All things are connected

[Deleted]

Something amazing is happening. Somehow someway each and every one of our worlds are connected. And it just so happens that our characters have somehow found that connection. It is not known why they have stumbled upon this Inbetween world, but all we can guess is that it is important.   (basically describe a scene with your character in your world. Then have them transported to this in between. We will be crossing into each world)
********




“Get up!” Marcaeus quickly awoke as something heavy fell on his face. What it was, he wasn’t sure, everything in the cell smelt like shit. Though he had two guesses as to what it was. It was either bread or... 

“Gah!” he shouted as pulled the feces from his face and threw it at the wall. He looked up the thirty foot shaft that separated him from the guard above and waited. He had to shied his eyes from the light as he watched something drop. He had been in the dark for so long that he had almost forgotten what light looked like. He was only given a few minutes of it every day when the guards fed him. Or, when they threw shit at him.

“Eat up. You fight soon,” the guard said as the chunk of bread fell into Marcaeus’ lap. Then the grate shut and he was plunged onto darkness again. He felt the bread in his hands as he waited for his eyes to readjust. It wasn’t moist. Odd that they chose today to not piss in his food. He pulled a small piece off with his right hand and then spit into his left. He rolled the small piece in the spit and then waited for a second. Red... The sedative was in it, and enough of it that he couldn’t eat any of it with out ingesting the sedative. It was the way that the Corvecs contained him, well his power anyways. With it Marcaeus and the rest of Terroks were normal. Well.... normal by the Corvecs’ standards. He stared at the bread and tried to keep himself from eating it. The way the Corvecs thought was ingenious really. If they didn’t eat, they’re ability would grow strong again, but they’d be so famished and weak that they wouldn’t be able to use it. And if they did eat, they’d be full and satisfied, but their powers would now longer work. It had already gotten bad enough, Marcaeus couldn’t even get sand to wrap around his hand.

Realizing that the sedative had to be dulled, for they always allowed a Terrok some use of his ability, for it made an interesting show, Marcaeus finally gave into temptation and ate the bread. It wasn’t long before the door to his cell on the ground level was open. He was grabbed by two guards and thrown out into the arena. He rolled on the ground and felt sand pour in his mouth. Though to him, the sand tasted good. It was earth.

The light was so bright and powerful that he couldn’t see at all. In fact, it hurt if his eyes were even opened at all. He quickly shut them and waited. 

“Another Terrok for the slaughter!” a man seated next to the King shouted and the people responded in a roar. He slowly stood and tried to open his eyes again but quickly shut them as the light flooded in and sent him back to the ground as his head pounded. The sand wrapped around his hands for a moment and then faded back into the mass, and he once again stood. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He stomped his foot down hard and the sand around his foot jumped up. It gave way to the people around him. 

They’re vibrations the earth read, and through it, so could he. He only saw pieces though. The King anticipating, the crowd cheering, a man before him, unfurling a chain from around his arm. “Corin, to slay another!” the man who had shouted before did so again.

Corin unfurled the chain completely and spun it around, laughing as he did so. He flung it forward and it hit Marcaeus in the leg, making him take a step backwards. He still was not quite adjusted to the change of scenery. His ability to see vibrations was dulled to the point where he was almost better off waiting for his eyes to adjust. Corin lashed out with the chain again. And again. And again. Constantly over and over again, thrashing the seemingly blind Marcaeus. Corin launched it again and was able to wrap it around the man’s foot. He then pulled the chain back and Marcaeus was sent to the earth. Corin pulled a throwing knive from his belt and launched it at Marcaeus. The man let out a scream as the blade pierced his side. His hand went instinctively to the wound but he was to slow to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t a bad cut, but all of the blood that escaped covered the sand. He grabbed the bloodied sand in his hand and his eyes flashed open. No more did the sun bother him. No longer did he feel tired. No, now the earth was his energy.

He kicked his foot out into the ground and a trail extended out towards Corin. At the man’s feet, the sand leapt up and sent him to the ground. Marcaeus brought his foot back close to him and a trail of sand rising to his waist brought the chain back to him. He swung it around a few times and then lashed out with it, wrapping around Corin’s foot as he tried to stand again. Marcaeus whipped the chain back towards himself, sending the man to the ground again and then ran at him. As he approached he jumped into the air, the sand behind him pushing him up higher than normal, and landed with his foot sinking into the man’s neck with a crack. He stood up straight and looked around, muscles tensed, glistening in sweat. The look he gave all of them almost as disgusting as the shit that covered the rest of them.

“Bring out more men,” the King said as he leaned over to the man next to him.

“Are you sure? He might be abl...”

“Yes, bring them out.”

The man nodded and turned back to the fight. “Bring out more men and kill him!”

