Post quotes and lines from your RPs here!

A bulky, half-naked man with a huge spear noticed her standing there, and charged in her direction, thinking to avoid the melee in the center of the ring. He thrust with his spear, expecting an easy victory. What he got, was an empty feeling in his hand as the spear slipped from his grasp, followed by a burning sensation as a bloody gash appeared on his chest from shoulder to hip. He was tough; he'd live; Tahlan didn't much care. Tahlan shoved the butt end of the spear into his kneecaps, snapping them wrong way. One down, twenty-nine to go.

"Ah... somewhere in the middle, eh?" said Dalin. He looked toward his lady Merin, shrugged, then turned back. "Don't see why not. Ehmm... will all of ye want to split the reward even, then?--oof!"

Merin elbowed Dalin again, earning a muttered 'alright, alright' from him. "What Dalin means to say, is that the two of us have been spying on the witch for a few days now. We have information. Nice, valuable information--"

"and we'll naturally end up being the muscle in a fight--"

"--yes, and we think, well..."

"...She means we should get more o' the reward," finished Dalin with a smile.

Morgon, King of Rothe, sat up and leaned back in his chair, but kept his fists resting on the desk before him. The conversation was over. Morgon found himself wondering if her audacity would push her further into folly, to dare say one more word. He'd been more than generous in explaining things to her at all. If she presumed to defy him further--Princess or not, daughter or not--she may just find herself staring into the wrong end of a halberd.

"From now on, Ian, whatever happens, I'll always look out for you." Mokoru felt a little foolish talking like that, even if he did mean it. It was probably just as well that Ian was still unconscious. Mokoru looked back at the beads, after a moment, and then added, almost in a whisper: "I swear I'll repay you somehow."

Kalus' face was emotionless, if a little strained. Kalus' insides, however, felt like the tight, winding, tense, twisted ropes of a catapult ready to be loosed. His loyalty to the Prince knotted against his every instinct to annihilate the enemy. Kalus managed to calm himself just before he began to seriously consider wild thoughts like: Protecting the Prince comes first, or, Is it right to keep one's loyalty to a madman, or, Crush the enemy while their backs are turned.

Aron, seeming to sense his master's struggle, came up closer beside him and rubbed lightly against his armor, nudging Kalus slightly with his head to get his attention. Kalus looked up in time to watch the gryphon rear up, flapping his wings and clawing the air, then dropping back down with an impact, assuming an erect pose, striking and noble. After a moment, Aron looked over at Kalus and made a little sound, cocking his head to one side, to see if he understood.

Kalus nodded slightly, slowly, several times, gaining resolve. "You're right, Aron. We'll just have to protect them."

Scarlet sat next to him on the bed. "You could be gone for a long time; do you really want to see me waste away here without you? Besides," she poked him playfully in the ribs, "old age hasn't quite caught up with me yet." Gado looked over and lifted a hand to her cheek. Her face had less wrinkles than his own, and her eyes had never lost their virility. He would love nothing more than to take her with him, but there were just too many questions. Scarlet put one hand on her husband's chest, gravely serious. "I won't let you die without me. If there is danger, I'll face it by your side same as always, and don't you try to tell me different." She melted into him, laying her head on his shoulder.

Gado circled her shoulders with one hand and held her forearm across his chest with the other. He sighed in happy defeat. "Goodness knows I'll need that quick mind of yours, now more than ever." The old man held his beautiful wife close in his big arms and kissed the top of her head. "I love you." Scarlet brought her head up and kissed him proper. So it was settled.

Ordon quickly descended the recently constructed steps leading down into the ground. It took him perhaps two minutes to get to the bottom. Ordon had counted the steps before; it was one of the first things he had done when the secret stairway was completed. There were three hundred. The stairs ended, opening to a circular chamber about as wide as a tavern's common room. The chamber was completely empty, made of smooth stone, and was at least fifteen stories below the surface. There were no torches either in the room or along the stairway; the place was dimly lit with a gentle blue-green ambience. It was the stones themselves, making the chamber a shadowless prison. Yes, Ordon could think of no better word for it.

