Thread: The Blacksmith Meets The Hero. (Lookingforthis&Chaotic)

Chaotic said 300 Years Ago. Twilight Plane. The young man stood at the edge of the world. Behind him, a cliff to Hell, and in front of him, a laughing Immortal. He was panting roughly. He was exhausted, and the pain in his whole being could not be ignored easily. Blood poured from his mouth, and he stared down against the arrogant being in front of him, through half lidded eyes. I want you. To look back. See what has become of the world you so dearly love, Summons. The man said, his pale, almost unnaturaly silver toned face glowing in the semi-dark place. Jake looked at the man suspiciously, and he merely laughed, as his purple eyes searched over Jake's own, dark ones. Do not fear treason. I have no reason to belittle someone who is already half dead. Jake growled, but turned nonetheless, and instantly, his heart sank. The World... At least the one kingdom below him, was in ruin. Ardell was... gone... Pillars of smoke and flame rose, and little by little, the Immortal raised his hand, letting the image in the void amplify till Jake could see it all. Melia, Drak, Atlas.... They were all... dead. He witnessed horrible things, and little by little, he felt his spirit break. His friends, the only ones he had left. Raped. Tortured. Mutilated. Killed. He looked at the Immortal, rage building as his eyes flashed red. Yes... that's it... Bring your little Koshir out, Summons. Let me see that demon's hideous face once more! The Immortal shouted, pale white lips curving into a laviscious smile, showing rows of sharp teeth as he laughed widely. Jake didn't think twice, as he let out a roar, his hair turning white as he gave out two slices. Too late. With a simple parry, the blades were thrown to the ground, and with another hit, the Immortal's hand clashed through the man's chest. When you wake up... If you even do so... Realize... That you will always be... He smiled, as he pushed Jake lightly towards the cliff, the man trying desperately to even breathe as he felt the pain of his cells trying to join together once more. Alone. Jake dropped down, into the abyss below. The Immortal merely kicked the blades down with him, and closed the portal to Nigh once more. Present Day. Outskirt's of Lorran. Jake walked slowly, clutching the ragged cloak to his body as he walked through the dunes of the Great Plains, feeling the constant batter of sand and dust against his features as he walked, ever so slowly, towards what he assumed was Lorran. He had heard about the city a bit over a month ago, and had heard quite a bit about the place, as a hotspot for people who were either trying to hide from the guard, or looking for all manner of work and trade. He decided to go there, as he thought it would help him reclaim his memory. And if it didn't work, he hoped to at least get some good materials and a couple of jobs to pass the time. It would be much easier, as well. Slowly, he stepped up from another dune, and as if by magic, the sandstorm ceased, and the glory of the Caravan City was shown. Lorran was always a fairly mobile city, known to move every decade or so, but it always moved to certain spots. Spots in the desert both hard to find and get to, and also... Full of water. This time, they were at the edge of the very desert, and instantly, Jake could feel the much welcome humidity of the sea. He breathed deeply, the hood finally falling back to reveal the man's features. He was fairly tall for Human standards, ranging in at 1.91m. he had sharp, rounded and fairly handsome features that made him look fairly young. His dark hair was messy and stuck out in certain tufts over his sharp, serious looking eyes. His body was muscled, but not overly so. Just enough to be able to notice it whenever he took a layer of armor off. The latter of which he rarely used anyways, save for his cloak and clothes, the only pieces of armor he wore were quickly discarded, useless to him due to his regenerative capabilities, which were still a mystery to him and a subject of interest to others, ever since he woke up. All in all, Jake was a mercenary with a good-looking face and eyes that had seen their share of fights, even if he remembered less than half of them. He kept walking towards the Caravan City, suddenly feeling much more relaxed. Click to expand... Things always leave an impression on a person, even after they've forgotten the occasion. They shaped your thoughts then and you lived afterwards with this changed mindset. People are, perhaps, not who they are but what their environment made them. A lot of people suffer and are shaped by it It's not at all rare in the world to grow up having to make the best of a bad situation and being harden by the experience into something...survivable. A lot of great