Marcaeus looked around himself, turning in a circle, as guards came into the arena and circled him. He found a man closes to himself and knelt down. He grabbed two handfuls of sand and pulled them towards himself, the sand that extended towards the man acting like a rug and pulling back with him, sending the guard to the ground. He ran to the guard and quickly took his blade from him. In one quick motion he hacked at the guard’s neck and turned to the others. They wasted no time and came after him. Guard after guard fell as he parried their attacks and came back with a furry of his own. Blood spilled on the sand where they fell. And this time it was Corvek blood and not Terrok blood like had been spilt before. One of the last five guards ran at him and he kicked down into the sand. Following his action, a rock rose out of the sand and into the air. He kicked his foot forward and the rock responded and flew into the man, sending him back. The more and more he fought, the more the sedative wore off. 

Forgetting about the other man, and allowing his attention to focus on the King, he ran in the direction the rock had been taken in. He jumped into the air and the sand leapt up underneath him, forming a ramp that lead to the King. As he neared the end he jumped into the air with his blade raised and fell towards the King.

He was flung back by an invisible force and thrown into the far wall of the arena. Even for him the rock wall behind him did not feel good. He went to push himself away from the wall when glowing binds formed around his hands and feet. He looked up towards the King and noticed the man that had been making the announcements was Serek. A Terrok, and the reason for why they had been captured nonetheless. “You traitor!” he shouted as he spit in direction of Serek. “You dirty filthy fucking traitor!” he continued as he thrashed against the bonds. “I swear I’ll kill you first! Even before the king! Rip your heart out of your chest and spill your blood on the ear...” his hateful words faded as the guards dragged him out of the arena.
********

The guards dragged him into a cave-like prison filled with water. They tossed him down a ten foot shaft into water and then closed the gate behind him. That specific cell was built to house an earth manipulator, or quake, after a battle. After fighting, a Terrok's power grew immensely, even pushing passed the effects of the sedative. The cell kept an adrenaline pumped quake from practicing his ability. Of course rock covered the walls but unless they could touch it, water numbed a quakes ability. 

Though Marcaeus had planned for this. He had grabbed a mouthful of sand before being thrown in and had solidified the sand on his tongue. He went to shape the sand out of his mouth when a light flashed at the bottom of the water. The sand was dragged out of his mouth and dragged into a light at the bottom. The water began to swirl and be was dragged in. 


There was a flash and Marcaeus, along with a puddle of water, splashed onto sandy ground. He grunted in pain from the fall and then looked around. At first he was struck with awe as he saw the blackish purple sky filled with stars and two moons. But then he noticed that the place he had landed was filers with sand and rock. He yelled out in excitement he began to move sand all around himself. He didn't even notice the glow forming behind him. 

[Cate]

“Ah!” the elf screamed as the white wings burst forth from his back. Even after feeling this pain five times before, he still was not used to it. He sighed in relief as the sensation subsided and the feeling of freedom entered his body.

“Dureyon! What are you doing?” an older man called out from across the meadow they used to practice their spells.

“Giving myself freedom! For the last time...” the elf looked at the back of his dark hands and anger filled him. “Because of my parents, I was never able to walk around the surface or Underdark freely. I am not a light elf! Nor am I drow!” he shouted. “I am a halfbreed...”

The old man looked at Dureyon and sighed, “I realize that. But you are you! And ‘you’ is someone special.” he sighed. “How many times have you used that spell?”

Dureyon looked at him, “Six.”

The man’s eyes widened, “You know that you could only use that spell five times! There’s no going back now!”

“You don’t think I realize that?!” Dureyon shouted.

“Then why? Having those wings will only make you more of an outcast!”

“No! These wings give me freedom! I can go wherever I wish, whenever I wish! I don’t care about being an outcast anymore! I can do anything!” a light entered his bright blue eyes that the old man had only seen once before; when Dureyon had first used magic.

“What do you plan on doing with your newfound freedom?” he asked, angrily.

“Anything! Explore the world! Find others just like me! Maybe I’ll be accepted now.” Dureyon answered, excitedly.

“Dureyon... People are afraid of anything different. You won’t be accepted that easily. Some may try to kill you because of this.” the man said, sadly.

“Then I will make them accept me! And for those who try to hunt me, they will die first.” he said, suddenly becoming very grave.

The man’s eyes widened again, “No... You can’t...”

“Why not?! Tell me why!” Dureyon demanded.

“Because it’s wrong! People don’t deserve to die just for you to be accepted! It will only turn people against you!”

Dureyon glared at him, “Are you to be the first, then?”

“N-no!”

“I don’t believe you...” Dureyon continued to stare at the man and drew his sword.

The old man began to back away, “N-no! Dureyon!”

The angered elf spread the wings on his back and leapt forward, propelling himself faster with a single beat of his wings. The old man lifted his arms and tried to cast a spell against him, but was not fast enough; the blade in Dureyon’s hand plunged deep into his chest. “Goodbye... Master.”

* * *

“Catch him!”
“Die! Demon!”
“You can’t escape!” the villagers called after the flying elf. He had entered their village with words of friendship, only to end up killing a woman who had screamed in fear and thrown stones at him when she saw his gray and white wings. The woman’s husband gathered the men together and they took up any weapons they had and sharpened farming tools. The hunt for Dureyon began.

