[Azriel] Day in Alexandria

Azriel finds himself going to Alexandria when news of the Heartless invasion reaches Traverse Town, only to meet someone from his past.

I liked this rp, even if it was hard not to get depressed midway :P

Characters: Althaia, Azriel

Alexandria Kingdom - Square

This is the central hub of the Kingdom, with various market stalls, inns, and other shops set up in a circle around a central fountain. Often, children can be seen playing outside on the streets and often in the roads as well and there is a general happy feeling in this part of town. To the north, a double set of gates leads towards the Castle, and to the west a narrow alley leads further into town. A broad, cobble paved road continues to the south.

Obvious exits:
<East> [leads to 'Alexandria Kingdom - Business District']
<North> [leads to 'Alexandria Kingdom - Docks']
<South> [leads to 'Alexandria Kingdom - Front Gates']

Rain, cold and grey, had just swept the broad stone avenues of Alexandria clean, leaving a dismal damp hanging in the chill air; more pervasive than the chill, however, is the pall hanging over the besieged kingdom, a mood only deepened by the remorseless weather. It's etched in the faces of passersby as they hurry along the streets, sadly evident in the fearful glances they cast at strangers and shadows alike. Few pause to linger on the streets, and even less have braved the cold to set up their usual market-stalls.

Down one of these thoroughfares a solitary figure is trudging, clothing sodden. Bedraggled and weary, his gaze downcast, the youth walks on, breath misting on the frigid air; the collar of his coat is turned up in a futile attempt to ward off the cold, his hands shoved in his pockets as he follows the curve of the empty street.


"Alexander be blessed!" calls out a voice, excitement suppressed by caution. Near the south of the square in front of a house stand two figures, greyed by the weather as the large of the two - a man, embraces the other, a hooded and cloaked figure. "You live, I'm so glad my Lady" he continues releasing the other from his embrace. "You go to your house then? I see...please tread with care, Heartless roam the streets." The other nods and the two embrace one more before parting. With a wary gaze the man slinks back into his door, closing and locking the door firmly.

Cloaked still, the other figure moves, boots clicking off the cobbled ground as they glide through the damp air heading across the square. The figure's own shadow shifts, as if possessed, a pool of flickering darkness that stirs and calms.


As the youth ventures deeper into the heart of Alexandria, so does the faint mist deepen, now a gloomy fog that clings close about him, all but shrouding the streets from sight. Catching himself from stumbling over an uneven paving-stone, the young man curses softly, rubbing his arms and sparing a tired glance about; it's then that he draws up short, evidently having heard the approaching footfalls drawing steadily nearer. Turning about, uncertainty writ on his features as the sound echoing off the walls rendered it difficult for him to pinpoint the source in the fog, Azriel shakes his head, stilling himself to listen a moment.


Instinctively, the cloaked figure draws their fabric tighter about themselves to the thickening fog. Their boots still echo, crisp and clear through the swirling mist as their shadow follows, wavering still. A grand fountain halts the hooded figure, as they pause, touching the brim of it with their clad toe before traveling around boots, click further. From their shadow erupts a bulge of blackness, stealthily so as it oozes free. The figure continues their wake and behind the shadow has risen and formed a most impressive figure, a chiseled warrior in the shape of a humanoid, black all over with shadow-wrought armor and obsidian blades.


Mercifully, at that very instant the roiling fog is swept away for the briefest of moments - a mild gust stirring the greyness and drawing the curtain of fog from the still, heavy air. For a fleeting second the cloaked figure and the companion she'd brought thus far, unwitting, emerge from the mist, clearly silhouetted by the white wisps of fog before it furls about them once more. Enough to catch Azriel's eye, and enough for it to register on the shocked youth's senses.

Shouting a warning, the mage steps back a pace, clenching his fist in a short, sharp gesture, gaze leveled on the dim shapes in the fog. At his unvoiced command, shadow as inky as that which dogged the figure's footsteps bursts from the helmeted face of the Heartless warrior, clouding his sight.