people then are the winners of a bad situation. More importantly, they are people who learned how to win. And this, perhaps, is the most important thing to take out of this fact. Not that they beat a horrible scenario full of ugly and nasty things, but that they managed to beat a stacked scenario at all. It wasn't the fact that it was bad that made them great, but that it was hard . Beallona didn't want to be forgotten. She lived in a great city of which she was but one inhabitant among hundreds of thousands. She was a pretty enough lady, with her dark hair and green eyes, decent bust and womanly hips. But she merely confirmed to the average beauty of a woman who was fed well enough while growing up, exercised well enough due to her work to keep her at a good weight, and earned enough to dress well in this city. Maybe she would have outstanding in another place. But in Lorran? She didn't rate more then the upper middle edge. At least in the upper middle edge , she liked to think. Everyone everywhere killed themselves these days. People who made weapons always had business of many sorts. She herself knew the secrets to high metallurgy and the chemical process that drove the so called powder weapons. The flashing sticks. The fire arms. Knew the recepies to the two most common and useful propellants to her guns and the machinery required to build the tiny gears that made such a weapon deadly. But she lived in Lorran. Magic warriors that needed no sleep, rest, or commands defended the limits of the occasionally nomad city. Sentries at the command of the seemingly immortal leaders of their city who needed no supplies from blacksmith, gunsmith or magicsmith. Nor would they turn to HER in particular even if they did, because the big names in the art of death tools weren't even related to fire arms. There WAS enough demand for her kind of work. Guns were cheap enough with their required skill to kill a lot of the monsters that anyone was likely to meet. A balance between affordability and usefulness that still resulted in a positive calculus. But she lived in Lorran. Her father had been with a lot outfits. Mercenary or otherwise. He grew up wanting to be a soldier but came out of it all being a gunsmith. He wanted to explore the world but ended up settling in a decently nice part of the humongous city with a city girl native to the area. People that he fought with and, in some cases, fought against came from all over to talk to him. And inevitably buy what he made. He had a close relationship with many of the store's customers. People who shopped here simply because they knew him and had done so for a long time. They trusted him and similarly trusted his work. His store flourish decently and Beollona could honestly say that hers was a family business with a good pedigree. But her father was gone as were his buddies. The outfits now a days found it more to their liking to go to other places Who in their right mind buys guns from little girls? and her patron weren't the sort that used their pieces often. Or not often enough for their patronage to keep her a-flounder. But flounder she did and it was all she could do to keep her head above the financial waters of the place and keep being the boss of herself. All in all, Beallona's problem wasn't one of living with a horrible situation. She wasn't starving, or even in danger of it, and had fallback positions if her current business position were to fall under. Her survival, morals, or sanity weren't in danger. But she was losing. Because she lived in a truly GREAT city and she saw no way to buy herself enough time, money or opportunity to really try for the top. Saw no way to stand out from all the other great, if unknown, persona that were dime a dozen in the city of Lorran. And Beallona... ...Beallona didn't want to be forgotten. Fuck this, I am going out to the pub or something, The young proprietress of a gun store in the district of Sorran said to herself out loud as her patience finally ran out. There was no one inside her store. Hadn't been for the whole morning so she knew for sure that no one was around to question her sanity as she talked to herself. It was fucking unnatural. Business was never really THIS bad before. But a gnawing feeling at the back of her mind told her that this new low wasn't a exception but, rather, a trend setter on how her business would go. She probably should stay until night. Just on the off chance that she does get someone that buys enough for the day to not be a loss, but... She didn't know if she really had the energy to do it anymore. Sighing, she took a sign from below her desk and walked over to the window of her shop. Flipping it over she set it on the sill and exited her store. The sign read closed and the young proprietress her already walked off.