[A-RP] The <Lionheart>

Argent Dawn
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My helmet is PERFECT!

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It’s good but can you really see things through it?

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You’re one to talk with that mask.

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“My eyes… Are open”

“Seeing is believing”

:slight_smile:
A seer doesn’t need eyes to see!

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Anyway this guild is like really good, you guys.

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((but also recruitment is closed))

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no it’s not

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Hey, what do you know, a new slot just opened up.

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oh thank god i’m finally free

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It’s not Regina, it’s Valmer that got murdered in her sleep…

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:rage: in 10 characters

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hugs in 10 characters

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He kept one hand wrapped around his coin pouch and the other around his axe. His lone eye scanned the refugees of the Lower City, specifically the orphans who in return eyed his belt for anything of value. He couldn’t blame them, there was no future in what remained of this land and should they manage to go elsewhere, what could they achieve? The Exodar remained the last bastion of Alliance might on Kalimdor, too big of a target to house all these refugees, and Stormwind could barely care for their own people, imagine what would happen if an army of refugees walked up to the boy king’s gate.

He shrugged the thought off as he approached the grand entrance to the World’s End Tavern. Stepping into the tavern stung his eyes, nostrils and lungs all at once. The awful smell of the cheapest “drinks” the poor rotted away their minds with, the foul tobacco and herbs smoked as well as the braziers in the corners made for an interesting fog that covered the ceiling of the tavern.

The innkeep either ignored or couldn’t notice the new arrival in the fog, regardless he made his way to the back, where a silent pack of broken sat around a hookah. Aside from a lazy hand placed on a knife in a belt, the broken didn’t seem to acknowledge the draenei looming over them. Not even when he dropped the great axe in his hand on the table did they look up, they just passed the pipe to the now empty hand of the draenei. He wiped the mouthpiece against his bracer for a moment before placing it between his lips and inhaling.

“How can we help, knight-defender?” one of the broken spoke up finally, placing his hands on the table. “Why do you bring me your toy?”
The draenei blew the smoke from the hookah out his nostrils before replying: “Improve.”

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“They sound like a good bunch, Matt.”

The old man was a testament on what age could do to a mortal body. Decrepit skin, wispy hair, raspy breath and frail limbs. He was bed bound within a simple, dusty room. There was another person in the room, hawkish features were adorned with a neatly kept black facial hair. Cropped hair of the same raven colour as kept in a good condition. He stood looking out of the window onto the streets of Stormwind City, the rays of sun that pierced through the quarter panes of glass created a dancing sheen in the light.

“Yeah… I like them. You know I never liked the ideal of becoming just another soldier in someone else’s war… These people are far from that, they all have their own identities and band together for what appears to be a common good.”

Matthew reached forward and leant upon the window sill, he grimaced to the fact that dust clung to his hands. He brushed them together to rid himself of the clinging dirt. The old man in the bed let out a hacking cough, a series of painful sounds which could spell the end for someone as frail as this. Yet the geriatric kept on living, he was always defying the odds. The younger of the two men looked towards him with a mild degree of concern.

“You should let me get a cleaner in here.” Matthew suggested.

“Not on your bloody life.” Maddocks replied.

“You’re an old bastard.” Matthew jabbed.

“And I taught you everything, what does that make you?” Maddocks chuckled away, not caring that they mixed in with his coughing. Matthew rolled his eyes, this was nothing new in their relationship which had spread over a couple of decades.

“As I was saying, I feel like I can make a difference here. Truly turn the tide on lives that wouldn’t have a choice otherwise.” Matthew kept staring out of the window, as if there was something upon the streets or roofs of this bustling city that would tell him he was saying the right things. Of course, there was nothing of the sort that made itself known. And the old man who was his mentor and father figure never offered the supportive advice that he so craved.

“So, what’s the play?” Maddocks said from his singular bed. Next to it was a bedside table with naught more than a jug and glass of water. The room was entirely bare and seemed to be a temporary solution with no character to it whatsoever.

“There isn’t one.” Matthew grunted.

“C’mon. There’s always a play, they hiding something expensive?” Maddocks’ eyes almost gleamed to the talk of money.

“Not this time, you old coot. This time I -want- to do this.” Matthew admitted to himself sternly. For his entire life it had been integrate and cut loose. All in the name of making him and his peers richer, but this time he felt like there was a greater calling in life. Something that was beckoning him on to make himself better, to cure an inner turmoil that had plagued him for so long. To own something that he had been rejecting since the fateful day he was bitten on the streets of Gilneas. All of this was interrupted by the old man in the bed.