There was a wall of iron bars opposite the stairs. Each bar was wrapped with a sheaf of paper bearing three runes. In the center, at chest level, was a three-foot square of paper; eight runes were written vertically on one side, and eight others on the right; in the middle was a single large symbol composed of the three runes seen on each of the bars.

The symbol had drawn with blood.

'A h, - s o - i t ' s - t o - b e - y o u - t o n i g h t, - i s - i t, - O r d o n?'

So it was awake. It was a good thing Ordon had come to check. The slow, deep near-whisper struggled with the language, but that didn't make its voice any less arresting. Ordon had been here many times over the past few weeks. He had helped make the capture and place the seal. He still was not used to the voice. He heard it in his ears, but the voice wasn't speaking to his body: it was speaking to his soul. Ordon wasn't frightened, exactly. With the seal in place, the voice was almost... polite. Still, the menace it represented was all too real, and so was the danger of corruption.
"Yes," Ordon replied simply.

'Y o u - d o n ' t - l i k e - d o i n g - t h i s, - d o - y o u?' the voice eked out, as if in understanding. That put Ordon on alert. What was it playing at this time?
'I t - h u r t s - y o u - t o - h u r t - o t h e r s. I - k n o w - i t - d o e s.
Y o u - d o n ' t - w a n t - t o - h u r t - m e.'

"I don't have to. Not anymore. Want...? Perhaps not. But that will never mean I shall hesitate. We know your name, now. Even if you manage to break free of this cell someday, even if you managed to escape Halfway Holding--as if you have a mind to--you will never be free of us."
'T h e n - w h y - no t - l e t - m e - g o?
O r - e x p e l - m e - f r o m - t h i s - p l a c e?'
"And unleash your horrors upon some other land, some other plane, some other world?" Ordon shook his head. "I think not."
'I - K N O W - Y O U R - N A M E S - T O O... O R D O N... R E M E M B E R - T H A T.
S O M E D A Y, - W H E N - I - A M - F R E E - O F - Y O U R - P R I S O N,
- I T - W I L L - B E - Y O U - W H O - S H A L L - N E V E R - B E - F R E E - O F - M E.'
The voice had shown its true colors at last, flaring as it eventually did on every encounter. Ordon thought it might actually come close to fooling somebody one day. Could spirits of evil--especially ones which were this powerful--ever change? If they could, Ordon could think of no way for such a spirit to prove it. The sentinel sighed. "Let's just get this over with."
Ordon went through the ritual to renew the seal, and the spirit began to fall back into slumber.
'U n t i l - n e x t - t i m e , - t h e n , - O r d o n.
H a v e - f u n - o n - t h e - l a k e, - t o n i g h t.' The voice managed to get out a parting taunt before falling silent.

It took Ordon a bit longer to climb the steps as it had to descend, especially since he couldn't help but wonder what the spirit could possibly mean. If it could sense the time of day, he decided, it probably knew about the festival as well. It must have been trying to jab him with irony. Ordon dismissed it, tired of devoting thoughts to the menace.

The whole process had seemed to last for an hour, but in reality it had probably been only been a quarter of that. Ordon finally exited the secret stairway. As soon as he was out in open air and had closed the secret entrance, he began to feel better. Once out of the shelter of the trees, he turned his eyes upward, glad to see a few bursts of magic still lighting up the sky.

"The greatest deeds in life are those worth the risk of death."

"Take strength while you can, O unforged steel, and look to the blade that you will become."

“Fuck it, even if it is deserted at least we’ll be able to get out of this rain.”

“Ladies first.”

“Good to know chivalry didn’t die with the rest of the human race.”

“You guys got names, or should I just call you asshole one and two?”

"I was thinking along the same lines for you two. Except for you… I'd call you bitch, and call him 'Her Bitch'."

In truth I had no idea what day it was, but it felt like a Thursday. Not that it mattered, there is a very good chance that I would say the same thing tomorrow replacing it with Wednesday. Though it would never be a Monday. I never liked Mondays and as far as I was concerned Mondays were among the first casualties once the world went to hell.