The inky darkness clouds around the Heartless warrior's face, lingering for awhile. A grunt of annoyance and amusement emanates from the dark knight as he merely inhales deeply, sucking up the black cloud and absorbing it into his own persona. Targets shift as the Heartless warrior pivots on his heels and raises up his mighty sword, obsidian gleaming even in the grays of the air. And he charges.

The cloaked figure, impassive at best, merely turns to face the warrior and then watches the Heartless charge towards the conjurer of magics. For what surprise they had, it remains suppressed and they watch, silently, cloak shifting with the passing warrior's actions.


Mouth twisting in displeasure as the spell he'd cast fails to take effect, the youth flings back the heavy flaps of his coat and springs back lightly over the damp cobblestones, once, twice, covering more ground than a man might leap unaided. A barely discernible ripple distorts the air, the raven-haired mage at its focus, and the shadow-knight its target, the magic seeking to impede the warrior in his onrush.

Drawing a folded length of chain, metal and wood from its sheath at the small of his back, Azriel stands his ground and waits grimly as the spell slams into the warrior, enfolding him in a distorted web of magic. "What are you waiting for?" he shouts at the watching figure, just as the Heartless closes upon him. "Don't tell me you're one of --"


The cloaked figure extends a slender hand, half-covered by a sleeve as the nimble fingers work. Mist flows from the figure's hood and magic ripples around, levitating the figure. Slowly they advance, keeping their vantage point as they cast their gaze downward.

With a grunt the shadowy knight slowly moves, the air like molasses around its dark figure. Heavy legs work through the obstacle and rage fuels the fiery red of its eyes. Then with another roar the magic is diminished, dispelled by an aura of dark energy.

Magic bathes the smaller of the figure, and space accelerates about, hastening him.


A small, humourless laugh falls from Azriel's lips at this unexpected assistance, a desperate sound lost in the fray. "What the hell did I get myself into?" And the dark steel descends upon him in a ruthless arc, seeking to cleave his slight frame with all the warrior's might behind that hacking blow.

Sidestepping - but not swiftly enough, as the sword scores a thin slash across his chest and shoulder, ripping through flesh and fabric - the young man extends the tri-sectioned staff with a snap of his wrists, its slim blade driving straight at the unprotected gap in the warrior's helmet, quick and vicious as a striking snake. Blood spatters on stone in a crescent of crimson as the knight's sword completes its swing, wavering in the sudden stillness between them.

<OOC> Althaia says, "omfg...she will not touch you sob...you will tend yourself xD"
<OOC> Azriel says, "who said anything about that?"
<OOC> Althaia says, "sob you implied XD"
<OOC> Althaia flees.
<OOC> Azriel gets wounded for dramatic effect XD
<OOC> Althaia makes you her anguissete. >.>

Claw gripped to the blade, the warrior spins, as the foldable staff extends and with all of its flexibility merely adds to the momentum of its rider, or rather wielder. Gnarled muscles of black contract as the warrior arcs the other through the air and slams him onto the ground in a vertical swing. Without pausing he arcs his arm again as if to repeat the process once more on the opposite side.

Above, a small gasp betrays the cloaked figure's expression and a voice is heard, whispering and curdling the mist. Just before the second impact the air around the warrior thickens, turning viscous and then solid, freezing the Heartless into a stopped position.


Sliding to the ground without a sound, Azriel crumples to his knees, one hand still gripping the weapon that now hung limply from the grip of the Heartless. Gathering the breath that had been knocked out of him, he struggles to remain upright, swaying to his feet with a spasm of pain and wrenching the staff loose from the knight's grip. He folds it away and sheaths it without so much as a look at the Heartless still looming above him, shooting a dark, distrustful glance at the figure still observing him from its aerial vantage point.

"I don't suppose you're about to give me any explanations for this...and neither do you owe me one, considering." He fingers the front of his shirt, lips curling in a grimace of both pain and distaste at the blood staining his hand. "It would be nice, though."


"We are no in position to speak such banter," comes the voice, hollow and cold. The mist disperses as they slowly lower yet maintain their anonymity. "Can you walk?" they ask and then idly gesture with a hand, weaving magic once more. Space gives way as swirls of mana cause the sunken other to float. A hand extends, gripping onto the other as they begin to pull, all as if to guide themselves and the other out of the vicinity, hovering above the ground.


