A Broken-Hearted Prison (M)

[OctavianKirin]

http://hdwallpaper.ws/images/2012/09/-Dragons-Gloves-Blue-Eyes-Long-Hair-Blue-Hair-Purple-Eyes-Anime-Girls-Fresh-New-Hd-Wallpaper--.jpg

I was trapped in here.. Trapped inside a walled castle. My parents locked me in here for my whole life,food here been enchanted to last and multiply for a whole lifespan of a human. Why they trapped me in here? I've been told it was an Oracle,cursing my future in my father's eyes. So,yep. This is where I lay,on a white bed with my only friend: Draco. He plays with me,both of us growing up together.. Forever. I wish for that one person.. Somebody who will find me. I would give anything to escape this enchanted hell hole. I've tried everything! Climbing the walls,exploding the walls,digging out of here,even flying! None of it works! This land is enchanted,and only one.. The one who will rescue me,is allowed to get in and out of those gates. I sigh,now sitting down beside Draco as we stare up into the glass ceiling that gives me a epic view of the amazing stars. I smile softly,drawing lines out to attach to the stars,forming many constellations.

[Amalgamator]

(I assume that by not responding to my message, you do not care for a Bio; correct me if I am wrong. I also assume that by renaissance, you refer to the 14-17th century as opposed to the 10-13th century medieval era, at least as far as technological and educational breakthroughs go. Not much of a historian, but I'll see what I can do. Oh, and quick note: I may have written too much. Sorry.)

The soft glow of the speckled stars shone through the thin clouds as the dark night passed bye, a gentle, lavender-scented breeze passing by as timid creatures grazed in an open field. A crackling explosion sounded in the distance, followed by a loud rally and an array of shouts, cries, screams and curses. Smoke filled the air, arrows screamed, metal plates screeched, swords clanked, shields slammed, axes chopped and the gushing of blood and wartime goring sounded as yet another heavy battle began.

Trees slammed to the ground as cannon-balls the size of men crashed through the forest, men sent flying, cannons destroyed, explosions covering the sounds of the blood-curdling screams. Men continued dying for hours, hours on end as the light of torches, flaming arrows and cannons filled the dull night sky, smoke slowly rising from the heavy war zone. Time passed, the fighting slowed, a retreat was called and men started fleeing, the firing of cannons slowing as the extremely-heavy devices were moved.

The clanking of armor and the cries of death slowly receded into the distance as the night turned to day. Time went on, wounded men died slowly, groaning, hopeless and distraught. Some men rose from death, only to fall right back down, too wounded to leave the battle zone with their honor and their lives. The day went by, dying men left for the ravens and the crows, the rotten stench of war rising from the corpses as time helped the sun bake flesh.

Now, what was the result of this battle? What was the point? Why did it happen? Who cares? These are questions for another time. For now, we shall go back a time and focus on the more important part of the battle. The men who died, the cannons, the armor, the arrows, even the winning battalion had no meaning at all, simply due to the one man to lead the fight.

The man called himself Ollomo, his body was like a tower, legs built for running, arms thick, right shoulder thicker than the left, neck strong, back straight, lean, powerful, yet graceful. His hair was jet black and short, left uncut for convenience, thus moderately long. His eyes shone a brilliant blue, his face tanned from his time in the sun. His armor glistened, shined and primed for a heavy battle, his incredibly heavy, recurved, yew and ebony bow clenched by the riser in his left hand, strung, arrow knocked, fletchings lined and ready to shoot. The man looked to be a killer, leather and chainmail armor lightly covered his entire body, his thick leather quiver resting taught against his back.

The archer had not a single blade, nor axe, nor stick, nor bomb, nor pouch to line his body. His sole weapon was his trusty bow. As he marched in the front-lines with the rest of his friends, pikemen and cavaliers, he strolled where his commander told him, following orders as best he could, a new initiate into the ranks. He saw the huge army on a mountain far away, but he didn't yet care, talking with his friends, enjoying possibly the last moments of his very life as he marched, the sound of heavy, clanking footsteps following him as he crept along.

As the battle began, Ollomo snuck back to the ranks of his fellow archers, launching his arrows a hundred yards into the skulls and chests of his adversaries, not caring to see the look in their ant-sized eyes as they died, too far to hear. The battle raged on, his friends charging the ranks of the other army, hoping for a brilliant flank, screams of bloodlust filling his ears as he grinned, advancing to get better shots. Cannons shot around him, the heavy explosions missing him at every opportunity as he continued volleying arrows, destroying each man he eyed.

Suddenly, two bodkin arrows plunged into his chest, one at his gut, the other near his shoulder. The towering man collapsed onto the ground, the pain and the fear of injury knocking him out almost instantly. His body lay incapacitated as the battle raged, subsided, passed and was forgotten. Blood clotted around the tips of the tiny points in the arrows, stopping his bleeding after the first couple hours. Time seemed to pass him bye, no dreams, few breaths, no movement. He was but a living corpse.

When Ollomo awoke, his eyes shot open, his injuries re-opened as he shot up, his muscles blocked and awkwardly stopped by the sharp metal arrows. The soldier pulled out the two pointed arrows, grimacing as he pulled off his chainmail, bandaging his wounds with what cloth he ripped from the shirt beneath, and arose from his place on the grass, looking around at the devastation. Shock and disbelief held the man as he looked around, corpses of his allies caked across the dirt, mutilated, devastated. Around the spot he lay were other corpses, the stench of death as strong as it could get.

The man thought he wanted to experience the thrill of war, thought he could manage it, thought he would like it. He knew the feeling of getting a kill, he felt wounds before, he even dealt with the death of many people around him when he lived with his poor family back in Riverstead. The scene around him, however, took hold of him with a vice-grip like none other. The grown man vomited a few times, his eyes filled with tears at the death around him, his stomach growled and his throat crackled, begging to be quenched of thirst, but he sobbed, too overwhelmed with emotion to move.