* * *

Many years had passed since that time and the whole land knew of Dureyon. They feared him. Wherever he was seen, someone would die.

Dureyon, on the other hand, loved his new power over all and decided to stay in a secluded cave in the center of the forest. He stayed there and rumors spread of his shadow crossing over the trees of the forest, to his new targeted destination. Fear spread to the far corners of the world as merchants and other travellers spread the news of his horrendous deeds.

Those who feared for their lives rarely ventured near to his cave; many believed the area to be cursed. Yet a few brave souls went right to the mouth of the demon’s home and challenged him. None had ever succeeded.
Their bodies were always found at the edge of the forest or on a well-used trail, with a black and white feather resting on their chests.

Dureyon, on sunny days, would fly over to a nearby village and stand, with his wings spread, in the center of the village. The villagers would stare and run in fear, causing him to laugh. Many times, the men of the village would try to chase him out.

* * *

“Get back here!” a strong looking man called out to Dureyon.

Dureyon jumped into the sky and disappeared above the treetops. The young man stared at the area where he had gone and quickly turned around, expecting him to be behind him. Nothing was there.

“Behind you.” a deep voice entered the man’s ear.

He turned around and whipped his sword forward, hoping to catch the winged elf. No one was there. “Come out! I will not play these games with you!”

“What games?”

The man turned around again and came face-to-face with Dureyon. He took a step back in surprise at how close he was; if either of them leaned forward, their noses would brush against each other.

“I am not playing any games.” the dangerous elf stated. “I am merely afraid of what may happen to me if you catch me.”

The man stared at him and relaxed his shoulders, “I don’t want to kill you.”

Dureyon tilted his head to the side and furrowed his grey eyebrows, “And why is that?”

The man lowered his sword, “I just wish to know why you do this. Why you kill for no reason... I want to know why you are like this and try to help you.”

Dureyon looked at him suspiciously, “You are a strange human.” The man remained silent. Dureyon saw the sincerity on the young man’s face and relaxed at the thought of finding someone who would finally understand him.

As soon as the young man saw him relax, he struck out with his sword and pushed it into Dureyon’s stomach.

Dureyon looked down at the sword, then back up at the man.

The man stared, angrily, into Dureyon’t eyes and watched as the light faded from them. He was about to pull his sword free of the demon when a bright light burst forth from his blue eyes.

The man shielded his eyes from the light with his free arm. After the light had faded, he opened his eyes and lowered his arm. Dureyon was gone.

* * *

Dureyon screamed as he felt his body being pulled into the young man’s sword and closed his eyes in fear. He opened his eyes as the pain disappeared and saw a dark purple sky with two moons surrounding him.

“Wha...” he didn’t have time to speak the rest of his words before hitting the ground hard. The impact caused him to lose all the air in his lungs. So this is what it feels like to fall from the sky...

[Deleted]

OOC: This ones kind of long. It comes from an Rp that Ragfell made (Thank you) and for the posts to make sense, I had to use Itzal’s character (thanks in advance) anyways, its worth the read!!!

Damien slowly awoke from his slumber, the first rays of the sun peeking their way through the shutters and into his room. He was groggy and didn’t have much will to get up. He reached over to his right and gabbed a pouch off of the bedside table. He opened the pouch and took a sniff of the smelling salts he had put in there. And that was all he needed to wake up. It wouldn’t last long, but it gave him enough energy to get himself out of bed, normally a hard feat all on its own. As he got up from his bed, he stopped for a moment and stood still, listening intently to the constant clicks from the many clocks around him, each one running slightly ahead or behind the other. But there was only one clock who’s rhythmic tone he was concentrating on, a grandfather clock, whose tone was less than a minute away from striking. He quickly undressed and then threw on a new pair of clothes. With thirty seconds left before the clock struck, he towards the bedside table, and donned a black metallic mask. The metallic mask not only hid his face, but there were slits put in specific places over the mouth that echoed a different sound, changing his voice.
“Clockmaker...” a voice said from behind him. Darn, the clock should have struck by now. Maybe they were just going faster than the schedule... or maybe he was just behind. The tone struck and he quickly turned around, throwing a handful of smelling salts in lead man’s face. He moved quickly, going for the guy in the front first. He came forward, clamping both of his hands over the guy’s ears, shocking him, and then drove his right foot into the guy’s knee, breaking it. He then came with his palm up into the guy’s chin and then grabbed the hand that held the knife. He twisted it so that the guy dropped the knife and then kneed him in the gut, sending him to the floor. He grabbed the knife from the floor and slashed the other two guys’ throats.
“Tell your master, that the Clockmages will strike again today,” he said in a whisper into the first guy’s ear, his voice deeper and in an echo, making sure to emphasize the word 'strike'. He clicked his pocketwatch open and looked at it, “Hm, I’m about to be late,” he stood with that and headed towards the door. Just before he went out, he grabbed his trench coat and donned a black hat. After he was outside, and after he waited long enough to be sure he wasn’t being followed, he took off the mask and put it in the folds of his trench coat. His solitary life had made it easier for him to do what was needed of him. Being from Meverei made it easier for him to keep his distance. Unlike most of his people, he didn’t hate the humans, but he knew that if they spent enough time with him, the humans would be able to tell the distance. So in the twenty years he had been in this world, he had kept to himself.

