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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Jan 6, 2018 18:21:57 GMT -5
Get up. A voice broke through the void of sleep, waking him. “Get up.” He opened his eyes, blinking at the chandelier above him. Its candle-shaped bulbs threw their pale yellow light through its hanging crystals as it oscillated back and forth in a movement that was hardly visible. Connor, turning his head, could see that he was in the middle of a grand room that had the same floor area as his old house, and he recognized it. Beneath him, a hard cabriole sofa with ivory cushions and gold detailing. To either side of him stood rich walnut wood chairs, and in front of him, a pristine, black wood-stove.
The furniture was nothing, however, compared to the high windows that lined the walls. He knew they weren’t real, which made them all the more heart-breaking to look at. Each one showed a different scene, and he had looked at each one before. Now, he felt as pointless as a broken compass. Connor sat up, his muscles aching, his head throbbing. Running a hand through his hair and looking down, he found he was already dressed, ready to be presented. But for what? His owner hadn’t mentioned an event today.
“Await instruction.” Jaeger spoke again, and Connor reached behind his ear, pressing two fingers against the bone to signal ‘ok’. There was a click and then silence. The wood-stove was cold as the air around it. The rest of the room was empty, save for a door that he knew would be locked if he tried the handle. His body shivered as the cold ran up his back, causing him to turn around. The windows taunted him with live images. A forest, its branches disturbed by birds. A city street, people’s shoes clicking on the cobblestone without making a sound. An island with a fire dancing and smoking on its bright sand.
The worst, by far, was the canoe in the middle of the ocean. Connor could see there was no one in it; it drifted, gliding up and down the waves that seemed to threaten him even from behind the glass. He could almost hear the knocking of the wooden paddles against the sides of the canoe. The chandelier chinked and he flinched, his mind bringing him back to his first night under Jaeger du Lac’s control.
He could still feel like brand against his skin as if it was yesterday, though it happened a month ago, and the burn had healed by now, leaving a scripted JdL on his lower back. Sometimes, if he turned far enough, he could feel the heat of the iron, so searing it almost gave the impression that a knife carved from ice was cutting into him. If only that’s what it had been, he thought. He would have known what to do to stop it, then. But they had caught him by surprise, and for that, they would be truly sorry. Someday, he thought, someday I will make them hurt just as much. At the moment, he had no name to put to the betrayal. A faceless enemy. That was fine. He would fight every last person in this place until he found whoever was responsible. They had turned him in. How could they? His feelings weren’t hurt as much as his ego was, and even then, it was his reputation that he really cared about. He could recover, he knew. He would come back, better than before. He would be quicker, smarter; more cautious and less gracious. There was a solution to everything in his line of work, but here, he was frustrated each time he tried to come up with something. Fortunately, he was patient. After all, he had to get out before he could get revenge.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 6, 2018 20:53:31 GMT -5
When Lucia woke up again, she didn’t know how much time had passed. It could’ve been mere minutes or even a few long days. The room had the same quiet, mind-numbing stillness that it had last time, but the woman knew it was only a matter of time before something happened. And so she waited with growing dread, resisting the urge to peel back her dress again and further examine the lettering on her chest; she didn’t want to give whoever was watching her from outside the mirrored glass the satisfaction of witnessing her losing it again.
After what felt like hours, - measuring time was impossible in this room - saviors came in the form of two quiet maids with slender hands and empty eyes. Finally, some action. Lucia’s fists curled together, ready to use up her pent-up energy. But she was useless against the chains. Must be diamond glass, she thought, looking down at the translucent white chains curled around her. The assassin’s attention was brought back to the women as they came close enough to touch her. “Don’t you dare.” Lucia’s words were a quiet snarl, dripping with menace.
The maids simply ignored this, picking up objects from the cart they had brought with them. With her limited knowledge, the captive woman recognized some types of cosmetics and various hair tools. Lucia wasn’t dumb; she knew what they were meaning to do. Doll me up, so that the little prince can show me off like a new crown. Her lip curled, but she didn’t fight the two women as they fussed with her hair and face. And so, with growing numbness, she let herself be transformed into a little china doll, dainty and fragile.