Then its settled. We’re a gang until we get tired of each other.” I smirked. “John’s in charge of coming up with our name, Riley’s in charge of come up with a snappy catchphrase, and Ben…well, you can just look pretty or something.”

It was old, maybe one of the oldest buildings on the Island, and its original construction was unknown to anyone living. Who had built it? What was its original purpose? More unanswered questions. Many believed it was, at one point, a holy site; but there was no true evidence for this. Brenna noticed that many a time that something was found that lacked meaning, the finder would label it "spiritual, ceremonial, or religious in nature". After all, what is holy but an easy answer to the unknown?

"You ungrateful little piece of trash!!" Yura spat through gritted teeth. Her foot was pressed against the face of Loichi who he was sprawled on ground. It was where he belonged, as far as she was concerned. "I save your miserable little life, and you try to kill me for it? Me, who would rather be hanged by my toe nails than help a little wretch like you??" her hands were clenched into fists, and her eyes flashed in anger.

"I-It would've b-been avoid-ded if you hadn-n't come a-alo-ouah!!" he screeched as she grounded the heel of her combat boot into his face. Typical. The one day she decides to take a detour and help someone out, they try to wedge a knife in her skull.

"Don't you people get it," she said, her voice strangely calm. She was addressing the people gathered around to watch. "If it wasn't for me, and people like me, you wouldn't even have your miserable little existence!!! The creatures would've gouged out your eyes! Impaled you! Maimed you! Tortured and eaten your children!!! Your sisters and aunts and mothers and nieces would've been ra-"

"That's enough." Raicht watched with neatly held together reserve as Yura tried and succeeded at getting her point across. Again. "You've made too much of a scene, they'll arrive soon." his eyes traveled the expanse of the crowd, his expression calculating and cold. "They're already doomed."

яaicht said nothing, his scarlet eyes studying hers. The Ink was brushing against the skin of his neck, whispering in his ear.

"Is it the fact that she had the gall to call you a slutty bitch that got under your skin, or that you really are one?" he blinked slowly, then stood. He would have to find another way, but he wasn't about to go back to the Inn until he got proper clothing for Tai.

"Not all of us have the provisions that you do, Vampiress. Nor the connections." he turned on his heel, preparing to leave, but paused, looking down at her over his shoulder. "I am certain that there was a time that others came for you, because you were the one that needed something...something that was always missing, but you were too selfish to give up the things you did not need for that which you do. You can not have it all. You can surround yourself with self destructive habits, or you can surround yourself with those who care about you. It is down to you to deduct which one you long for the most. If you can not get past this...pity party- you will not be able to do even that much." he looked down at the blood soaked kimono in his hands.

"I know Yura. She is avoiding the problem by busying herself. All it would take is a little forced acknowledgment on your part."

Pam looked up sharply at Andrea's words. The fairy was drunk...which wasn't a good thing. Alcohol brought out her true nature. She calmly stood, reaching behind the bar and turning one of the knobs. She took one of the hoses connected to the water tank, pulling back the lever on the nozzle and spraying Andrea square in the face. It only lasted a few seconds before she shut it off and put it back in its proper place, tossing Andrea a towel.

"Go fly off somewhere." she said mildly.

He forced her against the wall hard enough to wind her slightly, yet she still looked defiantly into his eyes. "You made the first mistake when messing with a Durake." His voice, despite his actions, level and calm. "If you start a fight, you better be damn sure the first hit kills us outright." She had yet to say anything yet, but he still needed a 'yes' or 'no' answer concerning the pirate. "Is the pirate Boyd Waters?"

"Next time you grab someone to interrogate, make sure they're unarmed." Jar looked down to see a crossbow pointing at his chest. Where she had managed to hide that, he couldn't even begin to guess.

It was far too cold and late to wait for someone in Rubble Town, the still-festering pit of Corrinth’s capital. Distant thunder rumbled in the sky and shadows seeped from the alleys like ink. Garvel hated the wretched place on the best of nights, and this night was one of the worst. He didn’t need to be a psyker to feel the desperate misery bubbling up from the cracked foundations and ruined habs. Worst of all, she was late.

