| The Ever Present Hall; Come all who would enter | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 14 2012, 02:39 PM (311 Views) | |
| RequiemArc | Jul 14 2012, 02:39 PM Post #1 |
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His eyelids felt as if they were made of iron. The familiar whistling of the wind whirled around him like a thick fur. The icy air slithered through his chain-mail and clothes drawing the heat from his skin. The cold of the snow around him seeped into his back, melting against his body. Beowulf, the King of Warriors, opened his eyes slowly. The dark evening sky hung above him, the trees stretching up to almost touch it. Their limbs hung heavy with snow green needle leaves that gave the air a sharp scent. White flakes fluttered through the air and he slowly stood up, as if he had simply been stargazing in a summer night. His leather hauberk creaked and jingled softly as he rose. His sea blue eyes took in the small clearing as he turned in a full circle. The snow rubbed and collapsed with each fall of his boots, instinct guiding him on which way to go. The cold smote his nose, ears, and cheeks, giving him a comfortable discomfort. Snow slid down off the trees every now and then sounding like sheeting rain as he walked. The memories of his life were still clear to him and he smiled as he continued on, taking a right at fallen log. He had lived a long life, his song was sung by warriors and bards from Geatland north to the farthest reaches of men and south to the realm of the Franks. Not only that, but it seemed there was even an afterlife as well! The King of Warriors cleared the trees at last and stood upon the crest of a hill, and all at once the world sprung forth in color and noise as if it had been shut up inside that copse of pines. The smell of salt was in the air as the sun shone on the horizon hanging over the crashing waves of the sea. The rays of light played across the landscape, lighting it up so brightly that Beowulf needed to squint. Down below him was a familiar sight, one that he had held in his mind ever since his days as a young man. The darkwood timbers inlaid with gold sparkled as if on fire, and the warrior breathed deep. Heorot. The Golden Hall. The great doors opened slowly, their groaning echoing throughout the ancient space. Beowulf's arms dropped from the oaken panels, decorated with the carving of the slaying of a great dragon and the building of the great mead hall. The ceiling was double decked in order to let out the smoke that would rise from the now cold central fire along the walls were barrels of the famed golden mead of Heorot and various weapons. These were not mere decorations however, but true battle-tested arms in case the hall were ever attacked. Long tables filled with goblets, plates, double-pronged forks and knives stretched nearly from the door to the twin thrones on a raised platform at the other end of the hall. The edges of the tables and benches as well as the pillars that supported the roof were all etched in gold and silver. Each etching told a separate tale of a hero, and were intwined with the wood at the proper width so as to only be readable when one was next to it. To be gaudy with the showing of the wealth would have been unfitting of such a place. The smile this brought to the Hero faded however as he walked forward, each foot seeming to raise dust from the floor. It was dim and dark, the wind now rushed this way and that as if to explore every crevice of this new space that had for so long been denied to it. Several hours later found a bright fire burning and the floor, tables, and items wiped clean. The King of Warriors eased himself down onto the throne and closed his eyes. Outside, the wind continued to howl. |
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| Akaecius | Nov 26 2012, 04:47 AM Post #2 |
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Smithr, who had been drifting around in the vast nothingness that is the throne of heroes became bored. He had thought of creating a world and crafting something but what good would it do? He didn’t need anything forged and he didn’t see any customers who had commissions for work. And yet… Smithr found himself standing in the snow next to green pine trees, their boughs heavily weighed down by layers upon layers of snow. It was night and the stars were shining. The wind blowing in his dark ruffled hair Smithr had started trotting through the snow. His hot gaze wandered across the scenery looking for something that would interest him, he found: Nothing. It was nature all around. He had been following some footsteps in the snow for a while; they were partly covered by snow that had blown in the cold harsh wind. He judged them to be a couple of hours old, if time even mattered in this place. Eventually he came out of the forest and looked out on the sea from a hill, he was not impressed. He was familiar with the sea and with nature and it was nothing that could impress one such as him, an innovator, an inventor, a craftsman, an artist, a poet, an artisan and most of all a smith. He looked lower and instead of keeping his gaze fixed on the wild sea roaring in the distance as many would he instead noticed the building. It was built