“You’re a Maker boy, just like me,” his father had told him on the other side, when he was eight, days before he had crossed over, or rather had been sent over. Lies about his father had been circling and for whatever reason Prince Elsipath believed them. His father was labeled a traitor and as punishment his son, Damien, was to be sent over to the human world. Though, for whatever reason, Elsipath felt it right to allow the man to say goodbye to his son, a time in which his father gave him a golden pocketwatch. His father had also given him instructions for when he got over. Since he had seen his first watch, he had been obsessed with clocks, as was somewhat expected of a Maker, for clocks were very intricate devices on their own, and Makers always liked to understand things that were complicated. So his father had told him to apprentice himself to a clockmaker, and to stay in the shadows. And so he had. He worked for an old clockmaker, a man only a few years away from death, and generous as could be. The old man was more than generous when the boy asked for a place to stay, in exchange for hard work. And it didn’t take the man long to realize that the boy was different, and so the man didn’t question when the boy asked to be kept away from customers, to only work when no one was around. And for six years, the boy became the old man’s faceless and nameless apprentice. Customers would be taking home pockewatches made by someone they had never even heard of, and it was exactly what the boy wanted. The only thing that kept Damien going throughout the years was hoping that somehow he would get back to Meverei and kill Prince Elsipath as he had undoubtedly done to his father. Though over the years, his hopes had died down. Until recently.
It was that way of life that made it so that he could walk around the streets of London and blend in with the others. No one knew who he was as did no one know who the Clockmaker was. Some of the other Clockmages said in secrecy that he was paranoid. Crazy that not even his followers knew who he was. But once Meguel revealed himself as a traitor and told of their location, he knew he had played his cards right. He also knew that as soon as Meguel divulged that he called himself the Clockmaker, he would not have long before those at Steam Co. put one and one together. Realizing that the Clockmaker who had no name and only delivered out of his shop, or had projects slid under the door, ending in no one ever seeing him, would be the same person who lead the Clockmages. And he had only been off by a few seconds of when they would come barging into his bedroom. On second thought, he had assumed they would have sent Ironmen, who moved a tad bit slower, in which case, he had been on time after all! Though he would take his clock moving a tad bit behind than not, if it meant he could face men and not Ironmen. He checked his golden pocketwatch one last time and smiled. Thirty minutes left, that meant he had fifteen minutes for a conversation with a friend at the coffee shop.


Walking throught cold rainy streets of London Zefatai brushed a strand of his silver hair over his shoulder. He had been he for a long time, but no one ever really noticed him unless they were really looking for him. He was easy to miss, dispite his long silver hair and ostentatious clothing, it was nothing like the style of clothing that other people wore in this place. He giggled thinking of the rucus he would cause if people did take note of him. The thought entertained him as he walked to a coffee shop. He entered and found a vacant table. His listened to conversations being had next to him, all about Steam Co. and Ironmen and Clockmages, nothing that really intrested him. It was such a drag, he was debating if he should order something to drink. He hopped something intresting came along soon to elevate his bordeom.


"Hello Zefatai," Damien said as he sat down in the seat across from the silver-haired man, mask unseen. It was odd, having a conversation with a Clockmage without his mask on, but that was just the type of friends they were. As Damien had said before, by the time Zefatai was captured and gave up his identity, Damien would already be gone. Though if that would be by his own will or not, he still wasn't quite sure. On the surface, Zefatai only knew who Damien really was because he needed someone to, and the man was as good as it got. But someone deeper, it was because Zefatai and he were of the same place, which made everything a little bit more interesting. "I know I know, you're going to say I'm late... but technically," he said as he clicked open his pocketwatch and looked at the time. "I'm ahead of the schedule! Albeit, our schedules are different, yours being the right one... but that's besides the point. And, now that we only have," he looked down at his pocketwatch again, "thirteen minutes left, how have you been?" he asked as he waved a waitress over, and ordered two cups of tea, fearing that if he didn't, his friend would order something that would compromise him.


I have been good but alas kind of bored. How about your self? Zefatai always enjoyed thes talks he had with Damien. He was the closest thing that he had to a friend in this place.Do anything intresting lately? he said this with a sly grin. He knew Damien was up to all kinds of things being a Clockmage, it was like watching a magnificent story unfold right before his eyes. The waitrress came back with the teas and Zefatai picked up one sipping it waiting to hear what his friend had to say.


