambrosia as every vein and nerve ending feels as if replaced with molten gold, deliciously painful but worth bearing.
His hand extends before him as if to welcome the rushing green of the ground below, fingers splaying as the ring upon his index glows a soft green.

What was once a man shifts, shrinking, a shrill laugh escaping the maw of tiny sharp teeth of the Nixie. Minuscule green wings blur into action carrying the wayward thief up at an opposing angle to his previous trajectory to meet the first rays of the morning sun in this, the first day of April.

~Eight Months Prior~

"I'm telling you, 'Puq', everyone has dreamed of it, and only those foolish have attempted it. There was the Secret Peace before our time, for a reason!" The two men, clearly well into their cups by the rosy red of their cheeks sit opposite each other, shouting over the din of another eve of good business the Atrium enjoys, "By the vast length of my manhood! I knew you were ambitious but I always thought you had at least two brass coins to rub together inside that head of yours!" The man known as "Widowmaker" (to most) reaches across to pull on the goggles of his drinking partner, stretching them out to allow them to settle back painfully upon the bridge of the nose of "Puq" with a snap.

"Tch! Secret Peace! You're letting what was set down before our time affect everything you do! Everything we do! Taboos! Rules! Obligations! Come now, Jim! Remember the greats, for crying out loud! Did they let things as these stand in their way? Would the Gray King allow such a thing as a "Secret Peace" stay his hand before he whisked the crown of the Third Sunshine-King of Domorus, from his very head?! No!" Rubbing his nose, goggles dropped about his neck, the foreigner argued his point vehemently, passion burning so hot in his words that the butter resting upon the sweet bread between them was soaked into it's thick, sugary loaf (in his mind).

"Puq, listen to me, Charlie finally trusts you, I saw the plans you handed him for the Bank job, they're perfect in every way! He's given you your own number of Pezon, you're finally a Garrista! Why throw it all away with this foolishness? You -know- what will happen if Charlie finds out what you've just told me! Despite getting us all of 'Orrible Greg's lot, offing Jon the King, getting us the Market, the Docks and the best part of the Uppers, he will not over look this!"

"What're you trying to say, Jim? You'll tell him, is that it?" Pain was evident in 'Puqs' voice, he looked the very picture of hurt and betrayed as best he could convey.

A deep sigh meets this accusation. The old Soldier reaches to rub at his eyes before casting a glance back to his off-duty drinking partner and notable friend.

"Puq, if you're serious about this, well and truly serious, then I won't be any part of it but I am no snitch. Do what you please, if you fail, I promise you I'll personally bring your body back and give it a proper burial but if it goes well and your name goes down for the all the right and all the wrong reasons, then never again will it be my tab we drink on, savvy?" Jim's grin grows wider and wider the more he talks, the moods of 'Puq' have been oft said to be annoyingly contagious and this news came with a bounty of good-will directed towards the man who was once his Garrista.

"Jim, you charismatic paragon of humanity! You will not regret this!" A glass is raised, the brandy swishing and catching the light a fine shower of hazel luminescence.

"And don't make me either! If you drag your Pezons down with you, I'll make you regret the day your mother didn't swallow the seed that spawned you!"

A toast, then, to a plan so foolhardy and impossible it ought to be left to immortals and Gods alike, yet never was this one human borne of mischief and sweet winds to consider it otherwise his mission in life to perform such tasks.


A fictional work in progress, a plan, a job or a dream that may never take place IG but remains a slipet of insight into what mischief one such as himself may come up with.

Leocanta Ravelle - The Hero of Time


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