When they were finished, the two little mice - a nice little nickname for the timid girls - gave her a weird little bow and backed out of the room, eyes wary and watching. Lucia slumped back in her chair, looking with contempt at herself in the mirror. Her hair had been curled into loose waves that stopped at her shoulder blades and was braided with a gold circlet at the crown of her head, making it shine with gold strands and amber tresses. Her eyes had been lined with gold and black, making them a piercing amber, and her face was dotted with sparkles. Somehow, the maids had forced her out of the torn and ragged emerald green dress, and into something more vulnerable. She now wore a flowing white dress that tumbled down her legs like a waterfall. It had scalloped cap sleeves and its swooping v-neck showed rather too much cleavage.
In short, Lucia looked like a beautiful, delicate angel save for her predatory eyes. Nothing could take away their fierce glint. She knew what Maven wanted to convey to the crowd. This was his little princess, something he could toy with, manipulate, and make money off of. She also knew why he had made her eyes so dark and striking, something that contrasted the whole angel look. It was to warn others that despite Maven’s strong hold on her, she was still a fighter. The assassin’s lip curled in disgust at herself. Her own looks were betraying her.
The woman’s heart nearly stopped when a hidden door slammed open and a handsome young man strode in. With raven-black hair, icy blue eyes, and a lopsided little smirk, Prince Maven was clearly a charmer. He silently observed her, scanning her top to bottom, circling around her like a hungry shark. Lucia could practically see the wheels in his twisted mind turning, calculating and taking everything in that could be used to his advantage. After a while, his cool voice broke the tension-filled quiet. “Well, they certainly didn’t lie about your looks.”
“Go to hell,” Lucia spat at him, turning to face him and ignoring the screaming wound on her chest.
Maven simply laughed, his icy blue eyes meeting hers. An unsettling feeling rose up in the experienced assassin, and she fought the urge to shrink beneath his gaze. “Ty also told me you were a fighter,” he crossed his arms nonchalantly. Before Lucia could open her mouth to retort, he stopped her with a wave of a slender, pale hand. “That talk is for later tonight, though.” He added, before continuing. “I have a gift for you.” He smiled faintly, producing an intricately made neckpiece made of delicate gold. It looked rather like antlers somewhat, gracefully curving and twisting. He walked to the back of her and placed his cold hands on her neck.
Though she knew it made her weak, Lucia seized up when he touched her, shuddering in fear. Maven twisted the piece around her neck, making it so the two end points of the white material stopped just where her collarbones were, making the middle of her throat open. “Perfect,” he purred, caressing her hairline. “I knew something was missing.”
But Lucia knew it wasn’t just a pretty piece of jewelry. The points dug into her skin, threatening to pierce her if she made any sudden moves. It was a collar.
(Just putting some details in before everyone responds. After that, then we’ll officialky start.)
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Post by Deleted on Jan 7, 2018 6:51:05 GMT -5
(Sure. The treatment of the captives depends on their owner!)
