Brock Jailer Bloodhawk

Character Blog for Athoria “I want to be the most terrible thing that's ever happened to you. Can you understand that? I want to be the only nightmare you ever have.”

[bloodhawk-brock]

Hit the Floor || Brock // Lanie || SWP CLOSED

[lanieannejones-deactivated20141]

Lanie nodded her head, “Of course. I’ll make sure to announce myself.” Whatever shyness she had before was gone. This was her way it seemed, it took someone with patience and poise to speak to her and have her feel comfortable. Brock was just that, his manners as a gentleman had settled Lanie well, and his warning and everything really of their meeting had set her at ease. Little did she know of what the man was truly capable of, even worst, what he would do to her if he knew what she was. 

As Brock said his goodbye she bowed her head to him, her two hands folded in front of herself. “The pleasure is all mine, sir,” she said as he walked off his own way. Lanie turned and looked at the town. What to do? she had finished her pie and still had money she could go out to have fun or donate the money to the orphanage nearby. She wondered for a moment. She knew she had to learn to care better for herself, the last weeks had taught her that much.  She was to learn to peak at her wolf nature but every time she thought to try it out she chicken out. It was under extreme circumstances that she allowed her sense of smell, hearing or vision enhance.

She began to walk back the way she and Brock had come, pondering on her discussions with him. A part of guilt took over her for being a snitch but then again… so much evil was going on it was Brock’s job to do all he could to protect the realm, and what a field trip he could take with even the little she knew. I wonder what he would do if he learned of the witch burning I saw years ago. The women had all been innocent. It was a simple display of power the priests had done. She was torn with guilt but at the same time she’d be able to save lives and bring some justice.

Lanie took a deep breath. No, no turning around. She’d given her word. Be assertive, Lanie, you can do this. She put a hand to her mouth thinking about the priest she suspected of raping children from the choir. He’d come from Germany and gave her gooseprickles every time she saw him. There were strong rumours against him and then his strange ways when he was near children. For the children. It resolved her guilt. Lanie Anne Jones was simply not a wicked woman, not even to the wicked themselves. It had been a day with too many things going. Lanie wanted to return home she decided. After all she was forced to walk back, even with the money she had she could take a carriage back, but she wanted to save it. She would need it in the future she knew.

So there she went to the road towards the church walking in the sun of the day. There was a village on the way, it would be perfect to rest and sup before she got home.

[bloodhawk-brock]

Art of Defense || Brock // Micah

[bloodhawkmicah]

Micah obediently sat down when instructed, heading the order to eat immediately. He grabbed a roll of bread from off of the table, taking several bites and watching as Brock left the room. HIs blue eye’s scanned his surroundings. He didn’t like being left anywhere in the jails without Brock. The location always gave him a strange sense that something bad was going to happen. Even now he could feel his heartbeat speed up as he began to eat faster, finishing off two rolls before he even noticed. Still ravaged, Micah grabbed another item, standing and moving to a rack of weapons and armor. They were beautiful hanging there. He wondered what it would feel like to wear it. 

Holding the roll between his teeth he reached to put the armor on, grunting at its weight. “Now I know why knights are so strong” he mumbled when he removed the roll from his mouth. Sitting back down, still in the armor, he finished off the third roll, before hearing the noises from outside the door. He didn’t think much of it at first, surely Brock had a handle on anything that could be happening, but the longer it lasted the more anxious he became. Moving slower than usual because of the armor he grabbed his weapon and threw open the door, running over to Brock protectively. 

"What happened? Who was here? Why haven’t the guards detained them yet?" Micah’s questions came out one after the other in a rapid fire sequence, the fear showing plainly on his features. Once he could hear the fighting begin to subside and his heartbeat slow he realized how big the armor truly was on him and how his legs were quaking just holding it up. Embarrassed , Micah rushed back into the room, removing the armor as fast as he could and putting it back where it belonged, not meant to be touched by children.

He went back to the table, grabbing a cigarette from his own bag and lighting it, turning his back to the older man, a definite slouch in his shoulders. Micah pressed his palms to his eyes, cursing softly. He was tired of being a child. He wondered how he’d had to take on adult responsibilities so young and yet he couldn’t shake the childishness from him. No matter what happened, he’d always be too mall or too young or too immature. He cursed louder now, feeling tears seep into his palms. He felt a million pounds on his shoulders and, even though he had always sworn never to cry in front of Brock, here he was. 

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock walked to his desk, the guards locking the doors to the jails and securing the perimeter. There was no way to get into the place now, it was a fortress, and honestly Brock was thankful to have such people at his disposal. When Micah had came dressed in armor from his collections he rose his eyes to cover the feather with a book. "Nothing Micah, thank you," Brock had said shifting to gather those items securely in his hands before following the young man through the door.

"No one enters until morning," Brock ordered, "take your breaks on time, there is food, and sleeping quarters available in the back past my office. If you need me, knock thrice." He closed the large door leading to the cells, walking slowly to hear all the gossip of the commotion being talked about in hushed whispers behind the doors. This would spread, and that was what irritated Brock the most. What ever that man had been after, gossip was one of them, and it infuriated him.  

Opening the door to his own quarters he was greeted with the familiar scent of tobacco, and walked calmly to his other desk to deposit the items. Brock was concerned this was a threat, but against who he didn't know. But he knew it was given to him on purpose having been requested to see him before all the fighting. 

"There is no need to get emotional boy," Brock said easily, walking over to his large collection of books to pull a few on birds to figure out what type of feather it was. The older man stopped at the table, noticing Micah had turned his back to him and he let one sigh escape. "You will sleep here tonight, we are on lockdown from that man coming in and attacking my guards."

Brock put the books on the table, removing his shirt in one fluid motion, and deposited his sword, and belt on his dresser. He dipped his hands into a water basin to cleanse his face, and upper body from their training session, offering his own back to the boy. "You can sleep here, or in the guards quarters a few doors down," he responded between cleaning his skin.

The man wiped his face with a dry towel, and turned to face Micah with his usual neutral expression. Grabbing for his own cigarette to light on the candle before gripping his shoulder tightly in a comforting squeeze. "I will be researching tonight, so either sleep off this mood or help me. The choice is always yours in the end. This is your home tonight, for once don't let your curiosity get you in trouble. Good night," he said making his way to his large chair by the fireplace to read through the night. The large black feather tucked in the first book.

[from-another-country]

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock // Smoking || Headcanon

When he was younger, a smoke rested between his lips on a near constant basis unknowingly linked to the early stress of his job. Alison took on the habit along with him, and they shared many cigarettes in the meadows where they hid their relationship. It took many years to develop an immunity to the screams of the jails, and as that progressed so did his habit. Brock now enjoys a good smoke when he is feeling relaxed, or in need of deep thought. And at times will chose a fat cigar to share with a fellow Bloodhawk versus the thin paper. 

