Different Worlds (Private, Yaoi, Possibly Mature)

Thalion Redleaf

Different Worlds (Private, Yaoi, Possibly Mature) A_demon_named_gouka_by_dahlieka-d4mgpst

Occupation: Mercenary
Age: 300 (human: 23) | Gender: Male | Orientation: Pansexual
Skills: Sword fighting, stealth, hand-to-hand combat, hunting, trekking

Thalion Redleaf did what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted. If he didn’t want to do something, he simply didn’t. Nothing in the world changed that. ...Well, nothing but money. Then, for a high enough price, he’d cut off his own hand. If he had a mother, he’d probably be willing to sell her to the right bidder. Of course, he didn’t have a mother or a father or any sort of family really. When he had been an infant, too young to remember, his mother and father had been traveling with him. A band of thieves had jumped them. Only after his parents were dead did they realize there was a baby. These were men, not monsters, so they took Thalion to an orphanage.

That hadn’t hindered Thalion. He grew fast in the human orphanage. Stronger, faster, and smarter than any of the other children, he was never bullied for his ears or abused for his eyes. He was always the bully and abuser. It was the only way to keep himself safe, as he was the only nonhuman in the whole place. Okay, so maybe he was bullied and abused a bit, but it didn’t last long. He was smart enough to protect himself. He didn’t need the adult humans to shelter him. He didn’t need any of them.

He was only ten years old when he left the orphanage. Long ago, he had given up on ever being adopted. He was ugly, had a reputation as being violent, and wouldn’t fit into any family. What happened after that...well, there is no official knowledge and no living soul that has been trusted with the story.

In the grand scheme of things, however, close to three centuries passed and then the humans began to invade the elves’ forest. Haruden was a sacred and holy forest. The humans weren’t meant to walk in it uninvited, much less cut down the trees. The only proper response was war, and the elves eagerly mounted the attack, raiding villages, murdering men, women, and children alike. The human’s response was to mount a counter attack, burning trees, murdering the elves they caught, and leaving a mile wide path of burning forest in their wake wherever they went. The slaughter on and from both sides was endless, and blood flowed like a red rain across the land.

Thalion couldn’t care less. He had been up north when the war first started, hunting a rare bird. The hunt had been successful, and a snow falcon rode on his arm. When she wasn’t there, she rode the skies high above, watching over him and hunting. She was a talented little huntress too. She could bring down a small deer if given the chance. Her talents didn’t end there: she could breath small bursts of ice, freezing his enemies and blinding them. He was rather fond of the bird, and that was why he had taken her instead of the money. Perhaps he wouldn’t have sold out his mother in that case.

The war never would have affected the fire-colored elf. There was always business to be done in other parts of the world. He could have abandoned his wood elf brothers to visit their high elf cousins. He was tall for a wood elf, standing nearly six and a half feet tall. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to fit in, though most high elves were seven feet and taller. He could plea shortness, and for those that heckled him, his sword would eagerly answer.

Unfortunately, on the eve of his departure, he was summoned to the caste. Built of many trees wound together with magic, the castle shot straight into the air with housing higher up and court kept on the bottom floors. He was surprised when he was directed up to near the top. It was there, in the king’s lounge that he was told that he would be doing a favor for his people. It was there that he risked treason by telling the king that his people would have to do him a favor first. The king and Thalion were both strong willed, aggressive people. It was amazing their conversation didn’t end in blows.

When it ended, however, Tha couldn’t say if he had won or lost. He would be paid handsomely, but the work was not worth it. Teaching some spoiled prince how to fight was not worth it.

It was with this mindset that he headed towards the oak grove. This beautiful gathering of trees created a training ground of sorts for the royalty and nobility to practice. It had been cleared out for the prince’s first lesson. This made Thalion’s upper lip curl with contempt. Was the man really such a laugh that he couldn’t bear there to be witnesses?

Leaning back against one of the trees, he waited for the young man to arrive. Each second ground away at his nerves. He was already prepared to snap, and his left hand curled around the hilt of his sword. It was only the soothing touch of metal that kept him there and relatively calm.