Another hour passed, the man wiped up his tears and rose, his bow and quiver replaced along his back as he crept through the sea of bodies. The cannon balls terraformed the land enough that he had not a clue where he was any more. Ollomo dry-wretched a few times as he tried to ignore the stench of death, walking quickly to escape the scene of terror, each step bringing pain to his two deep wounds. His chest did not seem too heavily damaged, his guts hurt a ton, but he could manage, and his left shoulder would heal up quick due to the arrow having hit bone. Despite this, pain and witness quelled his ambition for war, possibly forever.

Ollomo managed to escape the battle scene, walking off with his brain half-on, barely thinking as he tried to forgot all that he had seen the day before. Each twang as he loosed an arrow was now haunting him, each dead face, each mutilated arm reaching out, looking, watching, begging for help which he knew he could not give. Even the stench lingered in his memory, despite the pleasant smell of lavender and rose as he walked through a pleasant field, shivering. He left his armor back at the battle scene, wanting nothing to do with war anymore, and thus he only wore his cotton pants and shirt, both brown, stitched and covered with blood and dirt.

The walking corpse collapsed after awhile, staring off into the bright, starry sky. He knew not where he was, and he did not have a clue where he was going or how long it had been since he was shot, but all the same, the man stared off into the sky, his wounds throbbing as he watched the sparkles of fire, far out of reach, playfully twinkling as the night wore on. The moon masked the stars around it, it's full luster glimmering, reflecting the brilliance of the sun to aid the archer to see in the dark of the night.

Ollomo stared up into the stars for what seemed like hours, trying to mask the memories of death and war as he tried connecting the stars, trying to make images. He lifted his right hand and grinned warmly, connecting a few of the bright stars to form the shape of,

"What is that?" he asked, chuckling softly, wincing slightly as he did so due to his hurt chest, "A lizard? No," he thought, tilting his head slightly in the dirt, trying to think of what the constellation looked like, grass softly cradling his tired body as he gently breathed, his bow and quiver resting beside him as his eyes slowly started drifting closed, "No, I know what it is," he thought, his grin turning into a smug smile, "it's a dragon."

With this, Ollomo's eyes shut tight, another gentle breeze blowing by, masking the pain of his chest by cooling his head slightly, his breathing seemingly controlled by the smooth, delightful wind. Sleep quickly overtook him again, his body tired from the long walk, attempting to rest more and heal, having been through too much stress for one day. Dark thoughts bled into his mind as dreams started to fill his slumber, but an odd message filled his mind as he slept, blocking the scars etched into his brain from the trauma of the day.

Your path goes west,
after your rest,
until you reach a sky-high gate.
Follow along,
listen to song,
and you'll reach your long awaited fate.
Don't fear, don't stop.
your life ends not,
for you must travel far,
and find a stone, a scale, a jar,
even a friend without a scar,
only then might you find fete.

And with that, the night drove on, the creatures of the night stalking, avoiding, creeping and hunting, the plants swaying with the breeze, awaiting their chance to make food once more. Silence filled the air, society far off, wilderness surrounding the wounded archer as he lay in the open field, fast asleep, every second of sleep delaying the quest of the coming day.

[OctavianKirin]

I yawn,stretching out my arms as the sky seems to shift and the stars move according to a regular schedule. I felt tired,weak,etcetera. My scaled friend coiled around my waist,nipping on my cheek. It was his way of a good-night kiss. I blushed dearly,kissing back his pale forehead,only to receive a forked tongue along my nose for a response. I slowly got up,wobbling over to my bedroom. It was encased in pure cobblestone,a wooden dresser,and a small wooden balcony that's about twenty feet high.

My bed was nothing more then a small bunk bed with a white elegant frame,the bottom bunk coated with pink and the top with blue blankets and sheets. My bunk was,indeed the pink one,since Draco liked higher grounds. I crawled into there,a cat nap would do. Draco uncoiled around me,slithering up the ladder and hanging over the border of it. He kept watch at night,like a watch dog.

I soon fell asleep,off into a deep and relaxing slumber. I dreamed,dreamed of a wonderful dream. A man,under the stars,a knight in fact. His face,bore a smile of many years of trial and error. He wasn't far,she had guessed. She could just reach out and touch him,but refused to. It always ruined her dreams,touching someone and watching them panic,saying "I can't see you! Whore you?! Witch! Ghost!" When she was right there,obviously screaming that those accusations were false.

[Amalgamator]

(If you would prefer that I limit my description and make my posts shorter in the future, I will. The only reason these posts are so long is that I wished to build up suspense and define the background of my character feasibly, because flashbacks and autobiographies are highly annoying. Also, I tend to use a ton more detailed, poetic description, but it would take years to read if I did thus for these posts.)

Ollomo awoke with a start, rising from his resting position, pain shooting down his chest. A strange, painful liquid shot up his throat and he coughed a few times, trying to suppress it, his tired eyes wide from the shock of his sudden awakening. Blood dripped down his face as he clutched his wounds, gritting his teeth as he started to rise, coughing lightly as he calmed himself. He could not remember anything about his dreams, not the words, not the figures, not the lights or the sounds, not even the feelings he had or the thoughts he produced.

As he wiped the drops of scarlet from his face, his expression calmed, he looked up at the horizon, cloud-covered and colorful as an artist's palate, the beautiful array of sunrise colors flowing from the orb of light beneath. The archer continued observing his surroundings, still transitioning between sleep and wake, swallowing his heart every now and then as momentary reminders of the previous day continued flashing through his mind. The clouds were dark and menacing, promising heavy storms and crackles of the wrath of the wind. The dark atmosphere advised him to find shelter soon, thus he translated it as such.

Having awoken, tired, starved and thirsty, the lone archer began to walk with the wind, travelling in a direction he could not identify, his trauma having limited his cognition. The young beard on his face wiggled with the occasional gust as his feet pattered through the muddy grass, the morning dew still fresh and crisp. The field he walked in was quiet, the early birds' few chirps soft, the bugs muted by the dirt around them as they awoke. The sun was masked slowly by a ominous, dark cloud as time went bye, life slowly picking up as the archer continued on his way, his still strung bow on his back, his half-full quiver strapped tight against his shoulder.