Damien took his cup of tea and took a sip from it. After the waitress had walked away, he tipped the cup upside down and let the liquid fall on the patio, before setting the cup back on the table and then putting a finger to his lips, telling Zefatai to let it be. "Actually, now that you mention it, some Steam Co. men came to my shop and attacked me," he said before stopping and looking down at his pocketwatch again. "Gonna finish that?" he asked and then before Zefatai could answer, he took the cup out of his hands and dumped the tea where he had had dumped his, and then handed the cup back to his friend. "Waitress, can you bring us some water when you get a chance?" he asked as he held up his empty cup. "Anyways, the men attacked me, just like we thought they would. Meguel almost destroyed everything we've been working towards. I'll allow you to kill him if he hasn't been disposed of already," Damien said, hoping Zefatai would enjoy his attempt at giving the man something interesting to do. "Oh and I was only off by a few seconds of when they attacked me. Thank God I was wrong though, I was going off of them sending Ironmen," he said with a chuckle. "Now where is that waitress?" he asked, his question followed by the woman who had brought a pitcher of water, slipping and falling on where the tea had been spilt and falling on her back, the glass pitcher breaking. As Zefatai helped the woman up to her feet, Damien found the biggest shard of glass and quickly grabbed it, putting it in the fold of his trenchcoat before the waitress was back on her feet. "Now, how bout you? I hope you've been practicing time watching as of late," he offered after the waitress had been on her way.


Zefatai was excited to hear that he may have the chance to kill, he was as giddy as a child being told he could have candy for supper. It sounds like Steam Co. is getting wrestless huh? Sending Iornmen after you. He watched the waitress fall and he caught her helping her up. She hurried on her way to get something to clean up the tea she slipped on. Yes yes of course I have. Zefatai waved his hand up and down. I've been doing my job and keeping my self entertained in the process, thats whats important right? So how do we know if Meguel is still with us or not? I really hope he is I'd love for somehting intresting to happen around here.


Damien stopped for a second, realizing he had slipped up. "No no no, they didn't send Ironmen after me. They sent regular men after me, which was the weird part. I guess they wanted me alive," he smiled contently to himself, he had gotten them back on track. "Oh yes something interesting shall happen around here. Right around here for that matter and in about..." he looked down at his pocketwatch again and then frowned as he noticed the time. "Ten minutes..." He stood up and fixed his hat, getting ready to leave. "I'll have things set up for a show today. If everything goes right, Steam Co. should have a spokesperson speaking out against our organization. Keep your eyes to the stage after my... surprise, Meguel will be there. Regardless of who he works for, he is still a Clockmage." He then leaned in and whispered in Zefatai's ear, "after you kill Meguel, put this on the ground around the bodies. DONT get caught," and then he left, leaving behind in Zefatai's hand a small wristwatch, a way of naming the deaths as the Clockmages'.


Oh that makes more sense now. Zefatai laughed. He was curious to find out what Damien was planning, he was sure he would find out soon enough. He listend to his intrustcions and scoffed. "Who dose he think he is telling me not to get caught, dosnt he know who I am?" He watched as his friend left and he looked at the wristwatch he was left with. Soon Meguel would be dead, it would be so much fun."

Damien smiled as he walked past the entrance the coffee shop and turned into the street. As he came into a crowd of people, he reached into the folds of his trenchcoat and pulled out his metallic mask, fitting it over his face, and then looking up at the place where all of the gathered seemed to be fixated on, noticed a speaker on the platform in the center of town. It had seemed that his word had gotten to Steam Co.


The man at the top of the platform took the mike in his hand and put his mouth to it. "It has come to our attention, that the so called Clockmages have staged another attack for today!" The man's booming voice demanded so much attention, but Damien wouldn't give any of it. He checked his pocketwatch and then reached out to a woman walking past with both hands. With his left, he attached a pouch to her belt, and with the right, he quickly injected a knockout poison with a syringe. The great part of the poison, was that she wouldn't really experience the effects of it until she was already there.

The lady continued on, oblivious to what had happened. She had a doorstop to fix after all. Selling handmade rugs and towels always took her to new places, but fixing the high drop on a candleman's shop entrance was a new one for her. And it was all to much her luck that there was a demonstration going on during her delivery. As she got closer to the building, slightly behind the stage, she felt extremely dizzy all of a sudden and fell. Her eyes went black and she was out.

A man on the side of the street rushed into the center, pulling the woman out of the street before she was run over by a horse drawn carriage, leaving behind a brown pouch surrounded by long tacks, some of which were pointed up. Mere moments after the woman was dragged off the street, a horse drawn military carriage came through the streets. The men chose a horse-drawn carriage rather than steam powered because of their cargo, which was no less than gunpowder and explosives for the Steam Co. armory. As the horses came upon the tacks, they freaked out and began to flay left and right, sending the carriage tipping over, a barrel of gunpowder cracking open and spilling onto the street.

Damien looked at the stage saddened. Where was the big caboom? Where was the explosion? The death? The demonstration? He looked down at his pocketwatch and realized there was still a few seconds left. He looked back at the stage through the metal slits and smiled.

A small boy, apprenticed to a candlemaker made his way out of the building to see what had made all of the noise in the street. He brought with him the candle he had held to help himself see in the dark room. As he came outside, he fell, expecting the doorstep to of been fixed, for it should have been moments before. As he fell towards the ground, it was if the whole world moved in slow motion, a realization slowly hitting him as he fell towards the gunpowder, candle in hand.