Posts : 2 Credits : 2 Join date : 2012-04-11

Different Worlds (Private, Yaoi, Possibly Mature) Rule_the_water_by_mezamero-d3a2kx3

Kallen Thorindale
Age: 250 (About 20 in human years. || Gender: Male || Sexuality: Gay

Kallen was completely against the idea of learning how to fight with a sword. But of course, the decision had been made against his will, and for his own good. Or at least, that's what his father had told him. As the youngest son, he wasn't expected to go to war, or fight in tournament. He was free to waste his days in the library, or in the gardens, doing as he pleased. At least, that's how it had been. But the savage race wars going on between the humans and elves had risen to a point where the King felt it was no longer safe for the peaceful boy to remain defenseless. The King had little faith in Kallens abilities to protect himself with Magicks, rather than steel. Even his sisters had already taken up training from the kingdoms best Shield Maidens. Kallen was the last, reluctant royal child.

And it surprised no one. Not even the sensible, understanding queen. No one in the kingdom had ever truly expected much to come of Kallen. Since birth, he'd been unlike any of his famously popular siblings. The crown Prince was handsome, politically well liked. His other brothers and sisters all had some kind of project, or hobby, or organization that made the people respect them.

But from birth, Kallen had been watched with a wary eye, and the queen had come under quite a large amount of speculation by all but the king himself. Historically, the royal lineage was stippled with golden haired, honey eyed, tanned, beautiful babies that grew up to become ethereal, god like beings.

When Kallen had been presented to the people, a week after his birth, he was met with silence, reluctant applause, and whispered rumors. His hair was a dark brown, the color of the bark on the black oak trees that surrounded the city. His skin so pale he nearly glowed as though he were made of snow. And his eyes, a vibrant blue so deep they glinted violet in proper light. Oh, he was beautiful. But he was all wrong. Completely in correct. No royal child had ever been born like him. All of the whispers were that the Queen had given birth to a son fathered from someone other than the King. That it was the only reason her inferior genetics would have been dominant in the youngest child. The King, of course, made an official statement, guaranteeing the legitimacy of this child. But the damage had been done, and doubt followed Kallen the rest of his life. It was because of this that at a young age, the secluded, and often teased elf prince became introverted, and unwilling to socialize with his peers, and the other noble children his age. Even his own siblings had a distaste for him. All save for his oldest brother, the crown prince Joriel. For most of his life, Joriel was one of the few people to ever stand up for Kallen, and defend his honour and name. It was the least popular thing his brother had ever done, and that played a large factor in his introversion. He disliked hurting Joriel, so he made himself scarce.

Now, though, he wasn't allowed to keep up the lifestyle which suited him best. The threat of bloodshed worrying the old king, Kallen finally, reluctantly, agreed to tolerate a few lessons in Sword Play, if for nothing else than to make his father feel better.

Not more than a few minutes late, Kallen entered the Training Grove, dressed in fighting leathers, a sword at his hip. the weight of it was distasteful to him, and awkward, throwing off his balance. It didn't come as much of a surprise to him either, that none of the court or civilians had come to witness this. No one particularly cared for him and his doings. usually, when he played at the edge of the lake, reading, drawing, speaking with the animals, or bending water, not even children would come to him. A true black sheep. But with pink hair.

Such bright, pink hair. Something he'd started doing when he was nearly 100, after he'd learned a spell to alter the color. He could have made it gold, but he didn't want to risk being called a fake, a poser, being accused of trying to be something he obviously wasn't. And so he picked the brash, garish shade of pink that one only saw in sunsets and flowers, as a way of warding people away from him.

Violet eyes narrowing in on the mercenary that had been hired for his training, Kallen sighed gently, and took a few more steps in. Not even any of the guard wanted to take up his training, he had become such a pariah. "You are Thalion?" He asked softly, his voice light, and airy. "I'm Kallen. I apologize if I made you wait." He didn't use any of his titles or honorifics, long ago deciding he didn't have the right to claim his blood. Not a coward such as himself.