Hours of walking went bye, the field far behind him, trees passing with every step, odd plants, animal sounds, birds, bugs, twigs snapping, sounds of the forest soft, yet frequent. The injured man was wide awake now, but his mind was not in his steps, but in his thoughts. He could not cease the possession of the dead on his eyes, his periphery, his sanity. Every step brought with it another thought, a word, a groan of pain from the memories of battle. His adrenaline was no longer pumping, his energy long gone, all he had left was the will to travel on, to find his fate, to live or die.

More hours passed, his steps more frequent now as he sped up. The end of the forest was ahead of him now, he could see the wider separation of trees followed by a brighter amount of light, light not blocked by canopy. There was a shape or two along the horizon which didn't seem quite like trees, dark and wavy, undefined as any other distant object would look, but the haunted man continued, biting his bottom lip to focus his mind away from his thoughts as he urged himself onward, his dry, empty stomach urging him to find sustenance quickly.

The archer released his hand from his chest wound, applying a new bandage from his ripped shirt in order to help it recover, then pulled out his bow, readying himself for a quick hunt. He searched the forest area for awhile, the time at around noon as he silently stalked the trees and critters around him. The quick, short twang of an arrow sounded as he knocked one of his sleek, perfectly crafted broad-head points, the sharp curve of the iron head grinning menacingly as it waited to greet it's prey. Ollomo saw a target after awhile, a moderately large buck grazing along by a pond.

The archer effortlessly pulled back the immensely powerful bow, the pain from his damaged shoulder relenting in the heat of the moment, watching silently as his prey nibbled on a bush of berries, angled perfectly to be shot from the archer's position. Ollomo lifted the tip of the arrow to the center of the animal's small chest, matching the path of the side-point of the head of the arrow just below the shoulder-blade of the innocent animal as it grazed, his intent set as he waited, aiming, checking his breaths softly. The animal stopped moving for a second as it ate, chewing it's meal intently as it eyed the bush for it's next quick bite, almost enjoying its worry-free meal.

The moment came then, twang, the arrow was released from the heavy recurve bow, it's menacing head slicing through the air as it shot bye, faster than the blink of an eye, straight into the still-beating heart of the unaware prey. The buck flew to it's side, the arrow having gotten caught on a rib on the other side of it's chest, it's remaining energy carrying the heavy animal five feet to it's side, cracking the rib slightly from the sheer force. The perfect shot killed the animal instantly, it's weak last breath released with the berries in it's mouth, life blood delayed from flowing out the wound as its veins ceased in function.

The hunter rose from his hiding place and quickly made his way to the animal, checking it to see if it lived. The prey was dead, no pulse and no movement, thus Ollomo cleaned his arrow, replacing it into his quiver, then gutted the animal with a cheap piece of metal he kept the extra pouch in his quiver, leaving the parts for the other creatures of the forest to consume at another time. The hunter then made a quick fire using small, dry twigs and a rock to spark the piece of metal he had, then cooked the remaining meat, discarding the pelt after having harvested the animal for its worth. The man drank from the fresh body of water and ate from the meat of the buck, a solemn expression covering his face as he saw once more the flashbacks of the previous day, the kill he had just made and the kills he had made. The faces still screamed in pain as he ate, silent, haunted.

The day was still young as he rose from his meal, pain still surging through his chest as his two major wounds continued to pulse with resentment towards the sudden movement. His solemn expression turned to a frown as he accidentally burned part of his foot on an ember, having let it sneak into his sandal as he put out the fire. After washing his foot in the water, the archer took off again, even more pain coursing through his body. The odd figures in the distance began to seem more defined as he neared the edge of the forest, his steps seemingly gaining meaning as his curiosity led him forward.

Ollomo passed the last tree in the forest after a few minutes, and was then greeted by a crackle of thunder off in the distance as well as a few, wet drops of water falling from high in the sky, offering an odd pattering along his dirty, dry clothing. The archer did not stand a chance of surviving a storm without shelter or a thick cloak, especially in the territory he was used to. Encouraged onward, the man in ripped clothing jogged with a slight limp on his left leg, momentarily distracted from the figment in the distance.

Rain drops quickly fell harder and more frequently as the heavy clouds began releasing their burden, the crackles of thunder sounding closer. The heavy clouds blocked out the sun, making the huge field seem dark as night as the archer continued on, unable to tell the time over his tired eyes and excruciating, distracting injuries. His clothes were soaked in no time, before the darkest of the storm cloud began to cry, leaving the archer cold and miserable, each raindrop seeming momentarily like blood as his haunting memories continued to surface, the man's haunt not yet complete.

His breaths became heavier, his heart beating hard as he switched from jogging to running, an odd structure in the distance barely visible in the darkening field. Cracks of lightning lit the wounded man's way as he trembled, running hard towards the structure in hope of mercy from the sudden, unforgiving weather. Not another structure or safe-haven in sight, he hoped the structure was at least habitable. In the darkness of the storm and the brief moments of light bestowed by lightning, Ollomo could only make out the sheer, massive size of the structure, possibly a castle, as he continued toward it. Through the powerful downpour of rain, Ollomo could almost make out the sound of a soft voice leading him on, his wounds pulsing, defiant of the constant downpour.

(I do not know what castle you had in mind, so if you want to describe it, I shall give you the opportunity to do so here. I will interpret everything you say as fact, and whatever you do not say I will make up myself.)

[OctavianKirin]

(No its okay,I actually like reading this ^-^ and I'll try my best to describe the castle. I'm kinda on writers block >.<)

Long twin towers extended towards the sky,a thick wall of mossy stone connected the two. Iron bars lined the top as rusty chained started to crank. They lifted iron bars,showing off a truly elegant entrance paved with well cleaned path stones that lead to a mages fix fountain. Rose bushes lined the outer regions of the castle. Of course,the main building looked just like any kind if castle.

It was pure white,the roof top made of cobble stone as vines drooled down it. A balcony extended off in the front,a large circle window just above it.