[elwynncalliopearaeilgriffin-dea]

For Glory and the King || SWP || Elwynn/Brock

Brailston. He seldom visited it. He didn’t hate nor loved it, it was just another city though so populous the rancid smells could be overwhelming in the summer heat. Lucky for him the tourneys were set around the city in the villages of the faubourgs. There was plenty for all kinds of fighters and soldiers, knights or squires. From the age of ten a boy could enter and until a man had a foot in the grave. Elwynn had decided to use some magic to mask his elvish ears. The spell was temporary and would only last so long, but enough for the week.

He’d put on his best archer’s clothes, and taken his best bow and arrows- man made that is. Elvish bows and arrows were too particular for the common mortal. It did help that he had had his made by a human Fletcher named Geoff, it looked proper and yet had everything an elf would love in the matters of elegance, lightness and strength. He simply loved his equipment. He walked his head held high with pride in his eyes. He loved tourneys. The fights, the skills, the horses, the arms, the food and the cheers of the crowd. The women that came around were all lovely and the men… Elwynn had a weak thing for the men. Men of battle always had that muscular built that caught his eye.

He walked quiver and bow strapped around his shoulders, crunching an apple that a merchant girl had given him. Elwynn caught eyes, female eyes and one man. He needed the joys of the celebrations. His past weeks at Fern and with the human towns had left him feeling empty. Now was his chance to rejoice in the name of the King. Calliope didn’t trust the King, but Elwynn liked him. He’d seen his share of kings in Norway and concluded this one now was a good one. He was not perfect but he kept the peace amongst his realm and that was more than most could say.

He arrived at the tourney sign up table and waited, apple in hand, chewing. A short stub of a man sat at a chair, his back curled as if he had terrible weights on his shoulders, scribes were never strong men. “Name?,” He called out with a hoarse voice. “Nikolaas Agdir,” responded Elwynn. The short man looked up and squinted a bit while seizing the stature of the man before him. “Your trade, lad?” Elwynn smirked to the old man, for all he knew Elwynn was simply a thirty some year old boy in look for glory in honour of the King. “Archery, good sir.” The scribe nodded as he scratched his feather on the parchment. “From Norway are we, long walk for just a tourney,” He said to Elwynn as he kept on writing. “My father is from Agdir. Impressive you have such knowledge, rare are those who know of Agdir.”

"Dragons come from Agdir, boy. Learn your mythology. Your father will be the better man with a learned son." The stout man handed Elwynn his tourney scroll, and off went in Nikolaas Agdir placing himself with the other archers. It did not take long and they were soon all positioned yards and yards away from their targets. There were many archery contests that day and Elwynn was hoping he’d go high up enough to compete with the best archers of the kingdom.

Elwynn felt at home amongst the men, at home with his bow and arrow. The only thing missing would have been Calliope and Tadiel attending in the audience to cheer for him, but he knew better than that.

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock had made three different arrests while in his grand city today, and he was riding a high of adrenaline and itch to go back to his four walls and read. But he was determined to override his usual want of solitude to endure at least one full day at the King's event, both out of respect, and knowing he doesn't get to enjoy these things often enough. With a small leather bag of books he picked up from his leave of the library the man made quick stride through the crowds that were heading to the tourney area where archery was taking place. 

The bloodhawk was terrible at archery, enjoying the fight up close and personal with a deadly whip or his sword. His pale hues lifted to the sunshine casting on the area with a grim expression at the loveliness of the day. Already feeling his skin prickle into an attempted tan that his paled flesh never carried from his isolation. He found a bench open tucked up a tree of shade, and also had a decent view of the competition that looked full today. Which was expected, as all the commoners could sign up if they wanted too. The good part wouldn't happen until the end of course, when the best were left fighting for the over all win. 

Brock pulled out a series of books on Angel's that were written as mythology but he knew better. His ever growing search for the lost dagger was coming together, but as usual, would take mounds of research that thankfully the old man had time for. He liked to read, the peace of it letting his mind drift to one solid task without thinking his usual twelve steps ahead. Upon hearing the horns for the start of the competition he continued to read about what the names of different angel's meant, and just where their temples were in the world. Scribbling notes in journal, and not enjoying the day of course.

[bloodhawk-brock]

Hit the Floor || Brock // Lanie || SWP

[lanieannejones-deactivated20141]

“Stop it.” The words were enough to freeze Lanie in place.She felt like she was about to rip and break apart. The words had blurted out of her, without thought. She’d never ill spoken of the Church before and somehow this man had managed to settle her into speaking. For one thing that she could give him in the instant was that he was good at his job. And suddenly the fearsome being in front of her whispered. He was close enough to look as if he was menacing her with threats and his words, if any were capable of hearing through the chaos of the city, could easily be taken for threats. 

She felt a sudden realization, his words cut like the fines swords and she could see … or she thought she could see, she hope she was right, see that he was showing her how to not act. He offered his arm to her and she took it. She was weak as a feather, still troubled and shaken by the past few seconds. He is so smart, and cunning. I wish I was as smart and cunning as he, then no one would abuse of me… She began walking when he did.

He began to speak about tea and meeting her again. For a second she did not know what to think, she had to process what had all just happened. Better the Kingdom. He had said he had no love for the Church and now she saw how he thought. The Church had been corrupted ever since she was a child, a lot of good men and yet so many vile ones… Does he want me for an informant? She had to think again in her confusion, if she could tell him of the awful things the priests did… it could save lives and protect the women of her order.

Whatever decision she took, Lanie rapidly realized she could not outrun Brock. He had her trapped whether he was to use her knowledge for better or worst, she knew she had no real choice in the matter, but would she dare risk it all? She thought of her life, of all the awful things in the world and made up her mind. “Id be glad to have tea with you, sir Brock.” She finally smiled her gentle smile again. He had lost his wife because of the Church. Lanie needed to know more. She wanted to help women in her position, she wanted to help all women as she did when a child and had chosen to be a nun so to not be a man’s slave… and yet she was still their slave. 

Lanie was resolved. “I’d be honoured truly to speak with you again. It is so rare I get to speak with a man such as yourself, and for the sake of the realm.”

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock was a tortured man. It wasn't ever looked at in that way, to think the man behind the cause of so much pain, death, and agony wouldn't actually carry that weight on his shoulders. He did, and it sometimes showed itself when someone was crying and the noise grated his nerves and resolve so much that he choked them to death just to silence them. But no one really knew all that, because some of his best work came out of when he just couldn't take it anymore. And in turn, he continued to produce what he was hired to do.

Brock was a man of the Kingdom, his King the only person he answered too with confidence and appreciation for his leadership. And when it came to the betterment of Athoria, Brock was on the front lines. What Lanie spoke on was a rare finding to the man, and one that no one would ever risk telling him without realizing his opinion on the manner. It was a secret that burned so fiercely in the Bloodhawk that he would carry no qualms about jailing a priest, or risking ridicule as he tortured answers from them. It was a small price to pay for the suffering and filth they spewed in his country.

No church could protect those people from Brock. And revenge was always the driving force for his anger. The man long past the act of reasons behind the twisted headspace it took to torture the number of souls he's broken. Brock carried dominance easily, the very presence of him easily felt even if you weren't threatened by him. And now as they walked down the street, hiding the conversation they were having with small glances around the vendors. Or in soft spoken words that were sending him ready for strategizing, Brock kept his complete calm. No one non the wiser of the plan already forming in his head. 