in an old style almost ancient, it was native to the Danes of the North, back when they had still been the wild hulking Vikings who dared challenging even the gods. He recognized the purpose of the building, it was a mead hall, a place where legends may have been made but definitely also told. It was a place of celebration and yet the only thing Smithr could hear in the wind was the sea roaring and the snow flying through the air. After thoroughly taking in the sight of the building and assuring himself he didn’t need to see more of it he slowly started to remember; just whom he had inspired with this piece, just whom he had given the necessary prerequisites to build this piece. Though he knew he was only part of what was his whole, though he knew he was only part of that great being trapped inside the “Throne” he still took pride in that knowledge. He walked resolutely towards the doors and swung them open. Smithr moved forward into the hall and noticed how it was empty, except for one chair. A throne, and upon it sat a man, a king, Smithr thought. If you were to sit on a throne you had to be a king. Fire was crackling in the hall and was doing a good job at keeping it warm, it was clean inside despite there only being one person to occupy it. The doors swung closed behind Smithr. He walked forwards until he came to stand before the man on the throne before he spoke the first thing he had said in quite a while; “Good day. I came here because I am bored, of occupation you might say I have been many things but I am also a smith. I see you sitting on your throne and can't help but think that you are also unimpressed with your current situation. And so I ask, need you anything forged? I am sure it would be worth it for both of us.” Edited by Akaecius, Nov 26 2012, 04:50 AM.
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"Are you literally balling my sack, are you dicking my shaft? Are you fucking holing my anus?" -Akaecius Master: Bradley Asher(Known to Holger as Nathair) Strength: B - Endurance: B - Agility: C - Magic: C+ - Luck: E+ - Prana Pool: 1262.5/2062.5 Riding: A - Rune Magic: A - Eye of the Mind (True): A - Magic Resistance: E - Monster Hunter: D Smithr Master: Yougimhei Strength: A - Endurance: C - Agility: B - Magic: A - Luck: E - Prana Pool: 1002.5/1102.5 Magic Resistance: E - Monstrous Strength: A - Territory Creation: B - Item Construction: A Harradr Master: Saisha I. Nazari Strength: C+ - Endurance: C+ - Agility: A - Magic: E - Luck: C - Prana Pool: 1300/1800 prana Magic Resistance: C - Independent Action: C - Clairvoyance: A - Monstrous Strength: A - Bravery: B Kelstrin Akaecius Naeseen - Master Class: Martial Artist - Rank 3 Servant: Alex Minoa Circuit Quality: A+ - Circuit Quantity: 1 - Mana Regen: 13 - Prana Pool: 0/33 Karategi: Unharmed(full power) A. Pius - Master Class: Martial Artist - Rank 2, Offensive Magus - Rank 1 Servant: None Circuit Quality: A+ - Circuit Quantity: C - Mana Regen: 9 - Prana Pool: 35 Ivory Talisman: 15/15 Prana | |
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| RequiemArc | Dec 2 2012, 05:02 PM Post #3 |
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It had been a long time since Beowulf had come to be in the Throne of Heroes. He felt this rather than kept track of it. He had long ago examined the stories of heroes etched along all the hall, winding up its pillars and along its tables and beams. To his surprise they were not the stories he remembered but depicted foreign tales of heroes he had never met. They changed from day to day and more and more he found himself wishing to meet these souls, these heroes which surely must also be within the Throne. Heorot was meant to be a place for warriors to gather together to sing of their exploits, to test their strength against one another, and, of course, to drink the finest mead ever brewed. Beowulf would not let that reputation dwindle. He sat on the throne, the fire playing heat across his body and light behind his closed eyes as he wondered how to find these other heroes. Little did he know that the answer was soon to walk through the door. The King of Warriors was surprised to see a smith rather than a warrior to walk into the Golden Hall, but it quickly vanished as his blood began to buzz inside his veins. The proposition at first seemed ridiculous, what use would the Spirits of Heroes of for such trinkets? It was then that he was seized by an idea that seemed crazy enough to work, provided that this was no ordinary smith, and if he knew the Grail, he certainly was not. He interlaced his fingers, resting his elbows on his knees and bending forward towards his guest. “I am Beowulf, the King of Warriors, smith. I do indeed have a request for you, though I wonder if you can fulfill it. I desire only to see Heorot as it once was, a meeting place for warriors and heroes to sing and boast of their tales and test their strengths against one another. I wish for an object, a prize, if you will. A thing so grand that the souls of heroes from across the throne shall come to see it, and if they do they shall be offered a chance to win it if they can best all the others in a contest of their skills in battle. Can you do this?” Edited by RequiemArc, Dec 3 2012, 10:14 AM.