I soon awoke under heavy rainfall,Drake nipping and bouncing on me. I was confused. He was never,never ever this excited! I had to get out if bed or he'd really do a number to my wrist. Putting on some blue bunny slippers,I slowly walked over to my door and reached for the knob,opening the door and walked out.

[Amalgamator]

(I may not have understood everything you have said, however I shall try my best to stick to it.)

Ollomo, the injured archer, slowed down as the purely white castle dully shone in the dark skies before him. What seemed to be one tower, no, two towers attached with cobbled stones towered above the beautiful white walls below, iron bars encircling the top, rose bushes surrounding the age-old, vine-covered castle. Ollomo had no time to wonder who tended to the castle, or whether or not they were friendly. Each droplet of rain slammed harder into his flesh as he fatigued more, the energy from his meal already spent from his long, desperate run.

As he approached the gate, his ripped clothing pattering against his skin, floating up and down with the warm, uprising air and the dull metal clanking of metal chains shot out, barely audible over the downpour or rain and thunder. Flashes lit up the massive structure, the two towers glaring down at him from the sky, the iron bars of the gate lifting to show a fountain within. As Ollomo ran over the well-kept path stones before the entrance to the castle, leading in, he looked around, soaking up his surroundings. An odd fountain overflowed in the heavy rain, its splendor ruined by the poor weather.

Looking up, the injured archer shielded his eyes, trying to stop rain from shooting into his tired eyes as he looked at the towers above, lightning flashing menacingly, lighting his view just enough to see a balcony, more vines lacing the exterior. A few drops of rain shot into the tiny crack between his fingers despite his efforts, thus his momentary upward observation was abruptly ended with him turning his gaze back at the surroundings, searching for shelter, a doorway, anything.

"HO?!" the lone archer cried out, his gut viciously rejecting his sudden shout as it shot pain through his entire chest, the coldness of water chilling his body as he tried catching his breath, cold and fatigued, desperate. The man fell to his knees against the side of the entrance, below where the iron gate was, leaning against the white rock as he again called out, "HO! WHO'S HERE!" gritting his teeth after his words, pain disabling him for a moment as his foot joined in the bombardment of pain, the burn wound sensitive to the cold storm water. More crackles of thunder shook the sky as the man looked around, the stone above shielding him from the rain to some degree.

(How large is this castle? Are the two towers the extent of it, or are there other buildings, like garrisons and turrets along the wall? Are there any doors for Ollomo to knock on in the castle? If your writer's block is really bad, I can define it in my next post, but I still do not think that I have a firm enough grasp on your idea of the castle to describe it, unfortunately.)

[OctavianKirin]

The twin towers are supposed to be the whole width of it. By what I'm thinking.. I really don't know how to measure it. I'll find a google picture ^-^

http://i1.wp.com/listverse.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/bodiam-castle-in-english-tour.jpg?resize=550%2C364 You walk in,a large courtyard really with a fountain in the middle. Then,walking more there would be a large,heavy and thick wooden door locked close from the inside. Sorry if you can't grasp it >.<)

The roar of thunder suddenly awoke my senses,shaking my head to become more in tune with reality. Heavy rain drops thudded against the painted glass windows,my eyes searching the room for a clock. [i]12:47[i/] it read. Ugh. I barely got enough sleep! Draco nipped at my feet,pushing me further down the spiraling staircase and into the center room,first floor. A long red carpet stretched out towards the large wooden door,hearing nothing more than the loud pitter patter of rain and the constant banging of thunder. My my,I think. My my,what could've upsetted Zeus at this hour?

I silently walk over to the kitchen,extending my hand forward to clutch a smooth glass and pour my daily dose of milk in it,only until I hear a howl of pain. I twist my body towards the door,eyes glued on the handle. It was locked,nothing could get in.. Or out. Draco protectively prowled towards the door,nails scratching the wooden planks beside the carpet. His growl was fierce,yet low,his tail lashing out at an unknown entity. Who was there? Obviously it was enough to attract my bud's attention span(Which to me,was nothing more than a rat!).

I heard it,once more. A howl of pain,quickly followed by human speech. "Who's here!" those words ringed inside my ears. I quickly put down my glass,rushing towards the wooden door. Draco tries to hold me back,his talons gripping my upper arm strongly,but I protest to him. I must know who this person is! How'd he get through the gate? Is he even past the gate?! I shout back,voice squeaky and filled with curiosity,but still holding a demanding tone. "Who're you?!"

[Amalgamator]

(A picture is worth a thousand words. Also, I assume there is a slight(five, six second) pause between conversation in my forthcoming actions.)

The wounded archer frowned, looking around for a few seconds after having yelled his last question, having seen a wooden door on the opposite side of the courtyard via help from lightning. Over the rain, he could barely make out the extremely faint, lightly cracked voice of a young woman asking for his presence. The archer was not surprised to have heard someone speak in response, and assumed the voice came from a guard of the castle, or possibly a patron or vassal who owned the residence.

With respect, Ollomo walked toward the fountain, knowing the voice came in the direction of the wooden door behind it, and yelled back, "A wounded soldier seeking refuge!" His voice cracked a few times from desperation and pain, his wounds despising the vibration associated with speech, and thus his voice sounded far more weak than his first shouts. The archer grabbed a part of the fountain that looked stable and used it to hold himself up with his right arm, limping around the fountain in an attempt to alleviate pain from his scorched and drowned foot.

In seconds, Ollomo had made his way around the fountain, lightning striking quite nearby, deafening him and forcing him to the ground due to shock. The archer rose back to his feet, the onslaught of rain unrelenting as he moved, and continued toward the wooden door to try to ease the conversation. His wounds began to null as he grew more and more weary, his mind purposefully ignoring the deadly pain as he moved onward, but the result was that he moved slower. He was cold, freezing from the ice cold rain, not the least to help that his ripped clothing was made of cotton, absorbing every droplet and cancelling his body's effort to warm up through shivering.

