[Altamira] Kellson's Training

A door opened. Kellson entered the Dome once more, long coat sweeping the ground behind him. Brushing past the various people still awake in the earliest hours of the morning, he stopped in the middle of the entrance room, waiting until he saw a door to his room’s hallway. With a whoosh, it sprang into existence not two feet in front of him. As he pushed it open, crossing into the next hall, he smirked. “I’m getting better at that,” he muttered, walking briskly towards his room.

Pinned to the door was a note in familiar, fancy writing. The regicide groaned at the sight. He couldn’t have one damned moment of peace anymore because of that stupid prince. It almost made him wish Cadenza was back; at least she didn’t use the word “thee” in conversation. He grumpily ripped off the note, flinging the pin away.

Kellson:

Greetings. Please meet me in the Dome’s garden area.

~Hunter Merridale.

“Can I get a reason?” Kellson asked, annoyed. He dropped the note on the ground and pushed open his door. Merridale would just have to wait.

He slammed the door and dropped his sword onto the bed. Squeaking noises came from under the pillow and a hedgehog's face and snout poked out from underneath it.

"Hello, Norman," Kellson said. "Still sleeping?"

The demi-angel patted the hog's spiky head gingerly before taking a knife and his crossbow down from its pegs on the wall. Carefully, he cut a long notch into the handle. That made five kings total, not counting all the lesser nobles he'd bumped off in the past. And he wasn't even twenty yet. Not bad, not bad at all. His only wish was that he could've gotten paid. It wasn't that he needed the money--on the contrary, he'd received a handsome amount of cash for surviving a night being chased by werewolves--but it was the principle of the thing.

Slinging the crossbow over his shoulder, he slotted a few knives into the empty spaces on his bandolier and belted on his sword. Satisfied, he said, "Be back later, Norman," and left. Now he could go see Hunter.

Kellson had never been to the gardens before. If they resembled the rest of the Dome, they would be extremely elaborate and beautiful. Not that he cared, of course. Flowers weren't good for anything except looking pretty, something Kellson felt impugned his character. He'd shoot himself if he wanted to look handsome before going to skewer someone in the kidneys. That'd just be stupid.

Like Merridale. Damned pretty boy.

Doors zoomed past again. Kellson concentrated on the gardens until a door adorned with flowers and vines appeared, inviting him through.

As he entered the gardens, his suspicions were confirmed. The flora had obviously banded together to look as sickeningly beautiful as possible. No wonder the prince had asked to meet here. Takes one to know one. Kellson entertained thoughts of shooting Hunter in the throat and letting blood splash onto the happy little flowers. Now, that would be a pretty picture and no mistake.

Hunter stood beside a small pond full of ducks and turtles. An especially grumpy-looking shelled specimen glared at him before sliding into the water with a plop.

"All right," Kellson said, standing behind Hunter. "What is it? This time?"

Wonderful job, Duke. No errors to point out this time around. I really enjoyed this one.

Here's your next lesson:

IC:
Hunter turned at the sound of Kellson's voice and smiled. Always acting rather snarky and bothered about something, isn't he? He chuckled inwardly at his testy student. He wouldn't be the same without that.

Kellson impatiently awaited an answer.

Still smiling, Hunter met his hard stare and said, "You shall see why I called for you in a moment."

Rustles in the nearby trees and bushes alerted both student and teacher to the presence of other beings. Hunter gave a subtle nod off to his right, and then leapt up into the boughs of a tree and out of sight.

Cursing, Kellson became aware of six nonhuman creatures approaching him from behind. One caught him as he whirled around with a swift uppercut to the chin, and then a whole slew of strange Dome-dwellers were upon him.

Hunter watched the fight silently from a vantage point in a tall oak. Let's see if our irritable young man passes this test of his skills. If he does... he thought, ...then perhaps he's what I need.

OoC: As you may be able to guess, Kellson now has to fight off a countless number of strange creatures that live in the Dome. None of the creatures are out to kill him--but he doesn't know that yet. End your post with the battle coming to a close. 700 words minimum.

"Dammit--ow."

Kellson rolled with the punch as dozens of shapes sprang out of the trees. Springing up, his hands plunged into two pockets and came back out again, ringed with brass. Without focusing, he lashed out, punching, kicking, and elbowing furiously. Dark creatures flew left and right through the air before more took their places. The split second reprise had left him enough time to see what he was fighting, though, even if he didn't know what they were.