"Let this count as a warning to anyone harboring a Clockmage. Come forward and you will not be harmed, but continue on this way and your entire family will suffer the consequences," and then the man on the platform stopped, his eyes catching something, something that he had been warned of before.

*****************************************

"So? Was the Clockmaker at his shop?" Sureal asked as one of his men came back. The man merely nodded. "Well, where is he?"
"Sir, he got away," the man said and then looked down.
"Well, we at least know who he is now right?" Sureal asked, hoping for one bit of good news.
"No sir, he wore a mask."
"A mask?! What do you mean he wore a mask?"
"An iron mask sir."

********************************

And there he was, the man in the iron mask, the Clockmaker. He could have sworn that the man was smiling back at him from behind that metal mask. Fear overtook him but he quickly composed himself. "There! There he is! There is the Clock..." he said as he pointed at Damien, and then was caught off as the explosion went off, sending him flying to floor.


As the explosion went off and the speaker who had identified him was thrown, Damien had a thought of hoping everyone was on schedule. He had seen Zefatai flirting with a waitress at the coffee shop and hoped that he would make it to kill Miguel in time and leave the watch behind. But that was not something he could be worrying about at that moment, he had other concerns. Without removing his mask, he made his way over to a shop that mainly sold umbrellas and coats, besides the the leather briefcase towards the front that seemed out of place. "How much for the briefcase?" Damien asked the shop owner.

It was obvious that the man was phased by the metallic mask Damien wore, but he hid it well. "That's not mine sir. Someone came over and dropped it off just a bit ago."

"How long ago?" Damien asked, intrigued.

"Just a few seconds ago." the shop owner answered in response. "Good, she was on time," Damien thought to himself as he checked his pocketwatch.

"Alright, how bout this, I'll pay double for an umbrella if you toss in the briefcase," he offered, knowing the man would barely look at it twice, seeing as it meant more money for him. The shop owner nodded his head, quickly 'forgetting' the fact that the briefcase was not his to sell. Damien handed over his money and the shop owner gave him one of the small umbrellas. Damien bent down next to the briefcase and opened it, leaving it flat on the street. He hit the button on the umbrella and let it flop open. He pressed the cap at the tip of the umbrella into the dividing line of the briefcase and locked it into place. He turned the handle three times clockwise and pushed it in, the two objects melting down into a metallic shield, a circle with four corners sticking out where the sides of the briefcase had been.

As the shield finished forming, he dropped to a knee and gently spun around, slamming the newly formed shield in front of him, hiding his head behind it, and felt rounds hit the shield as a few of the men shot their pistols at him. He was pushed slightly back as bullets continued to fly, but the shield held up. As the last round from the clips emptied, he made his move, running forward, and slammed the shield into the side of the guy in the front, sending him flying. The other guys stared at him and then began reloading their guns as he got into a crouched position, waiting for them to start firing again.

It was then that he heard it; metallic plates scrapping against each other, gears squeaking, smoke filling into the air. He turned around, somehow oblivious to the men still left standing there, to face the new threat. Standing at eight feet tall, with the build of about three men, metal exterior and a cold interior, an Ironman stepped forward. It's 'head' was made to look like the whistle on a train, the top of it lifting up with every unneeded breath, a whistle going off each time. He raised his shield up, but knew it was pointless. The Ironman swiped it's hand to the left and sent the shield flying. Then it picked Damien up in both hands and threw him back. The portal opening up, he had forseen. But where it dropped him? He had not expected. He was hoping for it to send him to Meverei, but what he found was something completely different.
***
Damien fell hard landed in a pile of sand. He lifted his head and saw two men before him. At least one of them was a man. The other one was… well he honestly had no idea what the other one was, but it had wings. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Though his face was expressionless because of the mask, his mind was reeling as he watched the stream of time.


Macaeus had found an animal running around the desert. It ran on four legs. It’s fur was yellow, with dark spots all over the place. He chased after it, moving his arms left and right, sand and rock desperately attempting to catch the creature. Finally, after he had gotten control back, he whipped out with his ability and a chain of sand and rock around the creatures neck and when he pulled down, sent the creature to the ground. He and jumped into the air, rock and sand shooting him forward. He landed next to the creature and formed a blade of rock. He cut the creature open and inspected the inside. It was red, but not the color of the sedative. He was just about to dig into the first clean mean he had had in a long time, when the portal opened. And then a second one followed.

[Cate]

Dureyon stood slowly from the sandy ground and watched the man running around, throwing the earth around after an animal with some sort of magic. His attention then turned to the opened portal and the man who fell through. He arched his grey eyebrows and stared at the masked man. He noticed that the man's face, although hidden, was looking in his direction. For some unknown reason, Dureyon was nervous and folded his wings behind his back. He saw the man's shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath and saw his eyes close.

"Ahem." Dureyon cleared his thoat, "Do either of you know where we are? And who are you?"