“Whatever makes you happy, Matt. Just don’t forget little old me, yeah?” The old man chuckled and Matthew joined in, finding amusement with aged memories.

“How could I ever?” Matthew remarked as he paced to the bed side table and placed upon it a simple bottle of Gilnean brandy. “From home. You always loved it.” The older man reserved his glee, but it could be seen with the look on his face.

“So did you. At least you pretended to when I let you have your first drink. ‘Look at me, I’m a man sipping on me brandy.’” Maddocks put on a mocking, whiny voice to imitate the young Matthew and the younger of the two rolled his eyes.

“Listen, I’m going to move out of my place. There’s apparent lodgings at this guild hall and I could save my money to find you some place nicer.” Matthew admitted to the older fellow.

“Matt, I’m not going anywhere fast, you should enjoy your life whilst you can. But it seems like you are, out of all the bloody lost hopes I found, you were the one I never thought would settle down.” Maddocks relaxed back into his pillows, readying himself for an afternoon nap.

“Whatever you say.” And as if a spell had been cast upon the older gentleman, he was out like a light. Snoozing away as Matthew wandered up to fully cover him in a blanket. There was no tender goodbye, just a last look as the Gilnean made for the door and exited the property. He headed outside onto the streets of Stomwind.

Whilst there, he took a moment upon the doormat of Maddocks’ temporary property. Settling down was never a concept he had considered. He was one for integrating, exploiting and then cutting loose. All without looking back. But there was something about where he had ended up that made that process feel wrong and distasteful to him, like a bile lingering on the tongue. Settling down had finally found itself a name, perhaps one that held a future for him. That name being…

Lionheart.

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A new challenger to the list!

“Captain!”

The human treaded through the depths of a creaking ship. Each step that he took produced a low squelch against wet floorboards that never seemed to rot. He burst into a room that was in dire straits, there was no order of semblance. Crockery and cutlery was discarded on the floor, books that occupied adorning shelves were soaked and found in crumpling piles on the floor. The only part of the room with any kind of order was a desk, upon it was a map of the world and several scribbles that made no sense to anyone who would have looked at it.

Weighing down the four corners of the map was a mug, a golden compass, a serrated knife and a chunk of glowing rock. The orange and azure hints suggested that the rock was azerite. The Captain responded to his name, deadly white skin covered a bald head with a face that was mostly hidden behind a bandanna. His skin always seemed to have a hue to it, that of being glistening as if he had just delved the depths of the ocean. The water even dripped away from his coat and clothing to spatter the boards below his feet.

“You have a name for me?”

The plucky young sailor nodded his head as he caught his breath. His lengthy brown hair was dripping wet, as if he swam to get where he is now.

“Aye, sir… Lionheart.”

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Dark clouds pour down rain upon the broken ground. There is a distinct smell of blood hanging in the air as the puddles of the substance fill up the various holes and crevices in the dried up land. Ominous laughter comes from the distance but an unnatural darkness shrouds the source. Something whispers quietly but its words are twisted and incoherent, their meaning a mystery.

Moving forward the scene reveals itself. Amidst the bones of a Keep that stood against the Otherwordly Invaders corpses litter the streets. There are those whose faces are darkened by hoods yet among them are the bodies of familiar figures. Those of his Lionheart. Some yet move, but are defeated while a winged foe stands over them.

“Time runs out” a voice whispers.

And the Paladin woke up.

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Should I make an Infinity War reference or a Game of Thrones reference?

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(The following story takes place about 10 hours or so after this post, I’m just posting it ahead of time.)

A soft voice echoed: “Wake up.”

Regina grumbled, slowly opening her eyes. She looked around only to be met with darkness. The room was bright enough for her to see her own hands, yet she could see nothing else. The voice repeated, yet more sterner this time: "Wake up."

Regina looked around, hearing the sound again. A voice, familiar… She pushed herself up to her feet, rubbing her eyes only to see a figure standing in front of her. As she focused, she could see it clearly: It was an exact replica of Regina, as if she was looking in a mirror. “Good, you’re awake.” the replica spoke.

“Wh-What is this? Is this another one of Sarvaad’s tricks?” spoke Regina, grabbing a hold of her swords. She narrowed her eyes, peering at the figure who made no movement whatsoever in regards to the sign of a potential conflict.

“What you are seeing is irrelevant, all you need to do is listen.” spoke the replica, clasping her hands behind her back as she stared at Regina.