Resisting the stranger's efforts as if in realisation, Azriel draws his arm stiffly from their grasp, shaking off the other's hand despite the evident pain the motion caused him. The youth comes to a halt just outside the periphery of the square, shivering in his damp clothing, the fog sifting between them in a pall of grey as he regards the cloaked figure with unrestrained hostility. "Who are you anyway?" he demands, unmindful of the fact that it was their magic seeming to keep him afloat.


"The time for questions will come when we are safe, the guards will handle the menace in due time as you've proven that you cannot." The words flow like ice water, fluid and cold. "Come," the figure commands and sets off their own, hovering through the fog and leaving a fading trail in their wake of billowing plumes of mist curdled to leave an aisle of space before the impending fog once more reclaims the space.

-

Alexandria Kingdom - Inn

This is a rather elaborate and beautifully decorated inn with a large grandfather clock along one wall and a set of narrow oak steps leading up to the second floor. On the main floor is a large oak counter where people can check in although the inn is almost always full, even nowadays with such housing shortages. Upstairs, there are numerous doors leading off to some richly furnished rooms, each complete with a walkout balcony. There is also a door to the east leading towards a small lounge.

Contents:
Althaia
Obvious exits:
<Out> [leads to 'Alexandria Kingdom - Business District']


Even within the warmth of the inn the cold clings to the two figures that make their way into the lobby, one cloaked, the other wet and shivering. Having followed - albeit reluctantly, from the distance he kept from the former, and the obstinate, set line of his mouth - Azriel limps wearily after the stranger after they'd booked a room and climbed the stairs, uncaring of any odd glances cast his way as he pulls the flaps of his coat closed to hide his injury.

"Better than nothing," he observes caustically as they enter the simple room, slumping into one of the chairs and huddling in on himself, not even caring to discard his coat or glance at the furnishings. "So, mind telling me why I should be here against my better judgement?"


At the other's comment, the figure emits a soft laugh, clad shoulders trembling as a hand rises to compose it. "Better judgment? Much ability to judge as you have, almost dead if not rescued. It should teach you not to help strangers, for what good does it do but endanger yourself?" they finish, quick as they move elegantly across the room, lightning oil lamps and braziers to illuminate the room. "But you never were one for judgment, Azriel," the last word is spoken coldly. As if it were their cue, the figure turns, unclasping their cloak as their hood slides off, spilling forth locks of black and then the face, young and feminine.


Biting down on his tongue to stifle the retort that had sprung to his lips, Azriel releases his breath in shock as the woman looses her cloak, pain all but forgotten in the moment of recognition. Stunned into silence, he stares at her unspeaking for long moments, his mouth working; when he does break his silence, it's only to stammer, "Althaia...I never thought..."

Visibly struggling for composure, he leans back in his chair, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth. "So you survived that attack on Alexandria," he manages at last, lamely, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm...glad to see you're...well at least."


"Yes" Althaia replies curtly. "My father did not," she adds, tone turning fierce as she rummages through cabinets and draws rolls of linen, scissors and rudimentary fire aid items. "You of all people should remember him," she continues, returning to Azriel and dumping the contents hastily upon him. "Tend to your wounds, you must've learned that much under his tutelage if you didn't just see it all one big joke instead," she irons out the last few words and heads across the room, taking her place at the window. A slender hand pushes back the curtains and her eyes gaze out through the misty window.


Fumbling halfheartedly with the items she'd dropped into his lap and letting them slip from his fingers, Azriel shakes his head, murmuring, "I'm sorry. I thought that might be...but so many were missing that I never did find out for certain." Slipping his coat from his shoulders and shrugging out of his shirt, he sets about somewhat clumsily bandaging the gashes on his shoulder and chest, pressing his lips together in an effort not to respond to her remarks. "You...should know that I respected what your father knew and what he taught me. I can't claim to have made the most of it, but I did my best. I know I owed him more than I could possibly repay, and still do."