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Post by ~Skyblaze~ on Jan 7, 2018 18:07:22 GMT -5
~Skyblaze~ | Clint Averies | 22 years old | Circus Strongman/Underground Brawler | Clint strongly resembles a hulking beast more than a man. Towering over the average person at a staggering 7'1, he possesses an intimidatingly massive frame, with broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms built like tree trunks, with a broad, sturdy torso. His face is rugged, with a defined chin and strong brow. His hair is sandy and was at one point closely cut, his eyes a deep blue, the only part of his expression that is still truly alive. Born to a poor peasant family, Clint was the youngest of 6 children, and by far, the largest. His parents soon found it difficult to care for so many children, and one failed harvest was enough. At the age of 10, the young lad, who even by now was taller than his father, was sold off to the circus for a lump sum and a small stipend. He would spend the next 8 years of his life as a circus strongman, where he was repeatedly starved, beaten, and generally treated as nothing more than a brute. He was paid no wages, with anything he earned being sent to his family. With little more than a few rags to his name, Clint had no choice but to resort to underground illegal fighting rings to survive. He quickly became popular, with his towering height and crushing strength aptly earning him the monikor 'Behemoth'. Slowly, he began saving up a small fortune, nearly enough to buy his freedom from the circus. Things came to an end, however, when soldiers raided the fighting grounds, and Clint was captured. | Falling deeper into misfortune, Clint caught the eye of one of the worst nobles, the sadistic Princess Dahlia Sadreal, who took great pleasure in treating him as nothing more than a monstrous animal. Clint was chained and given nothing more than a loincloth to wear. He was barely allowed to sleep, and would be doused in freezing water if he attempted to do so without permission. Beatings and whippings were commonplace, along with worse tortures such as brandings and burnings. The only thing he was given plenty of was food, to keep him strong for the arena. The princess made no secret of her treatment of the young man, gleefully proclaiming that he was a "beast", and was simply treated as such. When he wasn't in the arena, Clint was held in the dark, freezing dungeons that were even worse than the slaves' living quarters. His arms were chained to opposite walls, keeping him held in an x and unable to lie down or even properly sit. He was only released of his bonds to eat, or to fight. In the ring, Clint is a terrifying force to go up against, and kills with destructive efficiency. With how much he has endured, little is able to cause him pain, and she shrugged off most attacks, barreling through his foes. It was terrifying enough when he was out of reach, but woe met an opponent unlucky enough to land in his grasp, for they would find their life literally squeezed out of them. Although he was once a handsome young man with a friendly, optimistic outlook on life, four years of torture have left him gaunt and silent. His bare torso and head are crisscrossed with the numerous scars and burns of his abuse. His hair was forced to grow out, shaggy and unkempt to match his persona, and was dyed an ashen black. It is matted and dirty, home to lice as he was granted no opportunity to wash or groom himself. His expression is blank with a thousand-yard stare, and he speaks only when spoken to. Years of torment have given him a nihilistic outlook on life, with little expectations after being treated horribly by everyone who he has ever been in the custody of. He is the very visage of a broken spirit, although his terrifying appearance leaves very few brave enough to try and taunt him for it. Those who do usually carry spears and nets to contain him. Despite everything, there is still a dangerous, burning core to this shell of a man, one that has been carefully stoked and tended to for 12 long years. If given an opportunity, even one, a single sign of weakness, this emotionless husk will become an unstoppable berserker, mowing down everything in its path to freedom.
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Post by ~Skyblaze~ on Jan 7, 2018 18:08:08 GMT -5
(Sorry this took so long lol was busy)
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Post by Deleted on Jan 7, 2018 18:13:26 GMT -5
It’s fine!! Clint is very interesting! Accepted.))
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Post by ~Skyblaze~ on Jan 7, 2018 18:55:48 GMT -5
(Coolio! )
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Jan 8, 2018 23:30:52 GMT -5
Oh geez I just saw they were deleted. Does anyone still have interest in this or no?
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Post by ~Skyblaze~ on Jan 9, 2018 3:15:15 GMT -5
(Dang, wonder what happened. But yeah I am)
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Post by 𝐸𝓁𝑜𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒟𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇 on Jan 9, 2018 4:28:09 GMT -5
(may I join?)
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Jan 10, 2018 23:04:31 GMT -5
Alright, well, maybe we wait to see whoever is still interested then continue with the plan? Unless anyone wants to go in a different direction.
And yea elo you can join, I don't see why not lol none of us can edit the first post but feel free to post a form like ours
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Post by lozi on Jan 10, 2018 23:58:40 GMT -5
oh dear what have I missed?
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Post by Deleted on Jan 11, 2018 7:08:17 GMT -5
(GUYS I AM BACK. SOMEHOW I DELETED MYSELF. BUT I AM HERE AND WILL CREATE A RP THAT I CAN EDIT. I WILL POST THE LINK BEFORE> I AM SORRY FOR CONFUSION!)
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Jan 11, 2018 21:04:30 GMT -5
lawl ok this is unfortunate I say we just wait a bit longer lol unless you guys want to go ahead and get started, I posted my starter, but I can do another one???
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