"Then I expect a letter of your coming ahead of time to aid me in the healing of a few in the cells. You will be compensated for your time Sister Lanie, and I appreciate the church wanting to help those souls who might need additional guidance after they are punished," Brock stated her cover so fluidly that it was fact to any prying ears. But the message was clear, once behind those walls they would be able to work on something greater than healing people who deserved to be feel their pain. A guard approached then telling him of the tent and arrest they had made of the man.

He removed his arm from hers, bowing slightly in goodbye. "Pleasure Sister Lanie," he said holding her stare, "Ill be seeing you." The old man turned, and left with the guard. Heading for the gate to finalize the arrest before he considered walking around the festivities. 

[bloodhawk-brock]

Delayed Sin || Brock // Ada || FB30

[knight-mahalath]

"Good plan." Adarna said with another chuckle. She was never one to spend her money freely, despite having a good amount of it. In Leeds it was easy to walk in with a full purse and exit with an empty one. If a person played their cards right in the gambling houses then they could leave the city with their pockets heavier than before. It was a treacherous place that could easily swallow the weak whole. Some would view that aspect with a negative eye, but her kind found that factor lustrous. 

The woman looked over to Brock who began to draw up the sleeves of his shirt. He was in the process of directing a wordless challenge to the drunken male who just beat his adversary. “You have a deal.” Adarna said with a grin. “Depending on the show you put on, I may give you both a secret and a drink.” She wondered what sort of moves the stranger had up his sleeves. He appeared physically fit and capable of throwing a swift punch, but the men of Leeds were of a different breed. Human they may have been, but some possessed the appetites of animals. Regardless of that, Adarna knew that even the most composed humans had the hearts of beasts; so she would not count Brock out just yet.

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock was young, and still could carry that youthful aura around him if he really wanted too. But he was far from a child anymore. These people thought they knew what it meant to be in pain, to hear more than the crunch of bone from under the fist. They were wrong. Their brawls were nothing short of childs play to Brock who would spend the rest of his life learning how to inflict the perfect blending of physical and mental pain until they begged for release. 

The man's fist landed on his forearms that Brock rose to block with. Twisting his body easily to duck another hit. His plan was simple in the beginning, to evade until he noticed a stagger in his strike. Men like this always fought with a dominance that screamed from their positions that they had the confidence to win. And with Brock's size that would be the case if he attempted to attack back first. The bear of a man needed to be worn out, and he was banking on his rage to burn out even more once his frustrations at not landing a good hit blew up around them. 

Another strike landed on his forearm, and Brock watched as the man tripped up on his big toe enough to put him off balance. Like a snake, Brock gripped the man's arm, using his momentum against him to flip him over and land harshly on the ground. The man's breath was shoved from his lungs, gasping to reset his diaphragm with blown eyes, and surprise etched on his face. Brock grinned, it was a rarity, though not so much this young. It would fade over time without him realizing it. 

Brock jabbed three precise hits under his neck, still holding his arm until the socket dislocated in an arm bar. The man passed out instantly, the crowd more quiet than he expected, and Brock glared up in challenge wondering if another would want to join in. He unfolded himself from the hold, standing up as a person handed him a small bag of winnings. "Pleasure," he said taking the coin purse and walked back towards Ada. "Are they mostly fools?" he asked, looking back to see the man was still passed out on the ground. "You can make a lot of money off of them."

[bloodhawk-brock]

Art of Defense || Brock // Micah

[bloodhawkmicah]

Micah had been waiting on his toes for the next attack once he was disarmed, but the jailer’s techniques had been perfected over time and there was little use in Micah trying to fight back. Nevertheless, he dug his fingers into Brock’s forearm as he was put in the choke hold. The boy had never realized how strong Brock truly was. Pressed against his form like this he could feel the muscle beneath the man’s black attire. Micah wondered what his starved ribcage felt like to the man that held him. The boy knew that he couldn’t just say what was being demanded of him. He had to mean it. He had to prove that he was understanding Brock, the jailer could sense a lie. 

The young Bloodhawk swallowed, waiting a few minutes before responding “I understand, Sir. I’m more than a joke. I don’t care what you do you won’t break me.” he shifted slightly “You wouldn’t have made me a Bloodhawk if I didn’t have potential. We can’t have a weak link. And I’m not your laughing stock. I’m better than that. You can’t break me.” He finished just as Brock released him. Gravity pulled his slender form to the floor but he didn’t stay there long. Rolling over quickly and hopping to his feet. Despite the cuts and wounds that littered his torso he pulled the stiff shirt off of his form, grabbing the sword from the floor and immediately getting in a fighting stance. 

Back in THe Slums, Micah had been known for his arrogance and swagger. If he wanted you to know he was there, his presence was almost obnoxious. And if he didn’t want you to know he was there, he wouldn’t leave a trace. There were two shapes to Micah, and it wasn’t until the Bloodhawk’s that this new demeanor arose. He had never been this doubtful back in The Slums. But he also wasn’t the bottom of the totem pole there. He was top dog when compared to the beggars who would never have a tongue so sharp, fingers so quick, and those bright blue eyes that could make any woman feel pity if he played them right. 

Without saying anything Micah attacked Brock again, thinking about what he did when he was tracking or thieving. What had made him so good at that. But then he stopped, and a long forgotten smirk painted his grimy features. “Wait a minute. ” he chuckled, standing up straight “You love me.”  Micah sing-songed, laughing boyishly and forgetting for a moment where exactly he was. 

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock offered only a raise of brows to the comment before swinging to catch the strike with a well placed defensive hit. No matter his age, the wisdom of the hunt from so many years of dismantling every species in dungeon below gave him a stronger body than expected. He broke bones easily though, it was a damper to his mood as a paper cut was, and though he didn't get wounded often. He found when he did, it was worse off than he preferred. Like the ronin wolf who stabbed his shoulder all those months ago. That scar still ached when he was angry and used that arm to beat something to a living pulp. 

They would practice this until lunch. It wasn't anything that would magically give Micah the skills to combat properly, but it was a start. The boy would need to practice everyday like he had with some weapon. Brock couldn't care less what he fought with, only that when the time rose, Micah could at least wield it. After a few more strikes Brock lowered his weapon as a knock hit hard at the door. "Enter," he said, waving for Micah to have a seat and to get out of the way. "You be quiet."

A guard entered, nodding for Brock to follow since Micah was in there. The jailer walked diligently over, sheathing the sword in passing, and looked over at Micah before he cleared the door. "Eat," he said, knowing the youngest Bloodhawk would hear it as a direct order even if it was one word. Because he was a puny little thing, and it was grating the old man that he didn't eat right. After clearing the door he walked with a click of leather soles to the front where a man was waiting for him in the chair. 

