Ezra Amos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coolmonsoon) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
zenderael_mmo2012-07-15 01:29 am
coolmonsoon) wrote in zenderael_mmo2012-07-15 01:29 am
Rhys + Ezra // Gatecrashers
Who: Spezra and Ahurhys (yes I am going to keep using this)
Where: At Bastan's gates
When: Monday
Before/After: A day and a bit after they arrive in Zenderael.
Warnings: I don't think Ez even swears in this one but I could be wrong :|a
In which Rhys proves himself as Ahura. Too bad beating people into submission isn't a good method for Ezra to prove he's the Spenta. :(a
It had taken the better part of the night and next day to reach Bastan. For rest in the night, Rhys took the first watch, used to odd hours already. The rest of the trip was mixed with idle banter, thoughtful silence, and an unfortunate chunk of it dedicated to fending off the monsters that assaulted them along the way. Rhys had tried to pocket anything that may have looked useful, but he didn't have room on him for more than a fang here and a scale there.
With the lack of sleep, it was difficult for Rhys to remember what day it was. Monday, he realized in his fatigue. Adrenaline would have to keep him together a while longer. He stood with Ezra on Everea territory, at the edge of the forests near Bastan, where they could see the beyond the green, rolling meadows to the specks of berserkers sitting outside Bastan's shielded form.
Rhys punched his fist in his palm and cracked his neck with a tilt of his head. This is what he came for. He nodded to Ezra, then began his march to the besieged city. As they got closer, he tossed his phone to himself, typed something, then handed to Ezra as he blazed on ahead.
They may not be happy to see the Spenta.
Let me try first.
It was strange, seeing so many recognizable things from a place he'd never been. As far as he was concerned, at least until he got a solid six hours of sleep and a grilled cheese sandwich, Zenderael could fuck itself. But that had already been established two days ago, a little bit after they'd gotten attacked by klaws, particularly disgusting, hostile alien-type crab monsters that Ezra was only too happy to dispatch. Did people eat them? Ezra couldn't imagine it as he kicked at one.
Seeing Bastan, even from a distance, was kind of amazing, even if he was tired and unable to think without prompting. Rhys recovered sooner than he did, and he took a moment to watch Rhys suddenly start getting amped up. Warning bells went off in Ezra's head, and he found himself lengthening his stride alongside Rhys, wondering what he was texting.
He read it, only to have his head snap up as Rhys started forward. Without reading the whole of it, Ezra sped up quickly to grab Rhys' shoulder, pulling him back forcefully, and it wasn't just Ezra doing it. It was the Spenta, too. "Jesus," he snapped, pulling Rhys to the point where he stood between Rhys and the berserkers. "Would you fuckin' wait and think?" Ezra hadn't gotten too angry during the whole of the trek, but he did not look at all impressed right now. "I don't have any problems with you goin' fuckin' Hulk on shit, Rhys, but you gotta stop and talk to me first," he said, almost yelling. He had to stop, not looking away from Rhys, but breathing in and out before he continued, "especially with somethin' like this. Even if nothin' changes."
Ezra looked over his shoulder towards Bastan. Yes, berserkers. He was amazed they'd stayed there so long, honestly.
And no. They wouldn't be happy to see the Spenta.
He sighed and clapped Rhys on the shoulder. A heal went through the contact, making sure that Rhys was at least in the best form he could be. No buffs, nothing else but the heal. "I'll stay here," he reassured Rhys. "Just... don't fuckin' lose."
Rhys stopped when he felt Ezra jerk him back and stared at him, tense and looking uneasily past Ezra's shoulder. As far as Rhys was concerned, he had thought about it. He had an entire day and a half to think about it, and if Ezra hadn't noticed, talking wasn't a thing Rhys did, and he didn't know when that battery of his was going to die, leaving him with only his actions to speak for him. Right now, Rhys wanted this ove before his resolve deflated to hunger and fatigue. He struggled to keep himself steadfast through the outburst, but exhaled once Ezra was done. It was a conceding gesture. Yeah, all right. Ezra was stressed too.
He breathed back in deep, trying to get back the fearlessness he had before. There sure were a lot of them... And Rhys had never fought people before... No. No thinking, despite what Ezra had told him. His will could not, for a second, waver. Not now. He nodded to Ezra, then started off again toward the berserkers.