[Idazle]

With a sigh, Ammira leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Her back still ached from the recent beatings. As she reached to pick up her tiara from the bedside table, a heavy fist pounded upon her solid oak door. Her dark brown eyes quickly darted in the direction of the door, and her emaciated body grew rigid. “Have you not tortured me enough for one day?” she snapped.

The door flew open, and the rotund King stood within its opening. “Of course not! What would ever make you think otherwise?” he chuckled, slamming the door shut behind him.

“This is my room, you son of a banshee, now you had better get out of it. Now!” she hissed, crossing her arms defiantly. “Or perhaps I should tell everyone the truth!”

He laughed, a low and hollow sound. “Oh, you will, will you? And who shall ever believe you? You are just the worthless princess that no one could ever possibly care about! Just the little orphan girl who locks herself away in the castle so she will not have to deal with what lies outside the walls!” he scoffed.

She glared at him. “You should be slow to insult, Corsan. Your reign hangs on a very thin thread. Cahal does not like being pushed around, and when push comes to shove, you will not have a leg to stand on. Then I shall become Queen, just as I was meant to be.”

“Please, do keep dreaming. It amuses me,” he chuckled, leaning against the door. “You, the daughter of a knight that my foolish brother was dumb enough to adopt, think that you can one day rule over all of Cahal, all on your own! Do you not realize that you are missing something quite crucial: a husband!”

She opened her mouth to respond, but quickly shut it. He was right. Never before had the elders allowed a woman to rise to power without a suitable husband by her side, and being as she was adopted, no marriage had been arranged, and it was obvious Corsan made no efforts to find her a Prince.

“Seeing you inwardly tortured is enough pleasure for now,” he chuckled, leaving her alone to her thoughts.

With a sigh, she got up from her bed, adorning her tiara. She moved quietly to the window and looked out at the knights patrolling around the castle. If only she could just go out amongst the peasants, spread the truth that Corsan was a murderer and that he had tried to murder her, but no one would listen. No one would believe her because they simply had no reason to. She would always just be the stupid adopted niece of the hated King.

She returned to her canopy bed and hid beneath the shelter of the warm red blankets, trying anything to escape reality. Never before had she wanted to disappear so much.

“Just one little break,” she mumbled to herself. “Is that too much to ask?” She shook her head and rose, letting the blankets fall around her.

She went over to her window, attempting the same escape routine she had tried hundreds upon hundreds of times before. However, the King had gotten wise to her tricks and placed Bartamus the bounty hunter just outside her window. He smirked, daring her to try and set one foot out of the window as he kept an arrow steadily aimed at her.

With a huff, she crossed her arms and returned to her door. How thankful she was that it locked from the inside. She quietly opened it and slipped out into the quiet hall. No guards were posted outside her door, a rather rooky move. She snuck back into her room to grab her cloak. The hood concealed her diamond tiara beneath it as she put it over her blue riding clothes.

She tiptoed down the hall, careful not to draw the attention of anyone that might be patrolling the halls. Thankfully, she made it out of the castle unawares of anyone. With her hood still concealing her face, she slipped out into the multitude of peasants milling about their daily, miserable lives.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but could you spare a few coins for a poor old man?” a raspy voice whispered into her ear.

She quickly turned around and backed away. “I am sorry, sir. I have no money on me,” she responded, turning again and moving deeper into the crowd.

The man huffed and ran after her, a dagger in hand. “Why do they always run?” he complained, gaining upon her.

She turned just as the man clamped his hand on her shoulder. “Unhand me!” she hissed, trying to shake free of him.

“I would think not,” he responded, pushing her into an ally. He pinned her against the wall and held his dagger to her throat. “Now, are you going to give me your money or will I be forced to take it myself from your cold, unmoving corpse!”

“I already told you, I have no money!” Ammira replied, snaking her hand down her leg to a hidden pouch. She removed a golden dragon-shaped hilt and was about to flick it when the man yanked down her hood.

“I thought that voice was familiar!” he gasped, plucking her tiara off her head. “This is worth a fortune, as are you!” He laughed and lowered his dagger, placing the tiara back on her head. “I will not get anything from the black market if you are killed or damaged!”

“Unhand me!” she demanded, flicking her wrist. The blade slid into place and she held it at him. “Or else!”

“Or else what? You’ll poke me with that stick?” he taunted, placing his fingertip on the edge of her sword and lowering it. “That is not very nice!” He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, forcing her to drop the sword. After scooping it up, he proceeded to bind her arms behind her back. He pulled her off in the direction of the forest.

“Just once, could someone not kidnap me and take me to the black market? I mean, why always the black market!” she groaned, trying to pull her hands free to no avail.

He pulled her along in silence, venturing deeper in the woods than Ammira felt comfortable. He stopped only momentarily to take a swig from his flask. The brief motion gave her just enough time to pull free. She quickly swung her arms and jumped over them. With her hands in front of her once more, she managed to grab her sword from the man’s belt.

“What do you think you are doing!” he hissed, pulling out his dagger and pointing it at her.

“Escaping!” she said. “Duh!” She turned and ran back the way they had come with her captor hot on her heels.