The creatures were either black or very dark blue, doing handsprings and somersaults through the air. Their arms and legs tapered off at the ends, drawing attention to the complete lack of hands and feet. That was an advantage right there: no opposable thumbs. The angular bodies slunk around before leaping towards him, almost as if they didn't fight, but danced. Freakish faces looked like giant eyepatches and a grinning jack-o-latern mouth had been tattoed on in dark grey ink.

They could be demons. They could be mime artists, God forbid. No matter.

"You're a shining example of royalty everywhere, Hunter," Kellson called out to the trees, legs scissoring to snap a long, pointy neck. "Ambushes. As if I could be impressed or surprised for such a low price. My God."

Crunch. Thunk.

That was the other problem with these mime demons. They made no noise. No screams, no grunts, no breathing. They simply bounded around, flipping and stretching with long limbs to their next destination, using arms to walk as well as legs, before springing at him to be repelled with raging blows of skin, bone, and brass.

"I don't know. I just don't. Ugh!" Kellson grunted as a Dome creature snuck up behind him and grabbed him around the neck in a stranglehold. He held his hand against the creature's face and unleashed a torrent of energy. Blinding light exploded against the creature's face, ripping through the skull. Indigo blood drenched Kellson's fist.

"Ew. Well, I hope you're enjoying this."

A knife zipped through the masses of creatures, skewering one in its thin abdomen. Kellson pocketed both sets of brass knuckles and leapt up into a tree, ripping one thick mahogany branch from the trunk with ease before dropping back into the masses. Bodies flew through the air like baseballs.

"You're in here, milord. I know it. Watching in the trees somewhere, like a bloody voyeur."

Six mime artist creatures tumbled silently through the air before landing with a splash into the pond. Ducks frantically took to the air. Kellson snagged one and beat it across a demon-thing's head until the assaulter stopped moving. Throwing the dead duck away, he heaved the branch into the throng, crushing a dozen more...things.

"I saved that kid, if you're curious. Did my job. Got another notch on my crossbow. 'S a kingly notch, that one."

Unslinging the crossbow, the regicide cocked it one handed and blasted away, firing until the rotating bolt magazine had emptied. It was only a minor detail. Kellson took the bow in both hands and ran towards the surging masses, diving into the middle and beating the creatures with the weapon, using it like a club.

"What is the point of this? Are you just using me for genocide, killing all these mime artists? That's not the right "cide" for me to do. Go find a Turk to do that for you."

Kellson noticed, delighted, many of the corpses of the Dome creatures lay in the mulch and dirt of the flowerbeds, crushing many an innocent flower.

"I'm not even breathing hard. It's the amulet. Got that when I was with Cadenza on the 'field trip,' haha, some field trip that was. How'dya know her? You her boyfriend? She's done well for herself if she's dating a prince."

With a silken slither ringing through the silence, interrupted only by the crunching and dropping of bodies, Kellson unsheathed his sword and lopped off the grinning heads of seven demons.

“Are these friends of yours, Your Highness? Are these the people you rule in your princedom? What a country. Ah…this is too easy. They don't move fast enough and they're all too weak to be a challenge. I’ve killed hundreds of these things.”

He deftly stabbed another creature through the chest.

“Hundreds…and one.”

They had come for him in pairs, then fours, then dozens. Now, they had given up and wordlessly decided, “Hello, maybe this chap is to hard for twenty-three of us. Everyone, charge!” So now they came in a wave.

Oh, Kellson thought, sheathing his sword. That’s a bloody lot of mimes.

They overwhelmed him, sweeping over him like maggots on a carcass. For several seconds, the ground swarmed with crawling black and grey bodies. One stood to the side, head cocked, frozen face stuck in a perpetual, jagged grin.

Beams of light stabbed through the holes between bodies. The gardens glowed with golden light. It was rather pretty.

Then, the gardens shook. A nearby oak tree creaked and toppled to the ground with a groaning sound. The pulsing mass of creatures exploded. Several of the uppermost demon-things actually flew through the ceiling. Most, however, flew through the air until stopped by more stolid objects like trees or the wall. Standing in the midst of falling leaves, debris, and bodies, Kellson let his arms drop to his sides as the energy crackled and dissipated.

“I never thought to put the hands together. Much better results, hey? Where’d you go, Your Merridale, haha.”

OoC: Damn, was that fun.

Just one nitpicky thing to speak of:

Kellson rolled with the punch as dozens of shapes sprang out of the trees. Springing up, his hands plunged into two pockets and came back out again, ringed with brass.

Not that it, in this instance, really distracts from your writing, but it's usually a good idea to vary your word choice in neighboring sentences so it's not repetitive.

Aside from that, there are no errors to speak of. This was easily my favorite training post of yours so far. Great description, action, and dialogue. Very entertaining.