"I am Brock, what is it you require," Brock stated without sitting, offering only a firm glare to the man before him who was dressed in mercenary garb but remained quiet. "Remove your hood in my facility, or I will have you escorted out. Now speak." The man pulled out a black feather and set it on the table, not revealing his face to the group of guards who were on alert because Brock was. "Show your face," Brock ordered, drawing his weapon, causing a series of metal to be drawn and pointed at the stranger. 

He pulled down his hood, a sheen of brown hair, matted and dirty clung to his forehead further hiding parts of his face. Brock took a step forward as the man took a step back. "Do you really want to test me? Why are you here?" he demanded the guards moving swiftly behind him to grab his arms. But the man spun out of the hold, kicking the first guard to the ground in a round house kick that sent him rolling over the other. Brock just watched, taking note of all he was seeing. Already knowing the man was here to drop that one item off, and for whatever reason. Needed him to see it. In seconds the man had fled the main room, Brock hearing the guards making pursuit in the courtyard. 

[bloodhawk-brock]

Hit the Floor || Brock // Lanie || SWP

[lanieannejones-deactivated20141]

Lanie quite enjoyed her walk with Brock, but now she could hear his grievances towards the Church not only in his words, but his voice and the way he was suddenly when speaking. Specially when he mentioned his wife, she could feel it. There had been a lot of corruption in the Church during just her own time with it. She’d seen the worst that some could do whether it be rape, murder, abuse, extortion or even worst… It had all been exposed to her years ago when she had visited Leeds and had the misfortune to bump into a witch trial and burning. She had had feared for her life. She had been only ten and nine then, and all the more innocent and all the more afraid that they might hang her for witchcraft; she was a healer after all. The Church never trusted her Order for that precise reason- their women had too much knowledge.

All Brock’s questions came fast, and Lanie tried her best to listen and remember so she could answer. Not answering a gentleman’s questions was rude. “They …,” She answered but then stopped. She had never taken the time to think about how the Church or the Order had ever treated her. She knew the priests loathed her… all but Stephen. She’d never paused to realize the conditions she was allowing herself to live in. But the Order… they had been kind. “My Order treats me well, but …” She looked around, she could not risk priests hearing her speak. “For reasons of protection of the soul the Church feels necessary to keep a strong eye on my Order. It is not women’s place to have such knowledges, but they allow it for the good of the realm.” She was repeating nearly verbatim what the official statement of the Church had dictated about she and her sisters. 

If Brock was the man he had presented so far, she knew he would understand her meaning behind it. “There is one priest that has been quite generous and kind with me.” The thought of Stephen made her smile brightly, she caught herself and returned her solemn visage to the best she could. Lanie you fool. She thought while while regaining her composure. She could not show familiarity with a man, even worst a fellow priest, she had vows, men got away with it with a slap on the wrist, but then and women who broke vows… It suddenly hit her. “Kind sir, forgot me if I am odd right now… I-I never thought of these things, you have to excuse me.”

There was a lot she could tell Brock… she’d seen her share of the crimes of men in the hamlets and nameless villages of the countryside, and even in the city. If she had the heart to it she could probably fill Brock’s jails in a night. She looked down, she had to shut up, she’d spoken too much. If a priest from the Church heard her speak ill of them then they could have licence to break into the Order’s coven and take everything away from them. They were always waiting for the opportunity. “I’m sorry, good sir, but I can’t … I…”

[bloodhawk-brock]

When Brock spoke, it was with intention. A hidden agenda that could weasel his way into the answers you procured and give him more than what you ever wanted. Being a good listener came with his job, and no matter the inquiry of justice at hand north of the city wall he found himself turning to give his full and undivided attention to the woman next to him. How she not only answered perfectly how he expected her too, but noting where her eyes landed. The clenching of any muscles under her garments, and around her brow. 

Those micro twitches were tells to the old man who knew for a fact that what he asked would spark a baseline for him to now go by. But more than that, he tricked her. What he had suspected was spoken in truth to him and it was refreshing seeing the effects it had on her the second she realized what she had said. It could be an instant excuse to arrest her. It would be easy. A wave to the guard only four steps to the left, cuffing her with wide puppy eyes as they overflowed in tears. Her word against his over thoughts that no woman in her position should ever carry. What person would believe a woman like her over him? No one. She would rot in a cell for a week as he stripped her of the clothes that gave her respect, and a shell to hide under. 

Brock barely batted a lash to the recovery she was attempting. Wanting to touch the skin around her throat as she swallowed away the words she wanted to take back. Her skin so pale, it would blossom in the most intricate bruises. "Stop it," he said firmly, shifting his body easily to her space with a firm chest. The busy road out of the city apparently lost to him though the opposite. Analyzing exactly who was in earshot so he knew what to say if it was needed. "You can't hide from me. I see, and I hear what you are saying. Do you understand me?"

The hue in Brock's eyes were haunting this close. Pale as the morning sky, but paired with the unchanging expression he always wore, made him seem less human than he realized. "Corruption is punishable by law, as are the words you just spoke on. You see the problem? I could have you taken now, your life would be over just like my wifes. A noose around your neck, your coven chased out. So you see, we now have a predicament. One that is involving me not arresting you because we are having a stroll are we not?" he said low enough for only her to hear.

Turning to offer his arm to continue their walk the man looked firmly at her, offering to spare a glance around them like he was taking in the sights. "So tell me Sister, would tea in a few days, be worth your time to talk about your life in the church? I am sure there are things a person like me could know discreetly would you agree? If it were to better the Kingdom?" 

[secretdeepwhynot]

[bloodhawk-brock]

Torture // The Rack

You will tell me what I want, or I will dislocated every joint in your body. Then watch you bleed out onto my floor as I remove all your tendons. Is that what you want? Then talk.

[tatianaklugs-blog]

Experiment || Brock & Tatiana

“I have an appointment with Brock. It’s under Diana.” The guard contemplated her with utter disinterest, reading something off of a paper and barely glancing at her companion before nodding.

Tatiana would have wondered why the bastard leaning against her had not yet began to protest or ask pointless question about their whereabouts, but the foul breath on her neck told her everything she need to know. It was barely conscious, feverish in a way that seemed to create a whole new stench besides the one that characterized the average inhabitant of Chile. Stupid, stupid thing. If she was ever bitten, if one of those things ever got to her, she would throw herself off of the nearest cliff, mutilate herself with the entirety of her collection of blades, drink every poison she could find. Yet, that stupid little man had fooled himself into thinking that there was a possibility of salvation. There were many things that could have been said about the inhabitants of Chile but despite their fear, most of them were able to face the truth. That one lacked even that ability.

Shoving the sick thing away from her, she opened the steel door to the hallway. The bitten monster fell to the floor without her support and Tatiana’s foot flew towards its back before she could stop herself. “Get the fuck up!” She had always lacked the patience to deal with children, and recently bitten monsters were hardly more than a twisted version of them. It would be so sweet to listen to that sound, the unmistakable one of bone shattering beneath her boot, but she stopped herself in time.

It could not die before fulfilling its purpose, and the beating was the most she could do without lessening the fun that she was about to have. “You came all this way? And you’re gonna give up now?” She paid little attention to its weeping, dragging it up and hearing it scream as it tried to walk.