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| Akaecius | Dec 3 2012, 08:44 AM Post #4 |
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Had he heard right? He wanted a prize, and for a competition no less! Smithr's deep laughter bellowed out and a smile spread wide across his face "If I can do it? My dear Beowulf, creating most things is within my power. However, would creating one generic thing be worthy as a prize for such a competition? I could create weapons, armor and trinkets worthy of what the humans call gods. I think the victor should be allowed a request from me, unless..." "Well, first things first. I am Smithr and I am also what you might call 'the drive to create' or the 'will to create' it is overly simplified but I dare not go to great lengths merely to explain who I am. I will need a place to erect my smithy, a hill or mountain would do nicely. If I was not mistaken I saw one just outside of this hall? Then I shall go and make it to my liking. Once it is done I want every idea you can come up with for a prize, and well, if I agree with you that it be grand enough I shall make it. If not we will simply have to allow the contestants to name which prizes they would want." With those words Smithr still happy from having a task to work at started moving towards the door from which he had entered. --- Now out in the cold again Smithr realized how warm it had been in the hall "well, not quite as warm as a smithy" Smithr thought. He longed for the warmth of the forge. He walked for a while and saw the hill he had climbed down from to reach the mead hall. He thrust his hand into the side of the hill, it passed through it. Then he started slowly walking into the hill until eventually, he could not be seen from outside. In his stead appeared a big rectangular wooden door with iron ornaments running down the sides and also covering the middle of it. It had a brass door handle attached to it and steel hinges that looked as if they had always been there, encased in the hill. Just above the door was a sign with a picture of an anvil and a hammer on it. The smithy was now open for all to enter just a few minutes of walking away from the mead hall. Inside it was dark except for the glow of the forge. Several anvils of steel and tables of stone were lined up with various tools on them. Next to the tables were several trolls and dwarves ready to work and next to the walls of the smithy were stacks upon stacks of different metals. If you looked up above 12 or 15 feet above the smithy the walls and roof ceased to be; you could see the night sky from the smithy. In the smithy the ceiling would always portray the sky as it looked at dawn or in the late night. In front of the forge staring into the flames stood Smithr, happy to finally be reunited with the fire he so loved. OOC: It was a very big hill maybe more like a cliff, ok. |
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"Are you literally balling my sack, are you dicking my shaft? Are you fucking holing my anus?" -Akaecius Master: Bradley Asher(Known to Holger as Nathair) Strength: B - Endurance: B - Agility: C - Magic: C+ - Luck: E+ - Prana Pool: 1262.5/2062.5 Riding: A - Rune Magic: A - Eye of the Mind (True): A - Magic Resistance: E - Monster Hunter: D Smithr Master: Yougimhei Strength: A - Endurance: C - Agility: B - Magic: A - Luck: E - Prana Pool: 1002.5/1102.5 Magic Resistance: E - Monstrous Strength: A - Territory Creation: B - Item Construction: A Harradr Master: Saisha I. Nazari Strength: C+ - Endurance: C+ - Agility: A - Magic: E - Luck: C - Prana Pool: 1300/1800 prana Magic Resistance: C - Independent Action: C - Clairvoyance: A - Monstrous Strength: A - Bravery: B Kelstrin Akaecius Naeseen - Master Class: Martial Artist - Rank 3 Servant: Alex Minoa Circuit Quality: A+ - Circuit Quantity: 1 - Mana Regen: 13 - Prana Pool: 0/33 Karategi: Unharmed(full power) A. Pius - Master Class: Martial Artist - Rank 2, Offensive Magus - Rank 1 Servant: None Circuit Quality: A+ - Circuit Quantity: C - Mana Regen: 9 - Prana Pool: 35 Ivory Talisman: 15/15 Prana | |
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| TresserT | Dec 3 2012, 05:10 PM Post #5 |