[OctavianKirin]

A wounded soldier? He sure sounded old anyways. I looked over to my little scaled friend,his fangs bared. He obviously didn't want anyone here,but if he was allowed through those gates,then he was welcomed into my castle! I started to unlock the door,only until I flinched. A bright flash of lightning struck down not to far off. Hopefully it wasn't attracted to the castle. What poor weather for a wounded soldier. The door creaked open,my body literally blown back by the heavy storm influenced winds.

And then,my eyes fixed on him. His body outlined in a seemingly ghastly glow by the lightning,his own crimson fluids slowly trickling down his body. I stood there,mesmerized by his just powerful and intimidating figure. Draco was hidden from sight,right behind the door crushed. I shouted out to him "Come inside quick! The lightning might catch you!"

(Okay. And what do you mean?)

[Amalgamator]

(A pause indicates that no speech goes on for a short period of time, providing time for actions. Every now and then I find it greatly helpful to provide second reference, in example, "The great warrior took a step forward, opening his mouth to speak. 1. He closed his mouth, contemplating what would happen if he spoke, (2), and then advanced toward his foe again, frowning. 3. 4. 5. Step. Step. Step. He lunged, slashed and tackled his target, being himself hit at the same moment. 6." After enough of it, it just gets confusing, and it requires much more work, thus I usually just ask for a pause in conversation to avoid soliloquies and awkward thought tangents.)

The door before him made a few sounds, the girl/woman beyond silent as she fit a key into the lock, opening the door. The wounded archer stared at the door, clutching his gut as he continued limping toward the door, shivering in the action. The entire injured persona assisted his cause, as it took away from his figure, making him slightly more meek, as he was used to being. As tall as he was, never once had he been pugnacious, especially considering his past.

As the door opened, the archer sighed in relief, tensing up his leg muscles in an attempt to make his limp less noticeable, continuing in his path towards the door, gritting his teeth to avoid wincing at each step. As he heard the girl's invitation, he sped up slightly, closing the distance to the doorway quickly, his steps pattering over the clean, cobbled path. His eyes focused on the odd girl as he neared the door, her extremely strange, blue hair glimmering as a star in the light behind, her tight black gloves almost augmenting her skin, her shoes and her dress almost divine in luxury. He had not seen the same looks in his life, and likely never would again.

As he reached the doorway, rain still pounding down on the rags covering his flesh, he stared at the girl, curious and fearful as to who she was, cautious as he paused in his step, staring into her purple eyes as if in shock, as if dreaming. "A-Are you a..." he started, looking down at the goddess figure as a rabbit would stare at a passerby. He paused again, standing in the doorway as a warm gust of wind blew his ripped rags around slightly, then, walking through the doorway, continued, "Never mind," his tone mellow, his eyes relaxed.

Seconds later, after entering the building, the figure carelessly stepped right on the burnt part of his left foot and recoiled from the injury, falling onto his face. With an annoyed groan, the figure began to push himself back up, careful to use the right side of his body rather than the more-injured left. His injuries had clotted themselves earlier that day, but the hard rain had exposed them again, leaving the hasty bandaging useless as blood slowly seeped from his wounds. He lifted himself from the ground after but a second, still strong in his weakness, then looked around for a second, not expecting this shelter in the least.

Overall, his features were rather youthful, despite his intimidating build. His face was without scars, despite the rest of his body, his hair silky, jet black and short, his height was no more than 6' and the dull glow of his eyes set a characteristic authority, experience, witness. The recurve bow along his back was by no means beautifully crafted, being a single piece of yew wood with ebony horns and a few segments of ebony in the riser, a black flax string keeping the intense strength of the limbs at bay.

(Re-described for reference, if necessary.)

[OctavianKirin]

Her eyes scanned the tall figure,purple eyes seemingly illuminating her pale toned skin. Her baby blue locks of hair fall down her body,fragile arms pushing the thick wooden door close. She grips her nose at the stench of mud on his boots,metallic crimson fluids trickling down his thickly built body. Now that she can clearly examine him,he was even more intimidating then she thought.
She walks over to him,about near his chest at height. Not much of the tall gal anyway. She extends her hand out towards his wound,although quickly draws it back. He was obviously hiding it,but practically failing. His body couldn't hide the trembling pain that would jolt up his spine and rattle his figure. She looked away,over to the kitchen. "You can drop your boots here I suppose.. Your weapons,if you want can be dropped here or carried with you. My kingdom is yours,as long as you're my guest." She smiled,chuckling at herself. She had butterflies in her stomach,salmon pink cheeks,and stars sparkling in her eyes. It's been seemingly decades since someone has paid her a visit!
"Oh! And beware! Draco is NOT playful!"

(Oh okay! I get it now. Thanks!)

[Amalgamator]

(I'll assume that Draco did not move from his position next to the door. Also, I am really, really tired.)

The towering figure paused after standing up, looking around at the different doorways and items in the room, curious as to the purpose of some of them. His heart was still pounding, and feeling was returning slowly to his battered wounds and limbs as hunger from fatigue set in. The man sensed something nearing him as he looked around, but when he turned around, he saw only the girl, and an odd, reptilian creature, seemingly alive and affected from being crushed by the door. He then shifted his eyes from the dragon to the girl multiple times, instantaneously, his heart speeding back up from sudden shock.

The hunter had not seen an actual dragon before, only having heard of the odd beasts in myths. ...The tallest creatures you ever did see! Scaly, bat-like wings, talons, a snout and eyes of a lizard, and a tail like a long, quick whip...The things could rip your arm with a breath of air if you even look at it funny!...Fire-breathing killers which knights from the noblest of all families sought to kill for unending fame!... The dragon met the descriptions he had heard, but the size of the creature was misleading. The hunter was unsure of whether to sling out his bow and loose an arrow into the creature, or to wait for an explanation, but he chose the prior out of shock.