“I’m not falling fo-”

"Silence." spoke the replica, staring daggers towards Regina. She couldn’t help but stammer at the intimidating gaze of herself, quieting down as the Replica began to speak again. “You’ve been given the brief chance to see what is to come: A war-scorched red land, unknown invaders marching through portals. Clouds of blood raining down on the ruins, gently dripping down against the corpses of all those you’ve ever cared about as the enemy looks on in darkened laughter.” stated the Replica, her gaze never turning from Regina’s own.

“I knew it, a trick-”

The replica immediately interrupted, refusing Regina a chance to finish. " You’ve seen what will happen if nothing is done. You know Kazramath will come, you know he will destroy everything you care about… But instead of preparing, instead of working with your friends… You choose to drown your sorrows in liquor. In the coming fight, everyone must work together to change what you’ve seen. Everyone must be at peak condition… That includes you. You have spent so many years self-loathing, mourning, thinking the world hates you… It needs to end. You MUST turn yourself around, or others WILL die because of you."

Regina glared towards her replica, refusing to let it interrupt her anymore. “I wouldn’t expect some magical trick to understand all I’ve gone through, all I’ve sacrificed-”

“You speak of sacrifice? Look amongst the graves of the dead, and tell me again of your sacrifices. Look upon the Kaldorei, of those who lost their families and tell me again of your sacrifices. You have only been scarred by war, there are endless people before you who have suffered worse… And these people are actively doing better right now, whereas you right now have simply drunken yourself to sleep.”

Regina shot a fierce glare towards the Replica, bringing Drustrender back and piercing the Replica in the chest, yet nothing happened. No blood, no wound, nothing. The replica simply stared back at Regina before speaking up once more. “It is not too late to change your path. If you want to change the future Kazramath has brought, you will heed my words and take action.”

And with that, the Replica simply walked off, unburdened by the attack. Regina looked down at her blade, looking back up to see the Replica having turned her head back to look at Regina once more.

“Oh, and Regina?”

“What?”

“Wake up.”

Regina blinked before the figure vanished in front of her eyes, and soon overwhelming darkness took her. She began to groggily wake up in the real world, a sharp pain shooting through her head as the hangover from the heavy drinking took effect. She didn’t remember what she did the past night, but she remembered everything that happened in the Darkness… But she couldn’t tell if it was a magical trick or if she was just dreaming. She closed her eyes, rubbing them before pushing herself up from where she lay…

…Only to find an angry farmer staring directly at her from the other end of the bed, a hammer in the farmer’s hand. She managed to briefly look around before being forced back to the farmer’s gaze: The room was unfamiliar to her, but it looked like the room of a young adult. Her clothes and several beer bottles lay scattered around the room. The window was open, the morning sun lighting up the plains of Westfall. Exactly how far did she go while drinking the other night?

The farmer shouted, immediately snapping Regina out of her groggy thoughts: "I SAID WAKE UP! WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE KING ARE YOU DOING IN MY SON’S BED?"

Regina quietly thought to herself as she stammered to come up with an excuse. ‘Dream or trick, maybe her replica had a point…’

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The normally dark forest had a tinge of purple towards it. Wherever she looked, shapeless shadows were staring at her. Her vision twisted and blurred as if she was drunk, yet no alcohol coursed through her veins. She strolled through the forest, ignoring the shadows. In the back of her mind, she felt something tugging at her, trying to break out, an influence trying to regain control… Yet she disregarded it.

As she walked along the stone road, she soon stopped. A figure was in front of her. Another shadow, except this one looked more solid. It’s eyes grew red. It was an enemy. She stared at it, probing it’s weaknesses. She felt like it was trying to talk, but nothing came out. Soon, she ran. She ran towards it, brandishing her blades, ready to strike. She lept up as she charged, reading to pounce towards her foe.

Frederick let out a bored sigh as he trudged along the roads of Duskwood, his lantern illuminating the darkness. He had recently sold his wares to the people of Darkshire and now had to return back home to resupply. The roads of Duskwood were dangerous, but as of late they seemed to be somewhat tame.

Frederick continued to walk along the lonely roads, however he suddenly paused. Looking forth, he could see a figure in the shadows up ahead. A humanoid by the looks of it.

“Hello?” he called out to the figure… But it just continued staring. “Friend or foe?” he replied, again to silence. Soon, the figure began approaching, running. He caught a glimpse of the figure: A blonde Human, her irises as purple as the void. Her clothes and blades were coated in blood… Upon seeing the sight, Frederick tried to run, but found himself paralyzed by the sight of the woman dashing towards him.

“Pl-Please, no!” he yelled out as the Human lept up towards him, his vision immediately fading as he hit his head on the floor, the figure pouncing on him.

On a seperate note, man how things dramatically changed compared to my story the other day.

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