“To inquire is to be truly alive. Curiosity, even in the face of madness, sets Humanity apart from beasts, and through it we grasp at divinity.”

The library Ankhas, holy ground for the world’s scholars and arcanists, stood in the heart of Ettermire. Its striking baroque halls clashed with the stark black spires, smog, and industry of Alerar’s capital city. A gilded flower in a field of steel.

With hungry eyes the Manticore dove, falling upon the Men of the Sway with savage fury. Claws and teeth ripped flesh and shattered bones. Soldiers cried out and spears broke against the monster's leathery hide. Its tail lashed out, spearing soldiers through the chest and melting their guts with terrible venom. Shrugging off a volley of crossbow bolts, it crashed into the row of archers. Its jaws snapped men in half, and it crushed more under its bulk.

With several dozen dead, the entire column scattered into disarray. From atop a mound of brutalized corpses, covered in blood and strings of flesh, Cirothe let out a triumphant roar.

Then, a voice rang through the bedlam, infused with supernatural conviction. An invisible force struck the beast like a ram, smashing it into the mud and gore. While over a hundred retreated, one man stepped forward -- bald and stern, his spear and voice humming with power.

The choices they made...were they a result of the only thing they knew how to do? He looked back down at her. Of course she didn't know. Who on this Earth truly knew what they desired most? They could not see past the next meal or trying to find a place to sleep that would not be overrun by morning.

Still, he had hoped...

"I've found the place where I am needed and required to be. As for being where I belong- that I am not sure of. However, between now and the future if I am not still in this position, then it will obvious to me that I was not where I belonged."

He looked back down over the Dolls. They were individuals in their own right- each was created differently and performed differently. But as a whole, they all served one purpose; to carry out Her Majesty's will, and that, he supposed, was a bit saddening.

Turning to look at Tai, he reached out, brushing a stand of hair from her face. He still did not understand what made him act on urges like that one. He did not know where the urges originated from...but he wanted to protect her--as if she needed protecting--and wanted to cherish her--as if she wanted someone behaving in a love sick manner towards her--and most of all...he wanted her by his side...always.

He knew these things were preposterous, yet, he wanted them nonetheless. In that sense, he knew he was doomed.

"Did curiosity bring you up here," he asked, voice mild. "or something else entirely?"

Raicht studied her. A doll who feels boredom...

His hands snaked out, grabbing hold of her wrists and crossing both their arms over her chest, pulling her back up against his own. "Do you think a spar would remedy that, Tai?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to the hollow at the back of her ear. He brushed his lips down her skin, taking her earlobe gently between his teeth, nibbling ever so lightly.

"If I remember correctly my triumph during our last match was a result of pure circumstance..." he moved his lips further down, fondling her neck with the tip of his tongue and tightening his embrace of her. He had never remembered her scent to be so tantalizing, her skin so soft and smooth. Her dark hair was a gleaming curtain, and he transferred his hold to only one arm, using the hand of the other to pull her hair loose from its bindings.

He took pleasure in the feel of her hair brushing across his face, spilling over her shoulders and cascading down her back, a waterfall made of silken tresses. He breathed it in, sifting through it with his fingers. "You are so beautifully made..." he intoned, his voice husked with desire. "...how is it possible that I could ever allow you to leave my side?"

Limping to catch up with Briek, Alester walked side by side with him.

-This is a mistake; you're being too trusting, Briek. I mean, do you even know who these people are? Clytie, Dyala, Marik, Mariel…me. You’ve accepted us with barely any inquiry or hesitation. Have you ever thought that any of us might be a threat to Alex? That one of us might be a spy or…-

Alester held his tongue on those last words; knowing all too well what an assassin was.
Briek turned towards the injured assassin. He was visibly annoyed.