Ollomo looked back at the girl, her voice light as air as she responded, her eyes shifting from him to the kitchen. From the rosy complexion on her face, he could tell that she was not used to visitors of his kind. Due to her lack of attention toward the creature behind her, he assumed she did not know it was there, or she was quite aware of it, but did not care. He started to reach for his bow, cautious of her seeming unawareness of the creature, but was assured at her last statement, and relaxed, hopeful that it was trained to some extent.

At this point, the soldier began to shake slightly, the cold rain and his injuries setting in. With a few quick shivers and pattering, half-limping steps, the figure walked toward an empty space along the wall and took off his low-slung sandals, unwrapping the top length and slipping out his foot carefully, yet quickly as he sat on the ground, too unsure of his balance in his weakness. His torso was not the main source of his towering height, that was his legs, thus while sitting he seemed a bit more like a common person.

After taking off his shoes, the hunter got back up, the burn scar highly apparent along the bottom and the inner side of his foot as he supported himself against the wall using his arm. He did not feel particularly threatened by the dragon, so he took off his bow and quiver and rested them along the wall as well, placing the lower horn into the heel of his shoe and the base of the quiver next to the weapon, supporting it. He then walked to the other side of the bow, moved his leg through it and wrapped his foot around the horn at the bottom. With a quick twist, the hunter bent the powerful bow and slipped the loop of the string off the upper horn, thus unstringing the bow.

Ollomo rested the bow against the wall once more, unstrung and powerless, then looked back towards the girl and the dragon, eyeing each in turn, silent and cautious. After taking a few steps towards them, closing the awkward gap, he quietly coughed out, "I need rest," ignoring his injuries for the moment as he contemplated what the girl had said, then continuing in the same voice, "and clothes. A-Any clothes." He looked down at himself after saying this, eyeing his rags with satisfaction. The rags he now wore had served him well, but they now had holes, rips, and irreparable weave faults. His shivering continued slightly as he stood there, eyes shifting quickly and cautiously between the girl and the dragon, not trusting the two.

[OctavianKirin]

(Yes. Very sorry for missing that >.<)

She tilted her head,listening very intently on his words. She noticed his eyes trailing toward the door,wondering if he wanted to escape,to leave her kingdom. Then,the thought had struck her like lightning did to Benjamin Franklin. Draco! She had almost forgotten about her loyal scaled friend. Poor guy. She tried to ignore him though,watching him professionally handle his weapons. Her eyes twinkled with a certain interest at the bow,a distant memory of such a thing lingering in the back of her head,fuzzed out. She sighed,shaking her head.

She held a hand out to him,her way of responding to the first demand. "You can use the guest bedroom,obviously." she chuckled,standing on her tip-toes,daring to reach his height. She tilted her head,listening to the faint sound of claws chipping at the wall. Her little friend was scaling the walls,tail stuck under the heavy wooden door. He hissed,tumbled,clawed,and even bit his own tail. Sharp rows of vicious fangs showed off in the dim light of torches that lined the corridor,glistening with the sticky venom he possessed.

"Clothes? Err.. I will search for some that will fit you." she said,a bit nervous and unsure of herself. Her hand was still stretched out to him,eyes searching his. She could tell he didn't trust her. Then again,who would? A little girl,alone inside a castle with a fantasy fiend who's fabled to be something much more.. Extraordinary. My,she wouldn't even believe it if she was in his shoes!

[Amalgamator]

(At least you are back! No need to apologize. I did not say it in my post, but Ollomo is shivering and leaning unconsciously from side to side throughout this scene, because he is half-dead from trailblazing and his starved sprint.)

Ollomo was, to say the least, unfamiliar with courtesy. Having been born from an insignificant, poor family, he was surprised that he even knew how to read and write, let alone fight in a battle. As a result of this, when the young lady reached out her hand, her gloves glistening in the odd light, the soldier vaguely remembered seeing a merchant in town do the same to him. The action was called a 'hand-shake' and was supposedly performed with an introduction to form trust, through contact. Ollomo did not want to seem like too much of a barbarian, so he reached out his callused, giant hand and gently grabbed the lady's hand as she spoke.

"You can use the guest bedroom, obviously." she started, giggling slightly, her voice still soft as she rose onto the balls of her feet. The soldier was amused at this action, and let a grin cover his face as she stood, still a few inches shorter than him. Inside his mind, he was shocked that he would get a 'bedroom' all to himself, free of rent. His grin faded as the dragon behind her began to worm around, scratching all over the place as it tried desperately to free its tail from under the vice of the door. It appears that this dragon is greatly from the legends Ollomo thought, his grin becoming more smug as he watched the reptilian baby behind his near-angelic host. A liquid unlike saliva dripped from the creature's mouth, so the warrior doubted he wanted to 'interact' with it at any point.

The lady continued, "Clothes? Erm, I will search for some that will fit you." as her voice faltered slightly, nervousness clearly present. She was scanning his eyes as he awkwardly continued holding her hand, unsure of how the interaction was supposed to end. After a few seconds, Ollomo released her hand, quickly averting the moment as the dragon continued wiggling around, shivering as he asked, "Where is this 'guest bedroom?'" as his eyes relaxed slightly, his uncertain squint gone. His eyes now seemed more pleasant, almost betraying his actual emotion of tired impatience. Of course, the tired look of his face mortally outweighed the look in his eyes, being that dark rings circled his eyes and his eyebrows drooped occasionally, his blinks lasting longer than normal from his fight to stay awake.

Long travel and great pain were hard to get away from, especially in the life of a soldier. Ollomo was a moderately old soldier, only about 500 moons, but he needed just as much, if not more sleep than even a child, and the sheer size of his body and mind only made this more apparent. The mature aura around his mannerism and figure was unusual for the family he was born in, thus even though he was the youngest, he was the strongest.

All the same, with his body size, Ollomo highly doubted that the lady's clothes would work for him. He did not ask the lady about this, however, because he was still shivering, wavering and blinking as he stared at his host, unsure of her name as much as she was unsure of his. He was sure he'd get to know her better the next day, at the very least, because Ollomo knew that night was approaching, even though the skies blocked the sun.

[OctavianKirin]

(Okay. We all have a little falter from time to time.)

