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Pheadrus Profile
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2011 Season Closer


Image

Last edited by Toland, 10/16/2011, 8:58 pm
10/16/2011, 8:26 pm Link to this post Send Email to Pheadrus   Send PM to Pheadrus
 
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


For those of you who can't see the poster:

"The Trial of Jarred Nightthorne"

When: Saturday, November 12th
Where: Whiteford Township Community Park
       Corner of Sterns and Whiteford Rd
       Whiteford Township, MI
       Exit 1 off of US 23

Weapons Check @ 11
Pickups @ 12
$4 @ Troll
Food Included (There might be cake)
10/17/2011, 12:19 pm Link to this post Send Email to Pheadrus   Send PM to Pheadrus
 
Gyden Profile
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


quote:

Pheadrus wrote:
Food Included (There will be cake)



Fixt.

Last edited by Gyden, 10/21/2011, 5:03 pm


---
Life is like a hurricane...
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


Awesome, I should be there.
10/21/2011, 7:42 pm Link to this post Send Email to Jormogundr   Send PM to Jormogundr Blog
 
Crann Profile
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


Google Maps Directions to Whiteford Community Park

Be there!

---
KoSC: We (don't believe it/ can't lose/ fight for our friends)
Embassy: Hennessy, Amnesty, Optical, Dental, 401K
11/2/2011, 11:29 am Link to this post Send Email to Crann   Send PM to Crann
 
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


Sweet emoticon
11/2/2011, 12:48 pm Link to this post Send Email to Pheadrus   Send PM to Pheadrus
 
Wog218 Profile
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


How much I want to go to this, I can't. Its the same reason why I missed the last event that Fury ran. I am at the end stages of buying a house, which I have been at for the past month, stupid bank, and I will have to miss the closer due to me moving in on that day. I haven't been to anything sense the Legacy event, and I have been doing busy as all hell with this house. I miss everyone, and wish I could get out there and fight some more with everyone.

Wog the Sick

---
Time to live, time to die,
boy does time go by

Sic Vis Pacem Para Bellum
The words everyone should live by
11/6/2011, 8:19 pm Link to this post Send Email to Wog218   Send PM to Wog218
 
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


It is night. The sky is cloudless and a chill sliver of moon shines down on the city. In a dark room overlooking Gohithican dockside, a man waits. He's been holed up in here for days. The Watch searches for him. Unable to escape after the failed raid set on by the Imperial Guard. His face plastered on every Wanted poster all over the city; the most notorious criminal the continent has never managed to bring to justice... yet. He knows it's only a matter of time before they catch up with him. He laughs. Those who climb the highest have furthest to fall. He knows it's only a matter of time before they catch up with him, before he makes a mistake. Those who climb the highest have furthest to fall. And he’s climbed alright; he's climbed higher than anyone ever should. He is the one everyone has nearly caught; the one they all want to see strapped down, the domiciles sword hovering above his head. But he's not going to dance to their tune. He's not interested in dying for a faceless government’s moral code. He is a man of the shadows, the rouge, a scoundrel, the King of Thieves. He is Jarred NightThorne, and he never pays the piper.
He looks out of the dirty window. It's a cold, windy night, not many people around. He's been hiding in this room what feels like eternity, waiting for the guards or ‘do-gooders’ to either show themselves or give up. He longs for the fresh night air on his face after days of confinement. His feet itch for the feel of tiles and gutters beneath them, the moonlight in his eyes, nothing but his own strength and speed and agility to save him from a messy death on the street below. Yes, enough hiding, he puts his thief's blacks on. Bow and arrows, check, sword... no, too heavy, lockpicks, hood, cloak. He smiles a brief, mirthless smile. Let them come.
To the casual observer, it would seem like there was a cat or something up on the rooftops of the city that night; the occasional flashes of dark movement, or a fleeting glimpse of haunting eyes are the only traces that anything other than pigeons prowl above people's heads. But any cat that gets in Jarred's way is asking for trouble. This is his domain, this is where he belongs. He's alive and free up here and he never wants to come down. He leaps over the roofscape with sure-footed ease, exquisitely aware of the abilities and limitations of his own body, the well-trained machinery of sinews and muscles and skin and bones, so strong, so fragile. Not for him the shabby amulets and lucky rabbit's-feet and worthless charms of other nightcrawlers; he doesn't believe in luck. He believes in what he can see and hear and feel. The moonlight above him. The roofs below, the reek of the river, the crunch of cart wheels on the cobblestones thirty feet down. His own breath and the giddy pounding of his heart, the adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream with the vertiginous thrill of jumping clear across a street, the hard relief of rough gritty bricks and stone guttering under his hands. The sweat on his brow and down his back, his muscles twang and sing like bow strings as night cradles him in her inky arms, and dammit, it feels so good.