"It is in our debts to the dead, that we feel so obligated to. As if they would know that we paid them off or as if they could benefit from such now" Althaia comments, stealing a glance over her shoulder and towards Azriel. "You'll live. And what were you doing back in Alexandria? Don't tell me you came when you heard of the attacks...it isn't your home and you never seemed to be the selfless one" she adds, rubbing mist from the window as to clear her view out of it.


Sliding a hand over the bandage on his arm, the youth exhales quietly, his fingers closing over the wound linen, features pale and withdrawn. "You're right, it's not in me to be like that. I was asked to come." Gathering up the implements and depositing them in an untidy heap on the table, Azriel pulls on his shirt, buttoning it and paying more attention to the routine motion as if to distract himself.

He pauses to glance briefly at the girl by the window, picking up his coat from where it lay on the chair. "I still don't know why I came. But I'm here now, regardless of whether I like it or not. Will you begrudge me for being here?"


"Your presence was not of my concern until just a moment ago. Who asked you to come? And to what? Die at the hands of the Heartless?" she asks, her voice hushed now as she turns around, shooting a glance at Azriel, eyes paling a bit. "I will not begrudge you for being here," Althaia states, voice clear as she lets her hand drop and the curtains close. Moments after a scratching can be heard at the window which fades. From the streets screams can be heard and then the clashing of iron as guards are deployed in marching tandem. "The Heartless...how they make me miss Bahamut," she thinks out loud, as the words escape her as a sigh.


"That's my concern now, isn't it?" Ignoring the dampness of the coat Azriel slips it on, sighing as the heavy fabric settles over his shoulders. "There are people who have nothing with which to defend themselves, and seek something with which to soothe their fears, even if it's capable of only that and nothing else. That's what I'm here for. I'm well aware of the risks, but it doesn't mean I have to look beyond them. Or want to."

"And I don't want to make this any more...difficult for you than it might get, so. I'll be going." Drawing a troubled breath, the young mage turns to the door. "I don't think you'd want me to bring up the past - I feel obliged to explain - but something tells me you'd rather I not."


"In times like these...the past is all we have to guide us into the future, Azriel," she speaks suddenly, voice softer now. "Stay," she adds moving towards the small kitchen in the room, pouring water into a kettle before setting it down upon a stove. Matches are lit and gas ignites, heating the kettle up gradually. "Where were you when Bahamut struck? No...just...tell me what happened," she adds, gritting her teeth as she suppresses herself. As if to keep her gaze from Azriel she busies herself with kitchen cabinets, finding tea bags and porcelain cups from them and pots of sugar and honey, then finally a tin case, cookies inside. "Don't leave me again without a word...the past should never be repeated," she musters out after settling things on the table.


Hesitating, the young man releases the doorknob after a moment's pause, taking his time in retracing his steps. He stands uncertainly in the centre of the room, watching Althaia quietly as she goes about the motions of preparing tea, hands shoved in his pockets.

"As you're probably aware there are some who're born with the ability to learn more than one focus in magic. I...learned I was one of them when I came across this woman, a witch skilled in the black arts." Azriel's voice is low, a touch of shame creeping into his words. "This was after I'd left Alexandria and your father's tutelage. She...was a more difficult and less reasonable teacher than your father, so it didn't work out exactly as I had hoped or planned."

The youth slowly crosses the room to the table, grasping the back of one chair, his restlessness belied in his shifts of movement. "I can't really say what came over me when I was still studying under your father. Fear, maybe."


To that Althaia laughs, a pleasant sound, almost musical to the ear. "I more than understand," she says, offering a brief smile. "So you survived because you were adaptable...I see. It doesn't surprise. It's a shame I was unable to learn my father's own way of magic; instead I was cursed with a forbidden art one that I have found little knowledge upon," she adds sitting down herself, while pouring two cups of tea and presenting the cookies in between the two, freshness evident still in the pastries. "Where you sent through a portal like I was?"


"As were most, yes." Seating himself awkwardly, Azriel picks up his cup without needing to be urged, sipping of the hot liquid, and, after some consideration, picking up a cookie. "I found myself on the fringes of Middleverse with others from our world. Many of them died before we reached Traverse. I was just lucky."

