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Riprose123 -> RE: The Hallows Inn (12/26/2014 23:07:55)
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Thunderclap, step into Dancing Clouds, press into Pouding Rain...
Maria's momentum carried her gracefully atop the sloped roof of the inn, her feet sliding and stepping perfectly over the thin surface it provided her. Her thoughts were focused, even with the pounding rain around her, threatening her with a sudden and quite leathal trip to muddy, unfrogiving earth. She flowed effortlessly from form to form, her lithe, muscular body shifting from one stance to another with long-practiced familiarity. Her every step was exactly where it should be, no energy wasted. With every move she made, it was simple, practical, and perfect. Observed from the ground, or the wall, which this spectacle most certainly was, her forms appeared to be something chaotic and strange, but every part of it fit together in her mind, and she knew from experience that every move she performed in this cadence was brutally and lethaly effective.
Lighting Split Tree, step into Part in the Clouds, kick into Stormfront...
She continued this for hours, her body soon soaked, not only by rain, but by sweat that had accumulated over the course of her excercises. By the time she finished, the rain had ceased, the clouds had parted slightly, and the new morning sun peeking out from on high. Standing lightly on one foot, still holding her drawn back, flexed left leg in the first formation of a kick, she studied what she could of the new morning sky. The grey clouds covered much of it, but ther ewas a new sun out, a new day. She had mixed feelings of today, her expectations not at all clear and as her foot slipped silently from the wet point of slate that served as her place of rest, her hand coming out lightly to catch her, flat on palm, making contact for the briefest of seconds before she was sliding, sliding down the roof, she sullenly accepted the fact that she would go another lonely day, too afraid to allow anyone too close.
Lone Cloud, press into Dark Horizon, block into Eye of the Storm...
Soon, after a short slide down the roof, a grasp of a window sill, and a light swing, she was standing back in her appointed suite of the inn. For a few extra coins each week she was afforded one of the larger rooms, which, while not being a significant growth, allowed her a wider space than normaly avalible. Lightly slipping out of her soaked clothing, she slipped on a pair of clean, dry pants, and a small shirt. Finally she wrapped her blessedly warm cloak around her shoulders, clipping it with a small broach. She unceremoniaslly ran rough, callosed hands through her short, strawberry blonde hair, before pulling the black hood over her head. Peering into the mirror that hung above her dresser, she allowed herself a soft smile, looking at the short, but otherwise mysterious figure gazing back at her. The cloak moved softly as if blown by a soft wind, even though she had closed the window moments ago. At times, the cloak often displayed signs of free thinking such as this, and she would often marvel at the nature of the thing.
Soft Summer Mist, chop into Retreating Lightning, step into Winter Storm...
Opening her door softly, she was startled by the thin man knocking upon Kitsondra's door (that was her name, wasn't it?). With a small, startled eep, she slipped back into her room. People noticing her brought her sadness, and she went to painstaking lengths to appear unapproachable and distant, while at the same time not being noticed. Ready now, she cracked her door open again, staring as the man froze, then stumbled and entered his own room. After several minutes of waiting, he emerged, and made for the stairs. Maria silently ghosted him, frowning with thought as she took notice of something, that in all honesty, should be impossible for a man his size. When he walked, every step he took was one with the weight of ten men; he stepped with great weight, as if stepping for many, and when he moved, there was building, bubbly energy. He did not step perfectly; no, not at all. For as long as she lived, she had only met one person who stepped and moved with perfection, every step where it should be, every motion as direct as needed. No, he was mighty, but rough, and as she ghosted him, she grew curious of him, fearful of him noticing her, but too enthralled to do anything but follow him into the common room, just as a man began to speak.
Roaring Typhoon, throw into Racing Wind, step into Sheet of Rain...
The man had quite the speech, and as she was pulled from her studies of this heavy-but-thin man, she immediately stepped into the shadows at the side of the room, her eyes darting from one face to the next. The first to stand was an oddly dressed girl, who seemed all too willing to fight. She sat back down, and Maria wondered why youth were so eager to risk their lives. She had seen much too many young people run into Darkweld, only to never be seen again. After she had sat down, Sera, a bounty hunter she had talked too, not often, but enough to garner remembering every detail, asked about payment. Maria could not blame her, for there were many who did not do good for the sake of doing good. As she sat, and waited, a man she knew as Phillips stood, and gestured to a man sitting, volunteering him for this quest. Even with her lack of knowledge about the situation, she nearly grasped the nearest chair and threw it at Philips for pledging another. As far as she could tell, he was both arrogant and a coward, to be controlling someone else like that, all while to afraid of pledging his own aid. She was reassured, though, by the theif's, pardon, the survivor's, words, which dripped of passion and emotion. The next to pledge was the large man she was so intrigued by, and it was at that point that she began to ponder the possibility of including herself in this man's quest. It might even be fun, and it would give her ample opportunity to interact with people. But that was just as much a belssing as it was a curse, for with her, well, condition, she was not one to be close to people, not with the evidence of her past. She was a danger to those around her, even if she never raised a hand to any of them, and this she knew, no matter what others may have told her in the past.
Warm Summer Wind, step into Rain on Rooftop, press into Lightning Strike...
She was ripped out of her thoughts next by a growing tension. There were obvious strings pulled tight between the man and Sera, and as Sera tossed her knife lazily in the air and sheathed it, offering her help as well, though at what cost, the tension seemed to dissipate, though it was quickly brought up agian by the local glorified gossip/information hound, Kitsondra. Maria had despised Kitsondra from the moment she laid eyes on her, for no other reason than a gut feeling. Maria was brutally torn between avoiding her outright, and befriending her, in the hopes that something terrible and deadly would happen to her. So far, she had avoided the woman, and that was how she hoped to keep it. As yet another person pledged themselves, Maria's eyes drifted to a small child sitting at the table near where the man stood. She looked young, too young to be traveling. She was familiar, if only in looks, and as Maria's mind raced to find the connection, she found herself gliding through the shadows toward her, silently, drawing no attention, until she stood close to the small girl.
Soft Patter upon Tin, lunge into Crashing Thunderroll, press into Twisting Cyclone...
It was the eyes! They were the same. In her mind, she knew there was no relation, there couldn't be, but the similarities were there. She had the same eyes as her lover, the one who had died because his luck had, quite literally, run out. Maria felt drawn to this girl, and as such, her rough, calloused hand found itself resting against her shoulder, a rough, but pleseant warmth, emerging from the shadows. Maria knelt lightly, her eyes shining in perfect impersonation of the girl's, irises of the same color, pupils the same size. With her other hand, she pulled the hood from her head, and as sadness and regret filled her, tears ran down her face. Her will had broken, but she had no regrets. She found herself speaking without meaning too, but planning every word with perfect diction, for she moved with perfection in everything she did; every step right where it should be, every movement just as powerful as needed.
"I will fight with you," Maria said, tear stricken trails snaking down her creme colored cheeks, eyes never leaving the side of the girl's face as she spoke, "none of you know me, but I will fight with you. For this girl, who reminds me so much of times past. I will fight with you."
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