Those along the edges turned their attention on him with their approach, and Rhys greeted the first with a punch to the face. With the force of the Ahura, the berserker flew through the crowd, knocking a line of berserkers down. The group reacted at once, charging toward Rhys. He leapt forward, kneed one in the gut and yanked her weapon away for himself: a giant mace. He didn't know how to wield it beyond the use of Hurricane Fury, sending a whirlwind of force out around him and preventing Rhys from being surrounded. Useless to him after that, he hurled it forward, letting it whirl into another body while he turned and punched into the earth, tearing it with a shockwave of force that send more of the berserkers tumbling.
Rhys wove away from the attacks the best he could as Nadir had taught him, but took just as many blows. He ignored the coppery taste in his mouth and grabbed a fallen body to use as a projectile into another incoming berserker. With an upward punch, he knocked one into the air and spun to grab and hurl another. The body hit the ground unexpectedly, with no other lunging berserkers in the way to take the shot. Rhys kept himself ready, but slowly straightened when it dawned on him.
They'd stopped.
Some of the others from around Bastan had come to watch, but they stopped, staring at him. Expecting something...? Rhys tried to hide his confusion and gestured toward Bastan's gates with both arms, shoving them out in a miming of pushing the sides of the siege away. To his shock, they obeyed, shifting to make a clear pathway.
He looked back toward Ezra and waved his arm, beckoning for him. On closer inspection, there was a trail of blood running down beside Rhys' eye, and that black dress shirt of his was soaked in blood at the arm of it.
It wasn't fair to Rhys, he knew that. It had felt easier before this had happened, at least then it had just been a matter of letting it be because, really, what could Ezra do? But now that they were in the same league, he felt the overpowering urge to try and protect Rhys, even if it was from himself. Doing that, however, went against Rhys' nature. He could see it in Rhys' face as he left him, Ezra thrusting the sword into the ground beside him, crouching down to watch inobtrusively. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't get in the way of Rhys'... what, rhythm? What if the "thinking" he forced on him caused him to falter?
What if Nadir's training had been going in the wrong direction?
Lips pressed together, hands wrung together, he watched from a distance as Rhys made his way through the ranks, heart beating like a hammer in his chest. He'd promised he wouldn't go over, he wouldn't help, he wouldn't intercede, but sitting there was a torture all its own.
Despite everything, Rhys was a marvel to watch, and Ezra found himself sucked into watching the battle with a keen eye. Is that what it'd been like with the berserkers back home in the riots? It looked unreal, even considering dragons and spells, just to see people flying out of the way like that. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, to keep himself from yelling out whenever Rhys got hit. Torture.
Things were slowing down, though. He could see it before Rhys did, and he hesitated before he stood up, waiting to see if Rhys would notice or just keep mowing down his own. He walked forward but not too far, the longsword in his hand tapping against his thigh in a nervous gesture. At Rhys' eventual stop and wave, he approached at what seemed to be a leisurely pace, coming up beside Rhys and giving him a look that was somewhere between relieved, afraid and impressed, though it was only a brief glance. There were berserkers everywhere, after all.
Ezra breathed in imperceptibly and held his hand up, palm flat, adjacent to Rhys' chest. What had become a familiar white glow flared to life and a corresponding sigil under Rhys' feet appeared, the heal threading through him and disappearing into the air as motes of light. Then he turned and continued up to the gates, his heart in his throat, his expression grim.
"Bastan! Open the gates!"
There was a spike of panic as Ezra approached, and Rhys wondered if he would have to start fighting again. There was a tension rising in the berserkers and Rhys tossed them the hardest look he could muster, stilling them. It was almost unsettling the way they respected him after that and... feared, maybe a little. But this is what he would have to be.
He closed his eyes with Ezra's healing and nodded his thanks, following after him toward the gates and refusing to glance toward the rows of berserkers on either side of him. His posture was tall despite growing exhaustion. He could not show weakness or risk softening. Not yet. Rhys hadn't earned that luxury.
He looked up at the gates with Ezra. At first, no answer. Were they not going to be let in, or were they debating what they had seen? Rhys let his gaze fall to the gates, attention caught by a clatter of steel. Wooden doors shoved open toward the new guild leaders, and the metal gateway rose up behind that.