They passed by the cells, but it seemed far too absorbed in its own misery to notice anything wrong with its surroundings or hear the choir of faint cries and pained screams echoing from the other side of the steel doors. By the time they had reached the end of the hall, she had begun to fantasize about what kind of noise it would make if she covered it in grease and lit a match.

She knocked on the door of Brock’s room, concentrating a little more strength on it than she had meant to and waited for it to open. “About time. This morose fucker is making me sick to my stomach.”

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock was greeted by family today, and it was a honest happiness that swelled around his hardened heart. The old man loved his family, they were all he had to this life he chose to live, and he could only offer a curious glance over as the lean woman sleeked her way into his space like a lynx. Tatiana was a beautiful creature in herself. Brock had mused many nights to see just what he could do to her until she would start screaming for real. It would be glorious. Knowing she could take it and more was refreshing, and if Brock dared thought it. Respectful.

He rose from his hunched position over his desk and walked over to the feverish mutt at her feet dropping calmly to a crouched position to tuck his lean fingers around his jaw. The move looked soft, almost caring in his examination of the man sweating, and looking on the verge of death. But Brock tightened his hold, forcing the man's face to his making him cry out from the force. "What do we have here," he said with a wide grin lifting the man easily from his throat before gripping his bicep and dragged him towards the basement. 

The hidden door in this room was only known by few. The staircase led down to a damp, moldy room that was lit by torches and didn't contain one window. It was a hunters wet dream. Every weapon, rune, metal, and poison existed to dismember and torture supernaturals. He had a few down there now, nothing really as interesting as the creature in his hands. Strapping steel cuffs to his wrists the old man pointed to a lever on the wall for Tatiana to pull down to suspend the man into the air. 

"Do you know what this is Tatiana?" he said in a deep, calm voice. Carting his fingers over a dagger before he drew it down the man's chest to remove his shirt. "How ever did you get your hands on it?"

[bloodhawk-brock]

Art of Defense || Brock // Micah

[bloodhawkmicah]

Micah looked Brock in the eyes seriously, taking in everything the man’s aged ones had to offer. His hope of a childish game to ease his frustrations was shattered when Brock backed him into a corner and essentially gave him a choice. He could give up or manage to get himself out of his cornered position. There were a few ways to go about getting out of his predicament, though, and he didn’t know which was best. Which option would bring the most approval from Brock. He looked into his mentor’s deep eyes “I want to live in your image, Sir. I do. But I’m just….” he looked down at the weapon in his hands “I’m so far behind, sir. I’ve already been nearly killed several times by both supernaturals and humans. It’s time that I know how to fight.” he tried to choose his words carefully, thinking them over in his head “I’m scared, Sir. And I don’t think repetition of the same move is going to help me when I’m face to face with a demon again. “ 

The boy held the sword up defensively in case Brock should decide to make a move. “I don’t mean to be rude, Sir, but we both know that my strength is not in my skills. I’m fast, quick on my feet. I’m stealthy and I sometimes can think on my feet. Why don’t we spend our time honing those skills and how I can use them to be more than a scout and a thief. How I can use them to fight.” It took every muscle in Micah to restrain him from again losing control as he tried to speak reasonably with the man. “It’s just not….practical. Unless you can prove otherwise, Sir. I don’t have enough brute strength to train in my fighting like this, and I think you know that. “

He paused, chewing on his chapped lips and wiping sweat from his brow. He sighed, shifting his position and making an offensive move to Brock’s left side, just below his arm. He was almost certain the man would defend it, but that didn’t concern him. “Make me strong, Sir. Promise me you’ll find a way to make me a warrior. Teach me whatever you can, physical and mental. Press my body to it’s breaking points and then a little further. Paint me in your image, Brock!”

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock cared a lot about Micah. The old man would never admit such a grouping of words in the air, and if Micah even hinted at wanting to make that statement real between them he would strap him to the wall and whip him. It wasn't because he couldn't care about people. Brock actually cared a lot about his country, his King, and everything with the Bloodhawks. But his role in the young one's life wasn't to coddle him and pat his head in appreciation, and if the man wanted to break any habit Micah did in his presence it was this need to prove himself in ways that were geared to make Brock proud. It wasn't the point in their clan. They were strong individuals, and believed in themselves and came together to be a force to reckon with. 

If Micah wanted to be a hunter, or if he wanted to be a scout for them forever. He needed to believe that whatever he was doing was for himself. It made all the difference. Brock moved swiftly to deflect a hit but allowed Micah to strike again without the usual aggressiveness that Brock carried when sword fighting. "If you think that is what you are made for, then yes, you should be wrapping every decision you make around bettering yourself. You should be swift. How will you get there? You should be suave, and charismatic. How will you get there?!" 

Brock attacked forward with an easy move that could be deflected satisfied they were practicing striking on a repeated basis. "Just like those trades littered in our world Micah. There is a level of apprenticeship that follows all skills. The life you follow doesn't have one. You make it up as you go, you are the one who betters yourself. And we are only here to show you things we know so you can draw those lines of development and execute a plan. But you want to be in our image as a Bloodhawk? You want to be everything you can be? Then you are the one that makes that happen!"

Brock threw down the weapon, shifting his body easily into a grappling position that quickly disarmed the younger Bloodhawk and brought him forward into a choking hold using his own momentum against him. He breathed calmly against his back, feeling the rapid heartbeat of the boy's along his ribs. Wishing the boy would eat more, and work out so his muscles were strong and lean. Push his body to the extreme until he was exactly what they knew he would be. "Say it," he said in his ear. Tightening his hold enough to make his point. "Say you understand me. Because if you don't get past this ridiculous childish behavior, you will only be a laughing joke to us. You want that? You want me to break you like all the others who come in here until the only thing you could think on is your next hunt? You are better than that. Say it! That you are better than that."

[bloodhawk-brock]

Delayed Sin || Brock // Ada || FB30

[knight-mahalath]

"You have a bit of a point…" She replied. Being old as she truly was, the demon knew well of how much of a virtue patience could be. Adarna also knew how much of a curse it could be. Such duality was the nature of the world. In her eyes, patience doesn’t always give leave for deliverance, it only evolves into false hope that would ultimately lead to suffering. In some cases, waiting was counter-productive; perhaps Brock would come to know that as he matured.  

"Now that is where you are wrong, Brock." Adarna grinned, enjoying the sight of the humans fighting. "Those men will serve some purpose in time, whether that purpose is beneficial or not is up to fate. Even the most rotten of meats can nourish creatures like flies." One of the men landed a good kick in his enemy’s abdomen and sputtered something about his mother. The onlookers laughed, causing a stifled chuckle to escape her mouth. 

"Well, if you’re looking for a place to stay, you can try a brothel or an inn. It may be good to have a woman warm your bed for the night, but you may have to keep a tight hold on your purse. Its rare to find a whore that doesn’t steal." She gestured to a few Inns nearby, one across the street and another farther down the road. "An inn would be your best choice, they’re pretty cheap and the food isn’t completely horrible." 

