Post by Robert on Jun 13, 2007 8:11:58 GMT -5
A cloaked figure with many fading white specks found himself with a black, gloved hand against the large metal bar that was the comparrison of a knob to the dark, polished wooden door. He twisted it with a lustless tug and it was forced open slowly. He then began entering with a squeak of those rubber-soled black boots and a drop of once powdered ice fell to the floor. The figure stood there for a moment before flipping it's head back, the cloak revealing thick, wavy brown locks, flipped back with the jerk of the man's body to reveal that acute, button nose and chiseled features, though the slightest femininity was shown in those deep, endless blue eyes. The face was quite pleased, smiling that wide smile that seemed to make every heart crumble like the antarctic ruins. Yes, it was the professor indeed.
Robert entered very soon after the elegant proffesor, wearing his regular dark attire, as well as a hooded cloak with a chain around the neck to hold it on. This he quickly unbuckled to reveal that messy brown hair and face seemingly kept hidden by what one could only describe as the force of personality.
The proffesor began to quickly stride with those long legs to the stairwell, the child Robert in toe. The professor seemed to make leaps and bounds up each level, whilst the small simply shuffled quickly, and very soon they were at that auburn, window-less door. The professor found himself undoing the cloak and throwing it to Robert who placed under his arm with the other cloak. The professor then removed his gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of the oddly dry pair of faded jeans. He gave Roebert a quick nod and one word...
"Dismissed."
...before opening the door and entering the dark room.
It should be noted now of Robert's recent absence. He had departed to the antarctic ruins to guard the academy's newly hired professor. Recent activities had made the need for security that much more important, though Robert had all but regarded the situation. Orders were orders, after all. Sufficed to say that at the first sign of danger with the new angel attack the professor had been recalled, and was most probably speaking his many ill-intentioned words now. No matter.
Robert slowly walked back down to the second floor to enter his dorm. It was a quiet walk, something Robert had decided the greatness of while listening to the professor's many self-meant rants of which appeared to add up to something.
Robert arrived at his dorm before stopping quietly. His gloved hand had already reached out part-way to the door knob before stopping. It was a very tense moment, when even the air itself anticipated... something. Anything, really. Silence...
Robert entered again, apparent that simply a touch of nostalgia had struck him. He placed the cloaks flat out on his bed before washing his face and taking a moment to just sit on his bead. It was about now that what he had felt before had struck him. All around him he could see intricate patterns. On the walls, the ceiling, the sheets, everything had that symbol. Robert simply sat as the red threads all appeared from the symbols, each one connected to him. Robert kept his eyes on the floor.
"Not quite as bad ass as we were before, eh?"
An obviously loud and arrogant voice spoke up from behind Robert as he stayed there, sitting. He wanted to do nothing, and he really couldn't do anything. High class symbology: Null Strand. It restricted movement absolutely by attatching strands to one's soul, keeping the body unable to move as the body couldn't seperate from the spirit without fair-class shamanism, and that would do no good. Body could do nothing without the soul anyway.
"So, how's life been doing? I mean, since you killed me and all that jazz? Fun? Happy? Like getting your flesh ripped from your bone with every passing moment to the point that you prayed for another death? Please tell?"
Robert remained silent as usual. The voice chuckled.
"Stalling for time? Well, no matter. Even you can't suck up these pups. They're made up of... well, it's wasted energy trying to tell you now isn't?"
Robert was silent, and he could hear the annoyed sigh of the one behind him. Suddenly, a point pushed up against the base of his skull. It was actually somewhat satisfying. It was no secret Robert wished for death, though undoubtedly he would suffer a similar fate to the one behind him. His name, Robert recalled, was Johnathan Thurson.
"Me, you ask? Well, I've been just fine. See, if you recall, I was the twenty-third child to be placed downstairs. Reckless magic use, murderous intent with magic, that stuff. Oh, and it just brings a tear to my eye when I think- Oh wait, I don't have an eye anymore. Whoops. I guess it just slipped my mind!"
The voice cackled with the weight of the trojan horse- full. It wasted no time continuing.
"Let's see, then we were given recreational time together, by mistake, of course, and then you killed me, oh, what's that? Oh yes, Hell is just great, you really should-"
"RESTRICTION 0!"
The walls crumbled and the bed shattered with a powerful crash, the threads dissapearing in an instant. Robert suddenly whipped around, his gloves becoming tattered pieces of cloth on the floor as he forced his palm against the black and grey skeleton that had long since left the existance of Johnathan Thuron behind. One could see the magical essence fade into Robert, but the skeleton still had life. Attaching a soul was no easy thing to do, after all.
It wrenched out with that ancient hunting knife, though Robert wasn't playing. He let out one single, massive energy burst all around his body, shredding his clothes, though also shattering everything but the skeleton's skull. Robert was still very much attached to that, his knuckles going white as he gripped it. He would only let go about ten mintues later, long since the end of the soul of Thuron.
Robert was breathing slightly heavily. He was not an endurance-filled person, and the recent actions, most considerably the adrenaline that even his calm body felt on instinct, was enough to make him just a little bit wheezy.
"You're welcome."
Robert just gave a nod to the person at the door. It was... the professor? Yes, he was even an arch-mage level magic-user. Without any need of sign the walls suddenly came back to their previous existance, as did the ceiling, the bed, everything. Even Robert's clothes found themselves back on his body.
A large black blob floated into the professor's hand, and one could only guess that that was the ink of the symbology, all the sign's now gone. In the other hand he held an open urn, of which all the remains and even the skull (which had shattered when robert had let go of it) whisped gently in to. The professor gave Robert another nod before leaving him be. He had long since come to know how Robert acted. He didn't need comforting. He didn't need any emotional help... ever. He considered himself alone, and the professor had figured out that it would be a long time coming before that situation changed.