Nibbling tentatively on the cookie, he meets her gaze with some difficulty. "I suppose I should have returned sooner, but as I saw it...I'd found something of a place in the town, however temporary. That...just might change soon, considering the attacks, but I'm not willing to give it up just yet."


Halting a hand, Althaia waits until Azriel has lifted his out of the way before moving in herself for a cookie. "What of your hometown? I knew as much that you weren't from Alexandria originally....but yes...Traverse Town, I spent a day there and gathered what I could before finding a party bound to this world. It was when I reached the city gates when I noticed the shadowy beings...Heartless they call them. I barely managed to make it inside...with company as you might have had the displeasure of dealing with," she comments, pausing as she bites into the cookie and then takes a sip from the tea.


A sigh escapes Azriel's lips. "Daguerreo still stands." Placing his cup into its saucer, he stares at the thin wisp of steam rising from the liquid's surface and dissipating into the air, his hand still half-curled about the cup. "Its location on the island is difficult for the Heartless to assail, and it was always a secret town. Few know how to get there."

"When I arrived here it took me days just to get within the walls. I thought of turning back, but the thought of going through Middleverse again - and for nothing - was enough for me to keep trying. The city's not changed much despite the losses it's suffered - or so I believe. I didn't think to find you here, really."


"You didn't think of me at all once you left, I imagine. I'm not being scornful, we only met once and who am I to be so deeply anchored into the memory after another even after but one meeting? Even of the circumstances that bound us. Still, it is of little consequence now. Some familiarity is better than being lost," she concludes as he takes another sip from her cup. Allowing a moment to pause, Althaia calmly stirs from what silence took her, consuming the last of the cookie in hand with delicate bites.


"Even so, the fact that I did what I did weighed heavily with me for a time." Toying with the handle of his porcelain cup, Azriel angles a discreet glance at the girl seated across from him. "You know that when you have to keep justifying it to yourself. I told myself you'd forget about it, that we were both just children then and you'd move on to something happier than having your life planned out for you. Excuses, I know. But it was all I could think of."


"If you call the death of my parents, the loss of ones I love in Bahamut's attack and the Heartless, my deliverance into a strange new world and my servitude under the late Queen Brahne to aid in the destruction of people as laid out events that lead to a happier life, then I am surely blind, because I do not feel happy at all," Althaia stammers, her grip on her cup tight, causing the porcelain craft to shake before stilling. Her eyes slant before casting their gaze down.


Silently Azriel keeps his gaze on Althaia, resting a hand on the table. "I don't know what to tell you," he says finally, picking up the teaspoon and turning it over in his fingers, watching his reflection in the silvered surface. "If you were just telling me this and we were total strangers I'd just say 'So long as you're alive, you can find a new beginning,' or something similarly trite." He sets the spoon back down. "After all that's happened, you look to have done well for yourself. There is that to consider."


"For every victory...Azriel, you must know there is always a price," Althaia whispers, glancing up to meet the other's gaze. "But I do not seek pity...just understanding. But very well, we both have returned to save this city from destruction, it would be nice to do it together, united with the citizens, with everyone who bears some stake in this waning land," she adds, before pouring herself more tea, adding no sweetener to it.


"If we can." Raking a hand through his disheveled hair, Azriel stares at the table, not really seeing what was before him. "The odds aren't on our side. If we're to survive - let alone win this war - the price we have to pay might be far too high." He smiles slightly, without mirth. "But we already know that, don't we."

<OOC> Azriel says, "sob *runs out of room*"
<OOC> Althaia says, "omfg xD"
<OOC> Althaia says, "*stops and has way with* sob"
<OOC> Azriel says, "..."
<OOC> Azriel says, "WRONG CHARACTER sob"

<OOC> Althaia says, "permission to slam? xd"
<OOC> Azriel says, "yes"
<OOC> Althaia says, "@emit Pinning Azriel to the ground with a claw, the Heartless lowers his pants and begins to slam---OOh you meant the other kind XDDDDDDDDD *RUNS*"
<OOC> Azriel says, "..."