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock chuckled at the explicit comment as well, shaking his head as the pair continued to fight in the streets. Leed's was claustrophobic, towering shelves of rooms, and apartments that gave it an eery modern feel for the times if it wasn't so dirty. Brock was here to enjoy himself however, his last night before his role with the jails took into the form of his apprenticeship.

"Ill be sure to spend all my money before they can take it," he said calmly no matter his young age already carrying a reassuring demere over such things. The younger man's pale hues swept the streets again, feeling like the very city had eyes of it's own. Brailston never carried such a heaviness that Leeds did, like a smog settled in the form of the damned. With lean fingers he rolled up his shirt's sleeve to his elbows. Eyeing the man who had just won the fight with a smug grin. 

"If I win this, maybe you can think about letting me in on a secret or two that a person like me would find, fascinating," Brock said offering a shrug. "Or a drink, either one. I am not picky today." He glanced to Ada, cracking his knuckles. "Better to experience all there is about Leeds no?" With four steps into the crowds he flipped a coin at the man, sliding his foot back into a familiar position as he was regarded with a hearty laugh. It would be fun to hear the man scream. 

[bloodhawk-brock]

Hit the Floor || Brock // Lanie || SWP

[lanieannejones-deactivated20141]

She listened carefully as he spoke, keeping mostly her eyes on him as her mother had told her long ago in an other life and took in all he was saying. She could not have bumped into a better person that day, finally she could talk about something to someone and not worry about it cracking through the creature she’d been turned into. “I think we need more people in the art of medicine for certain. I’ve amputated so many people that most I can’t even remember I’ve done. It would be a blessing if we could salvage such things.” She waited for him to reply to her comment but then he excused himself briefly, and so, Lanie waited as Brock went off for a moment. He was so kind and everything a gentleman ought to be. A dying breed really. She was observing him wondering what had happened to man kind to have lost all these curtsies and manners.

Or maybe she was just getting old… old people though things like such.

When he returned they began to walk again. He’d spoken to a guard, but it made perfect sense to Lanie. He was the King’s Gaoler after all. “I love old tales. They don’t bore me. My aunt used to tell me stories day and night. I’d love to learn on how Brailston was funded, or maybe how the King made it his home, or maybe…” So many things went through her head and somehow she’d forgotten how shy she was. It was different when men acted like gentlemen. When they did it felt more relaxed and safe because they seemed to value you as a person. “… how was it here when you were young? That I would love to hear. It’s one thing to know History but to have live change that is something a lot more interesting.”

They were walking still as she spoke. A few people looked toward Brock and seemed very nervous and tense. They had to have something to hide, why else would he scare them? Other gave her an odd look. It was rare travelling nuns would ever simply stroll about in town, especially in the company of a man, no matter his age. Her nice outfit was to be blamed. A lot of people thought that nuns only had to wear one outfit, when really there were so many uniforms and robes of all sorts. It was as if people had deemed one of the dresses as protocol and ignored the rest. When she wore her nicer outfit, it always stirred the most conservatives.

It was odd for her to have an older man walk with her in Brailston, so long ago in that fabled past life of hers, her father would have been the one to do this with her. He would have told her about every stone and every home, and all about the rich people’s homes and the castle where he had done masonry work. Funny enough, Brock reminded her of her father. Well dressed, well groomed, full of manner and proper behaviour. If her father couldn’t have her walk around the capital, then this fine man who worked to keep the King’s Peace was perfect to walk with.

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock wanted to strap that thief up on his rack. Watch his bones groan under the pressure of being separated until ever joint exploded apart in a loud POP! He would scream. It would fill the jails because there wasn't a soul that dared to make noises in his cells unless they were receiving their punishments. It was like he babysat all the rebels of Athoria, taking the mothers hand gripping a boy's ear to a more appropriate level. One that took those fears brought on from stories and made them real in the act of justice so they didn't disobey their King's laws again. 

It was the least he could do. King Athor was everything to keeping their country in a sense of order. It was why the Bloodhawks existed. No matter it was in secret, it was better. It cried power for them because being funded by the King, and being allowed to get away with murder of the species they deemed worthy of being on their hit list. Was everything he lived for. And no fear of dying could mark the old man who had done his share of damage and balance on the world. He knew where his place was in all this. 

The man glanced over to Lanie, offering a raised groomed brow at her statement of medicine. "I agree, I have worked with all kinds of situations that involve the removal of limbs. Of course at my age, I find the act quite second nature now. It's important to understand where exactly to amputate, and the angle of the tool you use. I have found that its the actual time factor that draws about the most pain to a subject. If you wanted to end their suffering more swiftly, using a sharp instrument that can chop verses saw is sometimes the more humane way to handle it.

Upon her inquiry about the city he looked up at the architecture of the city with a distant look about him. This was his home. Always had been, never finding the need to ever leave unless it had came to Alison and running away to the countryside. Even then, Alison knew he really couldn't. That his place was here in the city, and with his King.

"Brailston was a little different then, we were under the firm rule of the late King Athor and I was expected to carry a certain level of social acceptance," Brock stated walking easily down the main strip that would end with them hitting the gate so he could make the arrest he wanted. The guards would be gathered there by then, so he humored the cover the woman was giving him so he could watch the other thief he knew was on in the exchange. He had no idea what they were dealing, but it didn't really matter to the jailer. Brock wanted to watch them suffer, and be dragged to the jails so he can show them exactly what happens when you crash on his King's celebration.

"The church use to be something better then, but then again that veil was awoken for me when my late..." wife? Alison for all views of love and loyalty was his wife, but they never did wed in the eyes of God. It was another reason to hold a bitterness to the church, constantly wondering if his God viewed them together, and could grant them eternity together once his life ended. "....wife..exposed a side to them that still surprises me." He turned to her, his shoulders straight, and fingers curling tightly around his cane.

"How do they treat you Sister? Do they believe things you see about the world and have questions about? You seem so excited to be in my city, yet I can see that it's not by your choice that you haven't been able to enjoy the joy's of our Kingdom. Why is that you think? Because I do not believe my God would hinder any of his children in that way, even with something as small as a celebration. Am I wrong?"

[bloodhawk-brock]

Hit the Floor || Brock // Lanie || SWP

[lanieannejones-deactivated20141]

Lanie swallowed her nerves. This Brock man was such a kind gentleman, first paying her food and now want to take a stroll. “I’ve never been to them sadly, this is a first for me. The Church prefers sending me to villages to cure people than to festivities.” It was true that the Church rarely cared about sending their folk to festivities, they deemed it wrong and salacious, a poison of the senses that led to sin. Lanie loved it to watch the children play. “I’m Lanie. I’m a volunteering nun, a healer… o-obviously. I wouldn’t mind a tour of Brailston.” She said as she followed him, eating her pie by small piece as to never have it full enough to prevent her from answering.