(ooc: Sorry, I didn't really leave any room for other people to psot. This came out more of just a return thing, but still, feel free to join if you feel like putting your imagination to work.)
Robert entered very soon after the elegant proffesor, wearing his regular dark attire, as well as a hooded cloak with a chain around the neck to hold it on. This he quickly unbuckled to reveal that messy brown hair and face seemingly kept hidden by what one could only describe as the force of personality.
The proffesor began to quickly stride with those long legs to the stairwell, the child Robert in toe. The professor seemed to make leaps and bounds up each level, whilst the small simply shuffled quickly, and very soon they were at that auburn, window-less door. The professor found himself undoing the cloak and throwing it to Robert who placed under his arm with the other cloak. The professor then removed his gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of the oddly dry pair of faded jeans. He gave Roebert a quick nod and one word...
"Dismissed."
...before opening the door and entering the dark room.
It should be noted now of Robert's recent absence. He had departed to the antarctic ruins to guard the academy's newly hired professor. Recent activities had made the need for security that much more important, though Robert had all but regarded the situation. Orders were orders, after all. Sufficed to say that at the first sign of danger with the new angel attack the professor had been recalled, and was most probably speaking his many ill-intentioned words now. No matter.
Robert slowly walked back down to the second floor to enter his dorm. It was a quiet walk, something Robert had decided the greatness of while listening to the professor's many self-meant rants of which appeared to add up to something.
Robert arrived at his dorm before stopping quietly. His gloved hand had already reached out part-way to the door knob before stopping. It was a very tense moment, when even the air itself anticipated... something. Anything, really. Silence...
Robert entered again, apparent that simply a touch of nostalgia had struck him. He placed the cloaks flat out on his bed before washing his face and taking a moment to just sit on his bead. It was about now that what he had felt before had struck him. All around him he could see intricate patterns. On the walls, the ceiling, the sheets, everything had that symbol. Robert simply sat as the red threads all appeared from the symbols, each one connected to him. Robert kept his eyes on the floor.
"Not quite as bad ass as we were before, eh?"
An obviously loud and arrogant voice spoke up from behind Robert as he stayed there, sitting. He wanted to do nothing, and he really couldn't do anything. High class symbology: Null Strand. It restricted movement absolutely by attatching strands to one's soul, keeping the body unable to move as the body couldn't seperate from the spirit without fair-class shamanism, and that would do no good. Body could do nothing without the soul anyway.
"So, how's life been doing? I mean, since you killed me and all that jazz? Fun? Happy? Like getting your flesh ripped from your bone with every passing moment to the point that you prayed for another death? Please tell?"
Robert remained silent as usual. The voice chuckled.
"Stalling for time? Well, no matter. Even you can't suck up these pups. They're made up of... well, it's wasted energy trying to tell you now isn't?"
Robert was silent, and he could hear the annoyed sigh of the one behind him. Suddenly, a point pushed up against the base of his skull. It was actually somewhat satisfying. It was no secret Robert wished for death, though undoubtedly he would suffer a similar fate to the one behind him. His name, Robert recalled, was Johnathan Thurson.
"Me, you ask? Well, I've been just fine. See, if you recall, I was the twenty-third child to be placed downstairs. Reckless magic use, murderous intent with magic, that stuff. Oh, and it just brings a tear to my eye when I think- Oh wait, I don't have an eye anymore. Whoops. I guess it just slipped my mind!"
The voice cackled with the weight of the trojan horse- full. It wasted no time continuing.
"Let's see, then we were given recreational time together, by mistake, of course, and then you killed me, oh, what's that? Oh yes, Hell is just great, you really should-"
"RESTRICTION 0!"
The walls crumbled and the bed shattered with a powerful crash, the threads dissapearing in an instant. Robert suddenly whipped around, his gloves becoming tattered pieces of cloth on the floor as he forced his palm against the black and grey skeleton that had long since left the existance of Johnathan Thuron behind. One could see the magical essence fade into Robert, but the skeleton still had life. Attaching a soul was no easy thing to do, after all.
It wrenched out with that ancient hunting knife, though Robert wasn't playing. He let out one single, massive energy burst all around his body, shredding his clothes, though also shattering everything but the skeleton's skull. Robert was still very much attached to that, his knuckles going white as he gripped it. He would only let go about ten mintues later, long since the end of the soul of Thuron.
Robert was breathing slightly heavily. He was not an endurance-filled person, and the recent actions, most considerably the adrenaline that even his calm body felt on instinct, was enough to make him just a little bit wheezy.
"You're welcome."
Robert just gave a nod to the person at the door. It was... the professor? Yes, he was even an arch-mage level magic-user. Without any need of sign the walls suddenly came back to their previous existance, as did the ceiling, the bed, everything. Even Robert's clothes found themselves back on his body.
A large black blob floated into the professor's hand, and one could only guess that that was the ink of the symbology, all the sign's now gone. In the other hand he held an open urn, of which all the remains and even the skull (which had shattered when robert had let go of it) whisped gently in to. The professor gave Robert another nod before leaving him be. He had long since come to know how Robert acted. He didn't need comforting. He didn't need any emotional help... ever. He considered himself alone, and the professor had figured out that it would be a long time coming before that situation changed.
(ooc: Sorry, I didn't really leave any room for other people to psot. This came out more of just a return thing, but still, feel free to join if you feel like putting your imagination to work.)