They were greeted by the Bastan guard. Paladins. Rhys turned his attention to Ezra. Now it was his turn, and one that he hoped had less blood shed.
Ezra said nothing, didn't look either way either, didn't dare to look back to Rhys again. His own shoulders were squared, the Spenta's sword gripped in his hand comfortably. (If nothing else, he'd gotten used to doing nothing but holding the sword during Nadir's lessons.) But he didn't dare look away from the doors and shifted only to allow them to open without having to worry about being too close.
He recognized the one that came forward first- the Captain of the guard, Romerald Cuthbert. Behind him were others, Egilhard catching his eye, and- and Rasmus?!
Jesus. Jesus Christ. He was. So. So fucking tall.
Ezra let himself look at all of them, trying not to stare at Rasmus. His own fucking character, Jesus. Cuthbert, a middle-aged, lean man with short, shaggy brown hair and lazy-seeming green eyes, looked him over with a small frown. Before he could say anything, Ezra flipped the sword around and offered it to him by the hilt. The man's eyes widened after a brief visual inspection of the sword, knowing full well whose it was, and Ezra pulled it back again, tiredness and wariness battling it out in the stiffness of his frame.
"The Spenta returns with the Ahura," he said, forcing himself to enunciate properly. "If you don't believe me, ask them," he said, stepping sideways to show them the parted sea of berserkers, and Rhys, still covered in his own blood and the blood of others despite the healing Ezra had provided. "And when you do, let us in. We have some things to ... to discuss."
Rhys swallowed as he watched Ezra, but tried to bury that nervousness. There was a bit of surprise he couldn't hide as he watched the preceding, and it fell into a smile. Rhys had spent nights (days) in bed wondering if this would ever happen. If it would ever come to him having to lead the berserkers directly. Ezra only had that opportunity for what could barely consider a day-- a chopped up, exhausting, wreck of a day-- but Rhys was struck with the impression that Ezra would make a good Spenta.
Perhaps one better than the last with the changes that were happening.
When he was addressed, Rhys considered how to be polite, but then would a berserker be polite-- and since when had Rhys become Virelai? He was glad he had. It made him realize when he had to kill a line of thought immediately. Do what's natural, he told himself, striding forward to greet Captain Cuthbert with a nod and offering his hand for a shake with the Ahura's uncomfortable grip.
No, Cuthbert had seen what had been going on, having been called in the minute the fighting outside had started, not as it had been. Berserkers could start fights between themselves over something as small as a sigh, but it hadn't been an inside catalyst. Something had come in. And there he was, shaking the Captain's hand, smearing the white officer's gloves with blood that may or may not have been his.
"I've seen the Ahura before. Or, should I say, his power," Cuthbert said, refusing to allow himself to show any discomfort at Rhys' handshake, which he could not help but fear might shatter his hand. "And I accept that whoever this is holds it. But the Spenta-"
"Is me," Ezra interrupted, his voice terse. "And I'll prove myself, too, if you'd like, but I get the feelin' you're all a little tired of this siege. The Spenta's task has been fulfilled, and let me just say you're damn lucky because it almost wasn't."
Cuthbert looked at him, swallowing, uncertain what to do. Ezra could appreciate that. It was, to say the least, a bizarre circumstance. Who could have guessed such a simple-seeming task would return to them a new Spenta, after all?
"The matter of the Spenta will have to be put into the hands of others," the man said finally, his own nerves betraying him in the way he rubbed his bloodied hand at his side. "But we also wish to see an end to this siege, and the arrival of the Ahura is timely.Your company will be accepted with his." He hesitated again. "Come with me," he said, and gave a short bow of his head, hand on his saber's hilt at his side, before he turned sharply and walked away. Ezra breathed in and glanced to Rhys before stepping along.
Rhys narrowed his eyes, not concealing his displeasure with the way Cuthbert addressed Ezra. It wasn't even a bluff on Ezra's part. Without Ezra, Rhys would be dead thanks to Kharveryos, and maybe even his own berserkers without the added confidence of Ezra's presence behind him. He breathed a rude 'tch' through his teeth, nearly snarling, in place of being able to tell the paladins to show some respect. The expression faded when he returned Ezra's glance.