"Don't lecture me about trust, Alester. You know why you can't hurt Alex. As for the others, Mariel's a witch, Clytie is a lost young woman. I sleep with a knife in my boot every night and another under my pillow. You and I WILL protect the boy and find Mercury's Mirror. All the others don't matter, and frankly Alester I'd much rather sleep with a dagger under my pillow than be the first line of defense against the White Knights. That’s what the others are for. "

Suddenly, Alester stopped.

-Real nice, Briek. Let their blades rip a small girl apart. You know, maybe you should've brought Lawrence along; a big man like him would've taken at least a dozen spears and who knows how many arrows.- the assassin scoffed sarcastically.

"Don't mistake folly for courage, Alester. Alex is the key to everything. Those White Knights have been trained for this very moment in time, for when Alex reveals himself. They will stop at nothing to see him captured and stored in an ivory tower as some puppet king for Skoll. All others are expendable; you'd do well to remember that, assassin."

Alester's expression turned cold as he saw their group leader walk away.

-Why do you care so much about the boy, Briek? This war's none of your business. Why does it matter to you who rules this land?-

Briek's walk came to a halt just outside of the hut. He looked halfway over his shoulder before resuming his walk. He turned around in the hut's large doorway.

"You should get some rest, Alester... We can't linger here."

“Not at all, but I have to ask. Does it chafe?”

“My armour doesn’t chafe, Helmsman, it was custom built to my exact specific-”

“I meant the stick up your ass.” A deathly still settled over the two as her eyes flickered with barely controlled rage; slight arcs of dark energy raced along her frame, the small choker round her neck lighting up with a feint red glow as her biotics flared to life. Darcy’s chuckled faltered off, swallowing the lump in his throat as the operative leaned in close to his face. “It was just a…joke…”

A tense moment ticked past, as the man examined his assailant. Vala felt his eyes roaming, and got the impression that he wasn’t simply examining for potential threats. Situation assessed, a smile spread on his lips as he slowly straightened himself out. "I'd do as ordered, ma'am; but it's a natural thing we're talking about here. I won't be standing down for you anytime soon."

“You’re drunk again,” Eric cooed, ignoring him and skipping around the vault. “That’s adorable. And helpful! It means you’ll be complacent.”

The man was going to choke on those words.

“Madeline will murder you if she learns you broke in here,” he told him. “She hates you.”

“Glub-glub to you too, Benny!” Retard. Eric floated from screen to screen, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the lights and images. “I’ve heard so many stories about this place! She’s got a really nice set-up here, huh?”

“It seems extreme,” he replied, changing his mind and taking the effort to slowly pick himself up, “but no more than sending an army of watchdogs to hound her while she works.”

Eric looked at him. He blinked. Then he broke out another of his stupid smiles and repeated, “You’re adorable!”

“I know. Bergmann keeps going on about it, in-between trying to put a collar on me, which was in-between her chaining me to shit. Have I thanked you for that yet?”

For a moment, he wondered if it was right for him to swear this close to an Agency authority. He normally worked to avoid it regardless of how much he had of anything. Again: practice. This was, however, Eric, who not only had little interest in such words until it suited the mood to have some, but he deserved it in Benoit’s highly expert opinion. Anyway, it ended up not mattering because the A-1 laughed and simply explained, “You know you basically said ‘higgljuzzgiv’, right? That’s 100% what I heard.”

"Well...we're just one happy group of badass motherfuckers aren't we?"

-Commander Jason Horn, Mass Effect: On the Edge

She wasn’t a person that people wrote books about. She was a person that wrote articles and prayed that a journal would accept it. She was a person that dreaded the teaching part of her research. She was not a star. It still baffled her that she was chosen for this voyage. “How can you be so easygoing? You don’t feel that" – she touched her stomach – "queasy feeling in your stomach?”

“Of course I do,” He said, quite soberly. “But it’s not the first time I’ve flown into unknown territory. I’ve been on adventures. This one is just…bigger.” A sigh escaped his lips, and he too turned and looked at the Legacy, currently surrounded by workmen who were preparing it for lift off.

“I’m Ashim,” the man said, holding out his hand. “I’ll be your pilot to Leona's Fear.”