It seemed that returning to Cahal was much faster than when they had gone into the forest. Once back in the walls of the Kingdom, she ran into the heart of the city, intertwining amongst all of the peasants. She could hear her captor, but she could not see him. Without thinking, she ran to the nearest building and shoved the door open.

A sudden bright light blinded her, and she lost her footing. Someone...no…something was pulling her into the room deeper and deeper…

Finally, she collapsed on…was that sand…? She pushed herself to her feet unsteadily with her bound hands. “Where am I?” she gasped. A second thought crossed her mind. “What do I care? I am free of that King! Finally free!” she shouted, jumping up and down like a little girl. Instantly, she stopped when she saw she was not alone wherever she was.

She regained her composure and cleared her throat. If only her hands were not bound...

[Deleted]

Damien looked again at the winged man as he posed the question. "I know how we got here, but not where HERE is..." Damien said as he looked around. Then he looked around again, "And I'm the Clock Maker. That's really all you need to know. And I'm a Clockmage, though I'm not sure how much power I have in this place..." he said as he trailed off as he looked around again. He fumbled around beneath his robes and felt the bade of glass. Good, it was still there. He had known he would need it, but for here? Then he felt around with something else... Good, he still had the pocket watch. All he would need is a handle. He looked to the man stuffing his face with food, blood running down his face.

"And I'm Marcaeus, a Corvec," he said as he wiped the blood from his face. There was another flash and a girl fell onto the sand. Part of him had wanted to jump out and catch the girl. But he wouldn't have been fast enough. He saw that she was still bound and grabbed a handful of sand before jumping into the air and propelling himself next to her and cutting the rope with a knife. "My name is Marcaeus, and yours is?" he asked with a smile.

[Idazle]

At first, Ammira simply stared blankly at the man, but his smile was quite inviting. “Ammira Laura Hunter, Princess of Cahal,” she told him. “Rather, just forget I said the Princess part. Start bowing to me, and I might just have to stab you.” She smirked and twirled her sword for a minute, emphasizing her mock threat before flicking her wrist. The blade retreated to the hilt, and she quickly placed the golden metal back into the pouch strapped over her leggings.

“Nonetheless, thank you for your kindness, Marcaeus. I see chilvalry is not dead here…wherever here is.” She returned his smile as she rubbed her aching wrists. She took off her tiara and tied it to a string within her cloak. “Such a strange world…” she added to herself, looking around. /Free at last…Finally free at last…/ she thought to herself, breating a sigh of relief. Her smile shifted from gratefulness to relief.

[Cate]

Dureyon stared at the other three in the strange world with him and shook his head. -These people are so stupid... Trusting each other so quickly...- The Clockmage, whatever that was, seemed like the most sensible one there, besides Dureyon himself. He turned around and began to walk away from the naive people. -I need to find a way out of here....-

[Deleted]

"I knew a princess once..." Maraceus said as he thought back to the King's daughter. Malinda was her name. At first, before the Terrocks had enslaved the Corvecs, they had fallen in love. He had loved her more than anything. She had even pleaded with her father not to have him imprisoned when it had all begun, but that only seemed to fuel her father more. The night he had been thrown behind bars, she had come and told him she loved him. He had told her that he had fallen in love with a woman- not a Terrock.

Part of him felt bad for it, but the other part knew it was necessary. It had to be done. Had to be said. If he was ever going to kill her father, he couldn't love her. Wouldn't love her.... he didn't love her. And that's exactly how he had kept it all this time. All these months... Though part of him missed her. And that part was what would fuel him in killing the King. Revenge for driving the two apart.

"And the last time I bowed to her, I was put behind bars," he said as he allowed the knife to whither away. He looked her over as they walked over to the rest of the group.

***

Damien studied the man named Marcaeus from behind the mask. The way he formed the weapon out of sand and dirt. How he controlled it, made it solid... That man could make the handle for him. But how to get him to do it? Damien pondered his next moves as the others came closer together. "Anyone wonder where that portal leads?" he questioned as he pointed to a portal that had not yet closed.

[Idazle]

Ammira sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. Arrested…just like everyone else that spoke with her. “So I see…” she mumbled. “I was actually placed behind bars just for being Princess.” She remembered her first boyfriend she had ever had. He broke up with her the instant he found out that the guards would lock him up for speaking with her. There was no telling why this boy had been arrested.

She stayed close to his side, feeling slightly more at ease with him by her side. The others did not seem so open, but she was certainly far from being open herself. It was nice to be someone other than who she really had to be at Cahal.

Still, she wondered about the abilities of Marcaeus. It certainly took a special person to be able to control the sand the way he did. She thought her own unique hilt was a feet in and of itself, yet this man made a dagger out of nothing but sand.

Her eyes slowly drifted to the portal. “That is…odd…” she stammered, without knowing quite what to say about it.

[Cate]

Dureyon turned around slowly as he heard the others talking about another portal. He leapt into the air, allowing his wings to spread and flew the short distance to the portal. He landed before it and folded his wings back into place on his back then reached a hand forward to touch the strange surface.