---
I'm going to take whatever you haven't nailed down... Nevermind... I'll take that too.
11/11/2011, 5:14 pm Link to this post Send Email to Jarred NightThorne   Send PM to Jarred NightThorne
 
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


A few things catch his eye: A single candle burning in an upstairs window, the flicker of moonlight on the river, a beautiful woman asleep by firelight in a dingy attic, her hair spilling around her on the pillow like a golden storm. It's been a while since he's had a woman. Not since... no, Garrett, memory lane's nothing but trouble. Don't go down there. Memories have no benefit. The future gradually becomes the present, and once it has passed, it should not be revisited.
Shouting.
Searchlights flicker on below him, cutting through the darkness and blinding him with its relentless white glare. He throws an arm up over his eyes, silhouetted against the light like a paper cut-out. An arrow screeches past him and ricochets off the tiles. He dives aside, right to the edge of the roof, but not quick enough. Another arrow takes him through the shoulder and the impact knocks him backwards. Flying; he falls, his angular body plummeting through space like a black-clad meteorite, wreathed in a billowing cloak, hot scarlet drops of his own blood falling around him like rain. A groan escapes his lips. He's never been afraid of falling. It’s what happens at the end of the fall that has always been his aversion.
Water, glittering, multi-faceted, surges up to meet him with its icy embrace. He plunges into it headlong, the cold and the shock taking his breath away. His skin shrinks tighter around his bones, trying to keep the heat in as he sinks deep down, right to the bottom where silt and waste and weeds welcome him to the fold, wanting him to sleep down there forever with them. Bubbles stream from his mouth like a strange silent language that only the fish speak. Lungs burning, he touches bottom and kicks upwards, shooting towards the surface like an arrow, so fast, so slow. He's desperate for air. The pressure's like an iron band around his skull, squeezing and crushing. He'll never make it in time; he can feel himself doubling over from lack of air. Three feet away, two feet, one...
********
"Welcome to Prison"
A painful jolt to the back of the head brings Jarred to consciousness.
The giant inscrolled black gates of the Hithdorian Prison were meant to instill fear, despair and sorrow. Jarred felt none of these things. His mind was replaying the last year of his life, a life that borders on evil, and treads insanely close to delirium. The scars on his chest won from many a close call, itched with a fury as he was dragged through those gates, descending into a blackness that for the first time did not seem welcoming. The hallway into hell was flanked on either side by soldiers in Hithdor finery, all at attention and armed to the teeth. Torches lined the smooth perfectly shaped granite walls that gave no nook or cranny for an escaping thief to hide in. If there was to be any hope of "early release" it would have to be through bribery, lies, politics and a good deal of luck. Most of those things being in short supply for the Thief King at the moment.


---
I'm going to take whatever you haven't nailed down... Nevermind... I'll take that too.
11/11/2011, 5:14 pm Link to this post Send Email to Jarred NightThorne   Send PM to Jarred NightThorne
 
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Re: 2011 Season Closer


At the end of the long downward hall, a great iron door with a lock that has never been picked, even by the most skilled stood ready to swallow all who entered. In elaborate scrollwork upon the face of the door sat a divine joke:

"Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.

Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here."

With a smirk, Jarred turns to the soldier on his right. "All hope abandon? Kind of pretentious don't you think?"
Without even glancing at Jarred the soldier replies, "After you've spent a week in the hole, pretensions will be the last thing on your mind. That is, if you still have one."
The door swings open with a groan and four of the largest men Jarred had ever seen circle him and push him forward into a small antechamber. A desk, with a short pudgy little man looks up from a large brass bound book and looks Jarred up and down.
"Hmph, this is the great Jarred NightThorne infamous King of the Thieves and master of deception? I expected someone far more intimidating... and less pretty. However, I know how to fix the latter of those issues. Boys."
The Jaoler waves his hand and returns to his reading as the four men shove Jarred against a wall and proceed to hack at his clothes and hair with knives, and being none too careful in the process. After a what felt like hours, bleeding, beaten and looking like he just survived a fight with an ancavia mountain Lion, Jarred finds himself shoved violently though the door to his penthouse suite at the bottom level. After an agonizing crawl to the bed, and an even more painful climb into it, unconsciousness washes over him like a tidal wave.

********


---
I'm going to take whatever you haven't nailed down... Nevermind... I'll take that too.
11/11/2011, 5:15 pm Link to this post Send Email to Jarred NightThorne   Send PM to Jarred NightThorne
 


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