He would keep beside, if not a step behind, Ezra as they followed.
Where: At Bastan's gates
When: Monday
Before/After: A day and a bit after they arrive in Zenderael.
Warnings: I don't think Ez even swears in this one but I could be wrong :|a
In which Rhys proves himself as Ahura. Too bad beating people into submission isn't a good method for Ezra to prove he's the Spenta. :(a
It had taken the better part of the night and next day to reach Bastan. For rest in the night, Rhys took the first watch, used to odd hours already. The rest of the trip was mixed with idle banter, thoughtful silence, and an unfortunate chunk of it dedicated to fending off the monsters that assaulted them along the way. Rhys had tried to pocket anything that may have looked useful, but he didn't have room on him for more than a fang here and a scale there.
With the lack of sleep, it was difficult for Rhys to remember what day it was. Monday, he realized in his fatigue. Adrenaline would have to keep him together a while longer. He stood with Ezra on Everea territory, at the edge of the forests near Bastan, where they could see the beyond the green, rolling meadows to the specks of berserkers sitting outside Bastan's shielded form.
Rhys punched his fist in his palm and cracked his neck with a tilt of his head. This is what he came for. He nodded to Ezra, then began his march to the besieged city. As they got closer, he tossed his phone to himself, typed something, then handed to Ezra as he blazed on ahead.
They may not be happy to see the Spenta.
Let me try first.
It was strange, seeing so many recognizable things from a place he'd never been. As far as he was concerned, at least until he got a solid six hours of sleep and a grilled cheese sandwich, Zenderael could fuck itself. But that had already been established two days ago, a little bit after they'd gotten attacked by klaws, particularly disgusting, hostile alien-type crab monsters that Ezra was only too happy to dispatch. Did people eat them? Ezra couldn't imagine it as he kicked at one.
Seeing Bastan, even from a distance, was kind of amazing, even if he was tired and unable to think without prompting. Rhys recovered sooner than he did, and he took a moment to watch Rhys suddenly start getting amped up. Warning bells went off in Ezra's head, and he found himself lengthening his stride alongside Rhys, wondering what he was texting.
He read it, only to have his head snap up as Rhys started forward. Without reading the whole of it, Ezra sped up quickly to grab Rhys' shoulder, pulling him back forcefully, and it wasn't just Ezra doing it. It was the Spenta, too. "Jesus," he snapped, pulling Rhys to the point where he stood between Rhys and the berserkers. "Would you fuckin' wait and think?" Ezra hadn't gotten too angry during the whole of the trek, but he did not look at all impressed right now. "I don't have any problems with you goin' fuckin' Hulk on shit, Rhys, but you gotta stop and talk to me first," he said, almost yelling. He had to stop, not looking away from Rhys, but breathing in and out before he continued, "especially with somethin' like this. Even if nothin' changes."
Ezra looked over his shoulder towards Bastan. Yes, berserkers. He was amazed they'd stayed there so long, honestly.
And no. They wouldn't be happy to see the Spenta.
He sighed and clapped Rhys on the shoulder. A heal went through the contact, making sure that Rhys was at least in the best form he could be. No buffs, nothing else but the heal. "I'll stay here," he reassured Rhys. "Just... don't fuckin' lose."
Rhys stopped when he felt Ezra jerk him back and stared at him, tense and looking uneasily past Ezra's shoulder. As far as Rhys was concerned, he had thought about it. He had an entire day and a half to think about it, and if Ezra hadn't noticed, talking wasn't a thing Rhys did, and he didn't know when that battery of his was going to die, leaving him with only his actions to speak for him. Right now, Rhys wanted this ove before his resolve deflated to hunger and fatigue. He struggled to keep himself steadfast through the outburst, but exhaled once Ezra was done. It was a conceding gesture. Yeah, all right. Ezra was stressed too.
He breathed back in deep, trying to get back the fearlessness he had before. There sure were a lot of them... And Rhys had never fought people before... No. No thinking, despite what Ezra had told him. His will could not, for a second, waver. Not now. He nodded to Ezra, then started off again toward the berserkers.