Her eyes widened,looking down at his massive hand. She was so amazed at just the thickness of it,how it engulfed her frail digits. She giggled nervously,trying to focus on him. Instead,her mind ventured off into thick air,drawing out a map of her castle. She drew a simple path to the bedroom,the shortest way possible she supposed. Her thoughts were cut off once his lips curled into a smile,a grin! It was almost a miracle,seeing someone smile. It made her heart flutter,become light headed,and even give off a toothy smile.

She turned behind her,looking over at Draco. Her eyes rolled,feeling his hand drop from hers. She quickly rushed over to her pleading bud,yanking his tail out. She tumbled back,holding her bud close to heart before stopping mere inches away from the door. "Draco.." She hissed in air,getting up from the floor and dusting herself off. Draco stuck out his forked tongue at her,eyes narrowed,being childish. She returned the face,tongue stuck out as her digits stretched out to make antlers. She stomped back over to her guest,blushing softly.

"Uh.. Right this way." She quickly said,looking away from his gaze. She traveled through a large corridor,the floor lined with elegant red carpet. Walls built out of the most finest of wood. Paintings of a king and queen placed around every corner. Only one contained of a little baby,wrapped in a silk cloth. It's unusually colored eyes shimmered with curiosity of the new world,to venture out into far lands. She smiled vaguely at it,having slowed her pace. She shook her head,walking back at the fast pace she took.

[Amalgamator]

Ollomo watched the act between 'Draco' and the lady, his grin fading to a slight, bemused expression. He was used to seeing children teasing and mocking one another, but watching the lady point her tongue at the tiny dragon with her hands on her head almost seemed normal, almost. When the blushing lady walked back to lead the way to the room, she murmured, "Uhh, right this way," as she looked away from him, facing the hallway now. The soldier nodded at the lady and, with a quick, trembling shiver, began to follow her, his skin still soaking wet. A small puddle covered the ground where he previously stood, the water being somewhat muddy and barely bloody.

The soldier left dirty footprint markings on the carpet as he walked through the hallway, his burnt foot angled so that only the inside, non-burnt side touched the ground as he walked, allowing him to more-or-less pace normally, yet still, one pace from Ollomo equaled at least two or three of his hosts steps, so he occasionally had to stop momentarily in order to not bump into her. The paintings he looked at on the wall seemed to be extremely expensive, almost exact portraits of people in some instances, and artistic interpretations in others.

When the two stopped at a picture of a purple-eyed baby, Ollomo looked at the host and, his voice trembling at first from another shiver, he asked, "T-T-That's you, right?" as he looked at the lady, drawing a comparison. The painting was made by a master, one with a great deal of patience, for he captured every hint of emotion in the eyes of the babe. A hint of nostalgic melancholy shot through the soldiers heart, his mind momentarily taking a break from horror, retreating back to a world of innocence, back to what he called his childhood. The soldier's eyes faded, soaking up the vast array of colors before him as he thought, and moments later, looked back at the lady to see if it was time to continue.

[OctavianKirin]

Her purple eyes sharpened at the ground,her gloved hands curling into fists. She twirled on one foot to face him,wearing the most brightest smile she could possibly pull of. "Why,yes! It's of my family,or so I believe." Her voice was soft,merely above a whisper. She didn't like to talk so loudly in the large corridors,for it echoed a much higher frequency,causing many hearing problems if you're new to royalty. She glanced back at the painting,her eyes catching her once joyful glint,and now a sour guilt. She sighed,lowering her head once again.

She always thought it was her fault,to be born so different. Her fault for having such unique traits,to be such a heavenly gift! Only to be cursed with such jealousy from others. She was titled a witch,a demon! Something born under Saintan's realm. Very few will ever know the feeling of true abadnament. The feeling of being alone,no one to talk to,no one to share your life with! She never had family,never had anyone that cared. Her own mother and father castes her out for crying out loud! The only one who ever helped her was the bewildering goddess of nature,giving her a home to live under,a friend to care for,and now something better. A knight,one that's been through trial and error,one that has seen the outside world. He wields many enchanting things to her youthful eyes,many secrets to how the world changed!

She suddenly snapped out of her thoughts,her nose catching a very disgusting smell. Only now did she noticed the muddy footprints,now stained into the most finest of rugs. The smell of his rags,it was just indescribable! It smelt like a mixture of sewage and a pigs pen! "Oh lord! You should cleanse yourself! 'Ight this way!" She motioned him to follow,bounding up stairs. She took a sharp left,standing in front of a large wooden door,very similar to the main.

[Amalgamator]

In response to Ollomo's question, the girl clenched her fists and turned around gracefully, softly responding, "Why yes! It's of my family, or so I believe." The hunter nodded after hearing this, but the girl stared at the painting, lost in thought once again. Ollomo closed his eyes for a few seconds, allowing himself brief rest as the lady stood still, staring, however he was interrupted after a few seconds as the lady recoiled. "Oh lord!" she started, looking at the footprints the soldier had left, "You should cleanse yourself! 'Ight this way!" With this said, Ollomo watched as she motioned for him to follow, suddenly running sharply left, over to a staircase.

Ollomo followed the girl at a moderately fast pace, still far too tired to run, and after reaching the stairs, he climbed them three steps at a time, effortlessly climbing upward. When he reached the top, he saw the lady standing in front of another door, this one almost exactly like the door at the entrance. "This place is a lot larger on the inside," Ollomo pointed out, slowly walking towards the door as he waited for the lady to open it, assuming it to was locked. More beads of filth dropped from his hair and his clothes as he walked towards the door, his expression clearly tired, but void of emotion.

The soldier could keep standing as long as he needed too, but after climbing the stairs, a flashback of the battle returned once more. His eyes opened and unfocused for a few seconds as he walked forward, but he stopped before getting too close to the door, his mind disassociating the faces of the men in his flashback. Arrows shot across the grassy plain, cannon fire exploding the ground as a strike with a heavy mace would a person's skull. The lady happened to be where Ollomo was aiming his bow, but the flashback ended immediately after he stopped walking, his conscious mind quickly taking over again. The soldier wiped his eyes with his hands, trying to wipe the tiredness away after the odd vision.