Thalion’s place as his teacher was not being none of the guard wanted to teach him. No. The king had wanted someone who knew nothing of politics and the issues surrounding Kallem. In a way, the king had set this up in hopes of giving his son one true friend. He hadn’t known that the man he selected for his son’s friendship was a poor choice. All he had known was that Thalion was truly famous for his ability with the sword, had no interest in politics, and his loyalty had a set, unchanging price. Unlike a lot of the other mercenaries he could have hired with the same qualities, Thalion had a reputation: if he took a deal, he stuck with it to the end, no matter how things worked out.

The reputation had been a hard earned one. Thalion had known that if he wanted loyal customers, people that would seek him out for a job, he would have to prove he deserved to be. This meant that he took dangerous jobs, he took risks, and he got the work finished. He did it all with flare. He wanted that reputation. He wanted people to rely on him. He wanted their money. It was all a very simple circle, and he full intended to complete it. From the very start, he had done just that, perfectly.

Sighing softly, he looked up at the sky and wondered if it was worth it. The leafy foliage provided dappled light and protected his sensitive eyes from the glare of the sun. For reasons that he had never fully understood, he was more sensitive to light than the average elf. This worked well for a mercenary that rarely spent time in daylight, stalking through the shadows and nighttime to slit the throats of his enemies.

It didn’t work in his favor when he was teach a spoiled brat. There was no way he could request for their lessons to be at night.

He heard the approach long before the man was in the arena. Stealth. He would have to work that into the young man’s training as well. Even of the king had only wanted sword play, Thalion would just increase his price and the old man could deal with it. No warrior was worth a damn if his enemies heard him from twenty yards away. They could hide and ambush him.

His eyes snapped open at the sound of the voice, and his sword leapt to hand. In a smooth movement, he turned to face Kallen and brought the edge of the sword to his throat. "I did not come here to speak. I came to teach. Draw your weapon," he commanded. His voice was as harsh as the northern air, and his eyes were just as cold as the ice caps. There was no kindness, no gentleness inside of him. In a way, the world had melted that from his very soul.

Lowering his weapon so that Kallen could obey, he turned his back on the prince and took a few quick steps before turning back to face him. Holding the weapon carefully, he instructed him, "Hold your weapon firmly. You don’t want it jarred from your grasp with a single strike." To show this, he lunged forward without warning again. His heavy broad sword easily smashed the prince’s weapon from his hands. "Like so."

Posts : 2 Credits : 2 Join date : 2012-04-11

Kallen was oblivious to who this man was, beyond what his father had told him. He new that the man was the best with a sword that lived. But beyond that, he new nothing. Now, though, as he was finally face to face with the mercenary, the prince learned something already. He was an asshole. Jerking back with a startled expression as soon as the still figure had moved, faster than a human eye could follow, Kallens pupils dilated sharply as he focused on the man, and held completely still. Already, his jaw was set to a grim tensity.

Well this should be fun. His thoughts dripped with sarcasm.

Biting back the harsh reply he'd considered at the command to draw his weapon, Kallen took a half pace backwards as soon as the mans weapon was lower. He fumbled with his grip, holding the heavy weight of the practice sword in his right hand. He was left hand dominant, but that had been something all of his tutors had attempted to teach out of him over his life. It was no wonder that when the heavy handed strike came down on his blade, that the metal clattered to the ground almost instantly, leaving his hand stinging and slightly numb from the jarring reverberations.

Well this was off to a great start. More sarcasm. It translated to the grimace on his face as he shook his hand out again and picked up the blade.

This time, he placed his left hand on the main grip of the sword, his right below it for stability, and took a firmer stance with his feet, taking a defensive pose. It was a good try, but his footing was all wrong, and his grip was naive and ill-placed. But for someone who'd never held a sword before that day, he thought he'd done fairly well with it.

There were so many things he could say. He could complain about the harsh treatment. Threaten to go to his father. He could throw a fit. But that was for someone who was entitled to a higher standard of treatment. Kallen didn't feel he was, so instead he remained silent now. If the man wanted him quiet, he'd be quiet. His eyes spoke loudly for him, the violet depths bright, filled with an inner fire and anger.

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