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"...Damn... Heretic... I spent far too long in that place... And I didn't even get to see his phantasm..." Cinderella trudged through the frozen pine forest, mumbing to herself. Her thin clothing did little to protect her from the icy wind, and the metal plates covering her body only made it even less bearable. The princess knew she wouldn't die from the cold- she was already dead!- but that didn't make the wetness any more comfortable. Why couldn't my mystery involve a steel plated wool coat. She'd been walking for hours. Well, there really was no way to tell, but Cinderella felt like it had been hours. Hours... The girl wondered how her own phantasm would work in a world without time... Lost in thought, Cinderella didn't notice the gigantic hall until she practically walked inside it. She glanced at it's architecture and immediately recognized the building to be an old Anglo-Saxon drinking hall (she'd always had a good eye for artwork) though what such a hall was doing in the Throne of Heroes had the princess still guessing. After considering the dangers of entering such a place, the pri.cess decided to shuffle into it's great doors and search for the hall's owner. At the head of the greatest table sat a throne, and on that throne sat a man. No, man was an understatement. His body was that of a warrior, his eyes were those of kings's. The being could be no less than a true Heroic Spirit. Cinderella had seen others, but like hersef many of the "Heroes" got their title through loopholes. Even Cinderella herself was an anomaly; yes she had changed the world, and yes she was famous, but she certainly wasn't a hero. This King was different. While a human might take a second glance at Cinderella, there was no doubt the being on the throne was a Legendary Hero. On the Throne the King sat as if waiting for something. Cinderella slowly approached him, curtsying when she got closer. "Hello, sir. I am Cinderella, princess of... Well, my name may surely be enough. The snow seems to have gotten through my dress, and this is a glorious hall you have taken; would it be burdensome if I should choose to keep you company?" Edited by TresserT, Dec 3 2012, 05:39 PM.
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Kefka Chars
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| RequiemArc | Dec 5 2012, 11:15 AM Post #6 |
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Beowulf's eyebrows rose at the soaking woman standing in front of him. The Grail seemed determined to throw the strangest of heroes at him, still, if her name was supposed to be enough then Beowulf would look forward to seeing her skill. He rose from the high back wooden throne and stepped down onto level ground keeping his own eyes on hers as he did so. “I am afraid I do not know your tale by your name Cinderella, though I shall be glad to hear it.” He stood straight, a hand resting upon the head of one of his hatchets. She had given him her name, now it was time for him to give his. “My name is Beowulf, The Slayer of Grendel and his mother, breaker of the dragon which assaulted the Geats.” He gestured to the hall around him. “This is the golden hall Heorot, you may stay as long as you like, though I am afraid it has been far more empty of warriors than should ever be the case for such a place. Come, warm yourself by the fire. There are rooms down the hall should you wish to claim one.” |
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| TresserT | Dec 5 2012, 01:00 PM Post #7 |
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Cinderella was genuinely shocked by the Hero's response. Not that he'd offered a room- that was to be expected of any gentleman- more so that he hadn't heard the legend of Cinderella. It was true that she had died during the decline of Heroism, but the princess's legend had been one of the most famous in the physical world ever since. To think that someone didn't know her... Still, if this was the Beowulf, it really wouldn't make sense for a Heroic Spirit as old as him to know a 19th century princess. "Sir Beowulf, I thank you for your generosity. And I would love to tell you my tale, but I can provide no great stories of battle for your hall. As I said I am a princess, not a warrior." Cinderella tried to show grace as she strode towards the fire, but her drenched gown couldn't make a goddess look graceful. She considered creating herself a new one, but that would be rather awkward if her phantasm didn't work right inside the Throne. The warmth was soothing on the princess's shivering body. "Might I ask why the halls of legend have been abandoned, Sir Beowulf? Where have all the warriors gone?" Edited by TresserT, Dec 5 2012, 02:21 PM.
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Kefka Chars
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