[OctavianKirin]

She watched his thick frame come upstairs,prints modeled by mud and various liquids trailing behind him. She grumbled a bit,getting quite annoyed. She'd have to clean it up,along with Draco. I mean,after all,she did have a guest. It was only proper to have a clean kingdom. Her head perked up upon hearing his statement. "It's very big. You should see the library! Oh so many books! I love it." She smiled widely,remembering the endless rows of various genres. From mythology,to history. Math books,and origami crafting recipes.

She reached out to the door,pulling it open with strong arms. A large king sized bed was placed dead center,propped against the stone wall. To the left was a elegantly made fireplace,still burning for warmth while outlining most of the room in a bright red hue. A long red carpet led to the base of the bed,a working man's desk propped against the bottom right wall with a neat rocking chair. A nightstand stood beside the bed,a folded piece of paper rested on it. She walked in,purple eyes searching the wide room. Stained glass windows were propped high into the back wall,letting light shine down into the whole room.

She turned back to face him,smiling softly. "Okay. There is a map on the nightstand," she pointed to the neatly folded piece if paper,continuing. "If you need anything I'll be down the hall in my room. If you ever get lost,just shout out. Voice travels fast in the large halls." She bowed her head at him,arms crossed over chest as she awaited a question if there was one.

[Amalgamator]

The soldier's eyes opened, however the first sense he witnessed was that of sound, to be exact, the sound of the lady saying, "It's very big. You should see the library! Oh so many books! I love it," in response to the soldier's previous statement. With this said, the hunter paused before the door as the lady opened it, and watched the revelation of his noble living quarters, her smile lighting her face as she turned to face him. "Okay. There is a map on the nightstand." she said, Ollomo's eyes searching the room for what object either item could be.

Before he had found this 'nightstand,' having only seen a table-like furniture item, a fireplace, an enormous bed, a desk-like utility, an unstable chair, and a long carpet, the lady pointed to the table-like furniture item beside the bed, her finger revealing a paper sitting on the item. "Ah." the soldier said, acknowledging the artifact as he shivered once again, warming up slightly from the warm air of the room, but still cold. The lady soon continued, "If you need anything I'll be down the hall in my room. If you ever get lost, just shout out; voice travels fast in the large halls."

With this said, the lady bowed her head and covered her chest with her arms, another peculiar gesture to Ollomo. The soldier scratched his head after a second, then looked back into the room and said, "So you'll let me stay here? In this room?" Surprise filled his mind, but his eyes were mellow, and half suspicious, unsure of the offer. He had never been treated with kindness of any magnitude near relative to that of this lady, whom he did not know the name of, possibly intimidated, and dirtied the ridiculously clean-looking cloth on the floor of.

All the same, Ollomo also wondered something else, but he assumed it would be answered soon, having seen the look on the lady's face as she noticed his filthiness. He assumed that, from the fanciness of everything else, that the lady would have some sort of way for him to clean himself, and that she would want to provide such service. If this was not the case, the soldier was more than happy to wash off in the rain outside, however it would likely not be fitting for him to do such in the nude, or so he thought. After finishing his thoughts, the soldier took a few steps into the room, hoping the lady would stop with her peculiar gesture, showing only a half smile on his face.

[OctavianKirin]

Her arms slowly lowered,hanging by her small frame. She tilted her head at his question,as if this was too unbelievable. She nodded at him,her eyes occasionally peeking behind him. "Of course! What? You wanna sleep outside?" She giggled,rolling her eyes at her own words. She walked forward,taking a sharp turn around him. She mumbled a warm hearted "Welcome to the Kingdom." As she left.

Her attention quickly focused on a slithering character in the halls,sharp talons gripping a soaked sponge. Draco was always a few steps ahead of her,already cleaning up after the guests mess. She walked over to Draco,watching as he scrubbed the long royal rug with the thick sponge. Draco looked up at her,stretching out his head and nuzzling her littke nose. She chuckled,nuzzling his scaled snout back.

She took the sponge from him,muttering a few words in a Roman language. Draco hissed at the unknown words,his eyes narrowed in almost disgust. She giggled,scratching his chin. She got a positive response,his tail thumping against the hard word floor. She sentenced him off,cleaning the rug herself. Draco prowled along the wall,slowly approaching the guests bedroom.

[Amalgamator]

As the soldier hobbled over to the fireplace, the lady responded to his question by saying, "Of course! What? You wanna sleep outside?" After this, the lady walked around him, warmly saying, "Welcome to the Kingdom," before leaving the room, her angelic appearance disappearing behind the door. The soldier collapsed in front of the fireplace, closing his eyes as the warmth of the fire seeped into his bones. The wound in his shoulder hurt greatly from the sudden collapse, but Ollomo ignored the pain, for he was finally getting the warmth he needed.

A minute of rest later, the soldier felt much more dry, however he felt it unsafe to fall asleep next to the fire, for the logs were assembled in a stack which could collapse and push a burning cinder towards him, and as a result, he rose and hobbled over towards the grand bed. The hunter had never set eyes on a more magnificent bed in his life, not in a store, not in a nobleman's house, not even in art. The gigantic bed was propped up against the stone wall, the bed itself reaching up to his waist and the sheeting a half foot thick. The pillows were also gigantic, for they were almost as long as his chest, and slightly thicker due to fluff.

The sheets were a beautiful rose red, as were the pillows, however many decorations and patterns were sewn into the materials, fractal flowers, masterpiece weapons, stars and people, animals and even rocks, all engraved simply, yet artfully in the weave of the cloth. The soldier almost felt as if he was not worthy to dirty the cloths, however the pain from his three near-major injuries urged him to do so. The soldier climbed onto the bed slowly, the wobbliness of the material unsettling him, and after he lay down on the bed, head on a pillow, uncovered by sheets, his eyes closed and an aggressive, pleasurable pain shot down his spine, signaling him that rest had come.

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