She was still shy and nervous around him like with everyone, but something about his poise and calm helped her calm down as well. “My father had wanted to show me Brailston when I was a girl, but he… he never got to.” She took another bite. The baker had truly chosen the best of his pies for her and she was grateful for it. It often happened that she was given the left overs even when she paid. “It was during the plague that took Low Borrow’s Hamlet. I had been sent away as a nun already before the king ordered it to be burnt down. They all died and I… I never got to see Brailston the way I was supposed to.” She decided she had said to much, but she’d been told to always keep conversation with people who were kind and generous.

The day was lovely and Lanie wondered for a moment what else would happen around the nation. There was a short breeze that swept through, just enough to keep the heat at bay and feeling fresh. Fall would be upon then soon and she was glad she got a day to enjoy summer. The Church was going to run it’s own “proper” festivities and Lanie would be forced to work at it. She would likely be sent to do laundry work again as the Bishops and higher ranking priests did not enjoy her company. She wanted to seek Stephen after her return from Brailston. Maybe he could manage to have her work with him. He was her only friend, recent friend but still her friend.

[bloodhawk-brock]

When Brock was a teenager, his mother would walk down these same cobblestone pathways with his fingers curled over her hand that squeezed into his forearm to give small direction to their steps. It use to infuriate him then. The consistent demanding the woman asked of him when it wasn't her place. Though he had full control over his life his mother had been a thorn in his life until her dying breath. It was a death he still hadn't mourned over. Thanking Him for claiming her wretched soul, and hopefully sending her to her proper place. 

"That is very interesting Lanie, your profession was in line with what I was looking for when I was about your age. Not many people know this about me, but I wanted to be a researcher in the medical field. I find a certain beauty in the human anatomy that most people overlook," Brock actually loved the human body, and all bodies of species from all over the world. He found this hunger, bury into his very soul to understand all there was about all creatures. And if that meant carving up thirty of one kind to learn how their bones aligned in the body. So be it.

"Learning about specific parts of the body could have help so many when disease or sickness broke out like in the event you speak of. Many people learn the art of healing, but lack the knowledge of deeply understanding our bodies. Both on a physical or spiritual basis, do you agree?" Brock had maneuvered them easily to a few more tables where vendors were selling a variety of items he found no interest in. Only his ears were now draw to attention of the money bag being slipped into the man's hands signally the deal had been made.

"Excuse me," he said distracted but didn't let it show in his body language. Taking one large step to the left to lean into space of a guard whispering instructions into his ear before coming back to the woman's space. Looking around for the man heading to the gates where Brock had an idea of where he was headed. "I grew up in Brailston, let me give you the tour from a locals perspective. We can stay on the main road here and head for the gates. Answer any of your questions best I can, though I might bore you with old tales."

[bloodhawk-brock]

Art of Defense || Brock // Micah

[bloodhawkmicah]

Micah didn’t know what he’d been expecting from Brock when he’d had his outburst. He should’ve known the man would stay calm.  That was what Micah most hated about the older man, he as always stoic in his dominance. Even when he yelled there was a certain calm about him that the boy had always despised. Why could he not just lose his cool? Micah would much rather be yelled at or beaten, it was easier to ignore the real lesson that way. That is, he figured, exactly why Brock was conducting himself this way, but it didn’t make him any less frustrated. 

And now Brock had given him a choice. He could take the heavy iron sword he’d been fighting with or the smaller, lighter one Brock offered him. The young boy was conflicted. If he chose the heavier one, he knew his frustration would just continue to build, but that it would possibly make his mentor happier. As if he was righteous in choosing the more difficult path. But everything in Micah told him to go for the smaller sword. Not only because it was easier, but also because it was more practical. Micah could never see himself carrying around the large iron sword and fighting with it. If anything, he’d fight with his dagger or mace, and the lighter sword was a lot closer to those weapons. Just as he began to reach for the sword, he stopped and looked at Brock. 

"Why are you even teaching me swordfighting, Brock? Bloodhawks aren’t knights. We fight with daggers and small, easily concealed weapons. What in the name of the Lord am I supposed to do with a sword? I certainly don’t plan on becoming a knight anytime soon. I’m not cut out for it and I assume that isn’t the path you have me set on." he thought of Shiloh briefly "And Athoria doesn’t have swordfighting challenges or anything of the sort, at least not that I’ve noticed." 

The blue eyed male stepped forward, grabbing the lighter sword. He took it with a bit of a childish yank, not able to control his emotions nearly well enough. Micah took the sword, improperly swiping at the walls, watching sparks fly from the tip of his blade. But he quickly grew bored with that and turned swiftly to Brock. “Fight me, old man. ANd good luck catching me!” he yelled almost playfully, turning and running to a far corner.

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock flipped the larger iron sword with a practiced flick of his wrist before placing it on the table behind him. Micah's training was imperative to the family, no matter if Beau and him still found time to make off handed comments about his childish behavior behind his back. It was all in respect and love though. This need to push him because they knew he could take it. Because the Bloodhawks didn't make mistakes with their choices in members. They only bred the best. 

"You think you're learning sword fighting," he stated not once hinting that it was a question on the manner when it was truth in Micah's statement alone. Brock drew out a large wooden staff, spinning it his hands to create a whoosh to cut through the air before arming himself into his defensive position. "When you can master taking a hit from any weapon you will learn that the basics you are learning today will travel through every and any weapon you want to wield. Your generalization of our family is insulting, even more so when all of us are beyond tactical in the art of fighting to make you look pathetic in your present games."

Brock shifted towards Micah as a cobra. Eyes blown in his concentration as he calculated where he wanted Micah to be verses where he thought he would go. "I have seen our family fight only using dirt, and sand. Lifting rocks to smash into skulls when there was no access to a weapon. You think this sword fighting Micah, I think this necessary for you to survive out there." The last line came out harshly, but the bite contained in his words were only geared to focus Micah on the task at hand and to get him to want to be all he could be. If he wouldn't realize his potential soon, Brock wasn't sure what more he could ever be to the Bloodhawks other than a scout. 

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock // Belle || Be Quiet - Listen

[bellevenna]

"Your king is a petty, cruel, cowardly man if he is so threatened by one terrified woman. I am not so easily cowed by your threats, gaoler; I have faced the judgment and punishment of a power higher than yours and yet here I stand."

Belle’s eyes followed Brock as he moved around the still-bound woman; she thought him snake-like, cold-blooded and ready to strike. Though he did not frighten her she did not see a reason to lower her guard or be incautious. No doubt he knew his way well around a weapon; to be sure she had more years of experience than even she could count, but he only needed land one lucky hit.

She lowered her gaze to the woman. Whatever her crime, real or imagined, it could not warrant treatment such as this. Lightening-quick, the options before her flashed across the huntress’ mind. She could engage the man in one-on-one combat. If she won, she could take the girl and leave. This would, no doubt, bring more guards down and more misery upon the captured girl. If she lost, the girl was dead.

Neither scenario sat well with Belle and she liked the third option, the proferred conversation, even less. However, that seemed the best way to see the girl’s successful rescue.

Belle again regarded Brock, disliking his smirk and the easy way in which he carried himself in a room designed to play audience to so much needless suffering.