Those along the edges turned their attention on him with their approach, and Rhys greeted the first with a punch to the face. With the force of the Ahura, the berserker flew through the crowd, knocking a line of berserkers down. The group reacted at once, charging toward Rhys. He leapt forward, kneed one in the gut and yanked her weapon away for himself: a giant mace. He didn't know how to wield it beyond the use of Hurricane Fury, sending a whirlwind of force out around him and preventing Rhys from being surrounded. Useless to him after that, he hurled it forward, letting it whirl into another body while he turned and punched into the earth, tearing it with a shockwave of force that send more of the berserkers tumbling.
Rhys wove away from the attacks the best he could as Nadir had taught him, but took just as many blows. He ignored the coppery taste in his mouth and grabbed a fallen body to use as a projectile into another incoming berserker. With an upward punch, he knocked one into the air and spun to grab and hurl another. The body hit the ground unexpectedly, with no other lunging berserkers in the way to take the shot. Rhys kept himself ready, but slowly straightened when it dawned on him.
They'd stopped.
Some of the others from around Bastan had come to watch, but they stopped, staring at him. Expecting something...? Rhys tried to hide his confusion and gestured toward Bastan's gates with both arms, shoving them out in a miming of pushing the sides of the siege away. To his shock, they obeyed, shifting to make a clear pathway.
He looked back toward Ezra and waved his arm, beckoning for him. On closer inspection, there was a trail of blood running down beside Rhys' eye, and that black dress shirt of his was soaked in blood at the arm of it.
It wasn't fair to Rhys, he knew that. It had felt easier before this had happened, at least then it had just been a matter of letting it be because, really, what could Ezra do? But now that they were in the same league, he felt the overpowering urge to try and protect Rhys, even if it was from himself. Doing that, however, went against Rhys' nature. He could see it in Rhys' face as he left him, Ezra thrusting the sword into the ground beside him, crouching down to watch inobtrusively. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't get in the way of Rhys'... what, rhythm? What if the "thinking" he forced on him caused him to falter?
What if Nadir's training had been going in the wrong direction?
Lips pressed together, hands wrung together, he watched from a distance as Rhys made his way through the ranks, heart beating like a hammer in his chest. He'd promised he wouldn't go over, he wouldn't help, he wouldn't intercede, but sitting there was a torture all its own.
Despite everything, Rhys was a marvel to watch, and Ezra found himself sucked into watching the battle with a keen eye. Is that what it'd been like with the berserkers back home in the riots? It looked unreal, even considering dragons and spells, just to see people flying out of the way like that. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, to keep himself from yelling out whenever Rhys got hit. Torture.
Things were slowing down, though. He could see it before Rhys did, and he hesitated before he stood up, waiting to see if Rhys would notice or just keep mowing down his own. He walked forward but not too far, the longsword in his hand tapping against his thigh in a nervous gesture. At Rhys' eventual stop and wave, he approached at what seemed to be a leisurely pace, coming up beside Rhys and giving him a look that was somewhere between relieved, afraid and impressed, though it was only a brief glance. There were berserkers everywhere, after all.
Ezra breathed in imperceptibly and held his hand up, palm flat, adjacent to Rhys' chest. What had become a familiar white glow flared to life and a corresponding sigil under Rhys' feet appeared, the heal threading through him and disappearing into the air as motes of light. Then he turned and continued up to the gates, his heart in his throat, his expression grim.
"Bastan! Open the gates!"
There was a spike of panic as Ezra approached, and Rhys wondered if he would have to start fighting again. There was a tension rising in the berserkers and Rhys tossed them the hardest look he could muster, stilling them. It was almost unsettling the way they respected him after that and... feared, maybe a little. But this is what he would have to be.
He closed his eyes with Ezra's healing and nodded his thanks, following after him toward the gates and refusing to glance toward the rows of berserkers on either side of him. His posture was tall despite growing exhaustion. He could not show weakness or risk softening. Not yet. Rhys hadn't earned that luxury.
He looked up at the gates with Ezra. At first, no answer. Were they not going to be let in, or were they debating what they had seen? Rhys let his gaze fall to the gates, attention caught by a clatter of steel. Wooden doors shoved open toward the new guild leaders, and the metal gateway rose up behind that.