“Zeum of Angka,” Zeum said yet again, grasping the pilot's hand to shake. “Nice to see someone with a smile on their face. I thought maybe Somhai didn’t want this to happen after all.” The rumble of the shuttle’s engines vibrated through his legs, making the seats look very enticing.

“This hasn’t been an easy venture,” Ashim said. “Everyone is going to be on edge until the whole thing finally gets underway. Besides, word just came through that B.T.N. has already launched. Theoretically, we have the faster ship; technically, we’re behind schedule. Take a seat and we’ll set off.”

“I will protect everyone under my charge, Lady Iaed.” Fabre snickered and let his horse fall behind, and Iaed did a few moments later. Walter closed the gap with his horse and nudged Barthon in his armored ribs.

“What?” Barthon asked. Walter was grinning.

“You’ve got until Telmural with that woman. That is quite a journey. Are you sure you can handle her?” Walter laughed at Barthon’s glare.

“I don’t understand,” Simion said. “What’s so funny?”

He’d worked out all the bugs in an impossibly sophisticated shred of technology – he was taking Gwen’s reaction on that, not Xander’s – and could, as far as they’d discovered, swarm a small army of Agents, whip up credit cards and full bank accounts in hours, get a headshot on a moving target from a block away with a handgun, and yet he couldn’t figure out a phone.

“Why the fuck isn’t this thing working?” Xander was jabbing at it. “I’m pressing 9. I’m clearly pressing 9.”

Xander, how old are you? Because I’m starting to think you’re eighty.

“Please hang up and try –”

“I wish this thing had a brain so I could melt it.”

Hang it up and then press 9. Xander instead pressed the button on the phone, trying to trick it into thinking it had its receiver back. When the dial tone refused to return, he scowled, clearly under the belief that it’d been possessed. Hold it for longer. Now he did it for half a second instead of just the quick tap like before. No. Press it down and hold it.

“I did hold it.”

Hold it longer!

“I did hold it longer!”

"How hard do you think they'll hit us?" Anglad asked, to neither and both of them.
"I rather thought we would hit them," said Baramir.
Anglad breathed a laugh. "I hadn't thought of it so. You're right, of course."

Standing at the small half-box, Ozzie rested her free hand on top of the machine while the other pressed the now lightly buzzing headset up to her ear, each silence between the rings punctuated by small crackles and a mechanical humming that conveyed empty space. Like her call was being shot out into nothingness hoping to get caught by someone out there waiting for it. As was usual for these phone calls, she tried to imagine what he was doing right now, glancing outside at the sunlight still coming through the windows of the gas station and ignoring the faces of those around her. It was about 3 or 4 on a Saturday, so he was probably in their old den, getting ready for Sunday, working on some church related papers or writing out a new sermon with his old leather-bound and weathered scriptures sitting in his lap. She remembered the old musty smell of those pages...

The old, faded, baby blue phone in the hall would have rung with it's melancholy chirping echoed a mere second late further in the house in the living room. He was probably rising from his creaking chair, carefully setting his book and papers aside before leaving the room, wearing his plain clothes while at home. He would probably wait a few beats, staring down at the phone as he removed his reading glasses, inserting them in his shirt pocket with long, slender and wrinkled fingers. She imagined his face, weathered and worn in it's old age but holding an immeasurable amount of kindness and gentleness, his hair graying and his bangs long but combed back elegantly.

He was probably staring down at the little boxy, wooden table set flush against the wall, the small lamp giving off a faded yellow light over the phone and the knitted doily covering the tabletop, a small notepad and pens set aside for taking messages because they never got an answering machine. The wallpaper would be the same because there was no doubt that he wouldn't have touched it, leaving everything the way it had been before She'd passed on. And he probably glanced down at the small picture in it's standing frame there, right beside the phone, their family captured in a happy moment one summer when they'd taken a trip to Busch Gardens. That picture had always been there since the day they'd taken the trip and she wondered if pain entered his eyes as he looked down at himself and her mother smiling happily and Ozzie with her arm around--