"Let the girl go and I will stay and … talk with you." The words left a sour taste in her mouth.

[bloodhawk-brock]

The moment of triumph was worn with not a muscle out of place. Deeply seated and caught in the aged lines forever carved in the visage of a hard stricken man. Brock adding one sugar to his tea, stirring the contents to fill the air with its rich, floral aroma. Making him think about the scent of leaves stained in the chilled skin of the lean fingers owned by Emerald. Wondering again, as he had on most nights. When she had found the two who broke into the Castle, but more, what she did to them.

His attention though lapsed only moved as a side glance to the woman who had her eyes locked on Brock. He stood to his full height, moving easily as a grim reaper there to lay an outstretched hand for the damned soul. The man's hands pressed to the bound woman's cheek, engulfing the small roundness found in her face with a softness he shared only with those pets he's finally saying goodbye too. The woman's eyes watered, but she swallowed down her grief. He felt it in her pulse, letting herself calm down as all the people who came through the jails learned. That Brock was doing his job, his role. And that sometimes being quiet, and listening to what was being asked were the best decisions you could make. 

"Look at me," he said low, but commanding as her eyes fluttered to catch and release one or two tears before they lifted to his. "She came for you, take peace in that." It would benefit the woman to rest on those thoughts before her body shut down. Because come morning the poison would have filtered through her system and flooded her blood to the point build up clung to the walls of her heart. She would clutch her chest as if in fright, gasping for breath though it wasn't her lungs not gathering enough oxygen, it was her off heart beat sounding as a rattling drum until it ceased it's life containing motions. Then she would die. Taking with her any knowledge she knew that he wanted but would be content with it dying on her lips than falling in someone elses hands.

Releasing her binds easily, but body too weak to really get her limbs moving. Brock gripped her bicep and dragged her up to the door. Opening it, and sparing no glance back inside he let her go as she nearly fell to the ground from her shaking legs. "Head down that path, you will find the city," he said, "I won't come for you, like I said, thank this woman for her interference that you are allowed to go." Closing the door brought about a silence he was use too. One of challenge, and opposition staring at each other as a sudden longing dug between his ribs to see more of her skin.

He sat back to the table, bringing the cup to his lips to sample the tea.  "We have a deal here, am I correct to assume you have more demands on what is discussed now? Will I find you interesting isn't the point, you captured my interest the second you pressed a dagger to my back. So tell me young warrior, what it is you want out of this deal beyond freeing that woman. We all have needs, and I'd rather have our demands spoken of firstly before we continue, so out with it. The morning is to come in only a few hours, and I have things to do." 

[bloodhawk-brock]

Brock // Alison || First Hunt - Part II || Sixteen Years Old

They were lost. It wasn't the first time the pair had rode into the woods. Playing chase, and finding hidden springs to be close together. But this time. They were honestly in trouble. 

"You see what I am seeing right?" she whispered frantically. Hiding in the brush with Brock whose mouth was agape at what he was seeing. A specter, or a ghost of some kind flickering and taking on the elements around him. Blood dripped down it's lips like a red staining on the trees behind it in the distance versus its actual skin. "Yes, what is it?" Brock asked, but Alison's hands laced with his to stop his forward motion. "Don't! We watch."

The woman's body laid bridal style in the man's lap, a dagger cutting open her arms, and happily drinking the blood from the steel weapon. Her cries were still filtering into the woods, as twilight had hit the summer day marking how long they had been traveling. He could hear the tears trailing down Alison's face at witnessing the woman's death. But even at his young age he was finding himself enamored by the beauty of it. The human body always fascinated him, and he was hearing rumors of an apprentice position opening in the jails that he was debating about earning. It would be a place to learn so much about their anatomy, perfect to hone his medical skills that he humored on the side of being a doctor.

The horses secured behind them, moved with a neigh at what Brock assumed was the stench of blood and the reddest eyes suddenly darted up to them from the pathway sending his blood cold. Alison's hand gripped his forearm in white fright and he spared no glance at the thing that would haunt their dreams before standing up. 

"Get on the horse Ali," Brock demanded, pulling her easily up from the ground. The ghost disappeared and appeared closer like it apperated there. And Brock took in a sharp intake of breath at the sight. "Get on the horse Ali now!" Brock yelled, lifting her small frame and tossing her onto the horse. He drew his sword, clashing it with the dagger that appeared from nowhere as the phantom bared down on him with a vertical strike. "Go!" Brock cried out, twisting the weapon in a fierce set of strikes that cut open the monsters skin like it was human. 

"What are you?" he asked when the man disappeared. Listening for any sign that it was still there. Eyes landing on Alison who had drawn her sword, and was shifting the horse into a more battle ready position. "This is exciting no?" she smirked his way. Brock let out a matching grin, and huffed laugh. "No, its not, what is it? Did it leave?" the young lad ran to his own horse, gripping the reins and tucked his legs over the side. Moving with Alison as they took off in a gallop down the pathway towards the woman who laid in the mud. 

Brock dismounted quickly, handing the reins to Alison who glanced down at the woman with a 'is she dead?'. He pressed his fingers to hover over her mouth feeling breath press against his skin. "No, she's alive," he said, hulling the woman up coating his clothes in her blood before laying her across the front of the saddle. A dagger suddenly cut through his arm, forcing him to turn from the impact of the hit as it quickly sliced across his face dropping him to the ground. Alison jumped from her horse, sword clashing with the thing that was flickering in the waning light. 

Brock rose, pressing his hand to the large opened gash on his cheek with sudden burst of anger. He swiped at the phantom with a series of skillful strikes, Alison crowding its right flank forcing it to chose between it's attacks. Brock lunged forward, slicing the blade through it's abdomen and brought it up until the sword wedged between it's ribs. The red eyes bore into the pair before Alison lodged her dagger into it's neck, and Brock kicked the thing to the ground as it bled on the grasses. But still, very much alive.

He dropped by it's side, gripping it's chin to get a better look at the eyes that he wouldn't ever forget. Blood stained the pale skin, that was near translucent in the ground. But the thing couldn't phase away like it wanted, losing too much blood from it's very human feeling body. "What in the hell are you?" Brock demanded drawing a bloody grin from the phantom who flicked it's wrist sending Alison flying in the air to hit a tree. Brock glanced over with panic clawing at his heart, but he instead forced his attention on the thing on the ground. Twisting the dagger in it's throat before pulling it out, resting the tip of the metal along the side of it's eye. "For a souvenir," he said not knowing that was the surefire way to kill the phantom he gouged the weapon into it's eye carving it out as the creature let out a blood curdling scream that sent birds into the sky.

Then it was over. The thing laid dead under him with his hands coated in its blood with a muted, squishy red eye in his hand. Brock grinned, staggered from his kneeling position to run to Alison who was rubbing her head but thankfully awake. "Is it dead?" she asked, and Brock nodded showing her the eye. "Whoa! What in the world Brock." He was thinking the same thing.

"We should make camp, and wrap her wounds. We aren't going to get out of the forest before sunset. Come on, lets find a small cave or shelter to better protect ourselves."