They were greeted by the Bastan guard. Paladins. Rhys turned his attention to Ezra. Now it was his turn, and one that he hoped had less blood shed.
Ezra said nothing, didn't look either way either, didn't dare to look back to Rhys again. His own shoulders were squared, the Spenta's sword gripped in his hand comfortably. (If nothing else, he'd gotten used to doing nothing but holding the sword during Nadir's lessons.) But he didn't dare look away from the doors and shifted only to allow them to open without having to worry about being too close.
He recognized the one that came forward first- the Captain of the guard, Romerald Cuthbert. Behind him were others, Egilhard catching his eye, and- and Rasmus?!
Jesus. Jesus Christ. He was. So. So fucking tall.
Ezra let himself look at all of them, trying not to stare at Rasmus. His own fucking character, Jesus. Cuthbert, a middle-aged, lean man with short, shaggy brown hair and lazy-seeming green eyes, looked him over with a small frown. Before he could say anything, Ezra flipped the sword around and offered it to him by the hilt. The man's eyes widened after a brief visual inspection of the sword, knowing full well whose it was, and Ezra pulled it back again, tiredness and wariness battling it out in the stiffness of his frame.
"The Spenta returns with the Ahura," he said, forcing himself to enunciate properly. "If you don't believe me, ask them," he said, stepping sideways to show them the parted sea of berserkers, and Rhys, still covered in his own blood and the blood of others despite the healing Ezra had provided. "And when you do, let us in. We have some things to ... to discuss."
Rhys swallowed as he watched Ezra, but tried to bury that nervousness. There was a bit of surprise he couldn't hide as he watched the preceding, and it fell into a smile. Rhys had spent nights (days) in bed wondering if this would ever happen. If it would ever come to him having to lead the berserkers directly. Ezra only had that opportunity for what could barely consider a day-- a chopped up, exhausting, wreck of a day-- but Rhys was struck with the impression that Ezra would make a good Spenta.
Perhaps one better than the last with the changes that were happening.
When he was addressed, Rhys considered how to be polite, but then would a berserker be polite-- and since when had Rhys become Virelai? He was glad he had. It made him realize when he had to kill a line of thought immediately. Do what's natural, he told himself, striding forward to greet Captain Cuthbert with a nod and offering his hand for a shake with the Ahura's uncomfortable grip.
No, Cuthbert had seen what had been going on, having been called in the minute the fighting outside had started, not as it had been. Berserkers could start fights between themselves over something as small as a sigh, but it hadn't been an inside catalyst. Something had come in. And there he was, shaking the Captain's hand, smearing the white officer's gloves with blood that may or may not have been his.
"I've seen the Ahura before. Or, should I say, his power," Cuthbert said, refusing to allow himself to show any discomfort at Rhys' handshake, which he could not help but fear might shatter his hand. "And I accept that whoever this is holds it. But the Spenta-"
"Is me," Ezra interrupted, his voice terse. "And I'll prove myself, too, if you'd like, but I get the feelin' you're all a little tired of this siege. The Spenta's task has been fulfilled, and let me just say you're damn lucky because it almost wasn't."
Cuthbert looked at him, swallowing, uncertain what to do. Ezra could appreciate that. It was, to say the least, a bizarre circumstance. Who could have guessed such a simple-seeming task would return to them a new Spenta, after all?
"The matter of the Spenta will have to be put into the hands of others," the man said finally, his own nerves betraying him in the way he rubbed his bloodied hand at his side. "But we also wish to see an end to this siege, and the arrival of the Ahura is timely.Your company will be accepted with his." He hesitated again. "Come with me," he said, and gave a short bow of his head, hand on his saber's hilt at his side, before he turned sharply and walked away. Ezra breathed in and glanced to Rhys before stepping along.
Rhys narrowed his eyes, not concealing his displeasure with the way Cuthbert addressed Ezra. It wasn't even a bluff on Ezra's part. Without Ezra, Rhys would be dead thanks to Kharveryos, and maybe even his own berserkers without the added confidence of Ezra's presence behind him. He breathed a rude 'tch' through his teeth, nearly snarling, in place of being able to tell the paladins to show some respect. The expression faded when he returned Ezra's glance.
He would keep beside, if not a step behind, Ezra as they followed.