Moving on now to the next lesson:

IC:
Hunter picked himself up from under a mess of broken oak branches. He removed leaves and twigs from his hair and wiped a smear of blood from a small cut on his cheek before approaching Kellson.

"Nice...nice work," he said tentatively. He glanced around at the corpses and winced inwardly. "I wasn't quite expecting you to kill every last one of them."

Before Kellson could respond to that, he cut him off to continue speaking. "Well, you have certainly passed the test I gave thee. I wished to see if you were skilled enough to take along on a journey I was planning--and now I see that you are." At that, Hunter looked around at the mime artists and sighed. He resumed talking again, "Go clean thyself up. I will brief Jhans and thee on the details in the morrow."

OoC:
Yes, now it's time to write up that introduction I mentioned before for a Crossroads or battle involving Kellson, Jhans, and Hunter. Hopefully Awky will catch up and be ready to participate soon. If not, I'll find something more for you to do while we wait, I guess.

A diplomat is a person who can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you actually look forward to the trip.

A warrior is the person who sends you on said trip.

So what happens when warriors become diplomats?

***

Prince Hunter Merridale opened the door to his student’s room and promptly shut it again as a dart zipped through the air into the aromatic cedar planks. Cautiously, he reopened the door.

“Sorry about that, Your Hunterness. Didn’t hear you knock.” If I had, Kellson thought mutinously, I’d have made sure that dart went through your eye and not the door.

“Of course,” the prince said, shutting the door behind him and tossing Kellson the dart along with several others already embedded in the wood. “It is of no concern. Now…you remember I told you of a mission last eve?”

“Yeah.”

“A great war has broken out betwixt various nations near my homeland. Our land is a land of…strife. The possible casualty mounts are enormous.”

“That’s generally what happens in wars. And?” Kellson asked, lazily throwing a dart at the carved bullseye.

“Thankfully, no battles have begun as of yet. The three sides still gather soldiers. My kingdom does not wish to see more bloodshed in our world, but we cannot spare any men to be a peacekeeping force, occupied as we are with our own enemies.” That seemed a bit ironic to Kellson, but he kept quiet.

“So you want me to kill someone again?”

Hunter waved his hands. “No, no, no! The opposite, in fact. You, I, and thine friend, Jhans Frenn, are to go to the three sides of the conflict and mediate before the conflict turns bloody.”

“I’m no diplomat!”

“I’m aware,” Hunter said, slightly amused. “Jhans and I will handle most of the diplomatic business. I was hoping you could come along to participate, learn, and possibly protect us or the three kingdoms’ rulers from attack while the talks take place…unless, of course, you do not wish to come.”

Bugger that, Kellson thought. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as we can; there is not a second to spare. I must go and collect Jhans. Thou shalt meet us in the entrance hall. Bring whatever weapons you require.”

The prince excused himself politely—everything he ever bloody does is polite, the bastard—and exited. Kellson threw on his trenchcoat, buckled on a bandolier of knives, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. He began to leave, but hesitated. Diplomacy had a lot to do with psychology, didn’t it? How would the other man react to certain situations?

Grinning, he pulled a flamberge from the wall and tied it across his shoulder and back. Psychological effects.

The regicide shoved open the door and strode towards the Dome's entrance hall. Almost automatically, he fell into a slow, self-propelling walk, legs acting as a sort of pendulum to send the next foot forward--his father had called it the Watchman's walk. The legs thought for themselves so the brain could think separately...

The other thing about diplomacy, Kellson had heard, was that betrayal was common. Spying on your enemies, in fact, was less important than spying on your friends. In the intense, pre-battleground feel of a brewing war, there could be...accidents. Fatal accidents. An assassin killed King Hunter, how sad, his students have no earthly idea who could have done such a thing...

“Damn,” he exclaimed. “I’m already getting good at this diplomacy stuff.”

OoC: If we use this, it could go as a Crossroads AND a battle, because Kellson wants to give Hunter a shave and a haircut that go down to the jugular vein, if you know what I mean.

Only one very minor error to speak of, and it probably resulted from a change in using the singular to the plural in this sentence:

So what happens when warriors becomes a diplomats?

I figure that's just a small typo, the kind of which I make a lot myself when I change my mind about how I want to phrase a sentence. Just thought I'd point it out.

Otherwise, fine work. We might have to wait a little while for Awky to get his finished so we can vote on what to do. And don't think for a second that I'll just let Kellson kill Hunter.

Oh, he won't kill Hunter, but he's definitely going to try. Bwahahaha.