#caleb agron

[berrodarmstrong]

“What do I fight for? Nothin’ that’s anybody’s business, really.”

[astraladvent]

A few of the Agents hung out at the bar for a bit. It was a little awkward, given their personalities -- but good nonetheless. 

@crooked-tarot-rp

@the-batcams

@calebagron

@surly-eggplant

@reksblanc

[cadenagron]

The Agron twins, Caleb and Caden. ( @calebagron )

[berryarmstrong]

[berrodarmstrong]

The moment before the molten rock struck the lip on the cliff, Berrod clutched his ring of eternal bonding to hie to Caleb's location. The Agron had been doing some work in the Fringes at East End, and was both shocked and horrified to see his bonded appear before him -- only to collapse with a sword in his belly.

As always, Caleb managed to keep panic at bay so that he could help the other Highlander -- his options were limited and his time was short. Berrod had lost a lot of blood, and was barely being kept alive by the aether of his own chakras. Caleb set to work, utilizing what he could on the spot to make sure that the sword was removed, that Berrod did not succumb to internal bleeding, and that the monk continued to receive vitality in lieu of his bloodloss. It took bells to stabilise him, and even more bells to monitor him...but during the course of the day, and the night that followed, the danger of immediate death passed.

Caleb set up a small tent to make sure that Berrod was sheltered, and kept watch to make sure that whoever had stabbed him didn't come to finish the job  -- among other immediate dangers. Though he wove in and out of consciousness at sparse intervals, Berrod was unable to properly say anything to Caleb to give him any insight on the situation. Most of his words to the man included lamentations, given that the Highlander was certain that he was about to die. Even those gave way to silence after a while. He hasn't awakened since.

@calebagron

[berrodarmstrong]

Prompt #3 - The Twelve

The air was thick with smoke through which sounded the clash of steel, the cracks of gunfire, and the cries of man. The towers of Specula Imperatoris stood as three grim wardens to oversee the carnage below. Uniformed men and women of the alliance set themselves upon the armoured Imperials for the sake of freedom. The battle raged for what seemed like forever, with the tide uncertain. For every few Imperial soldiers the Alliance and Resistance soldiers cut down, the Garleans would retaliate with magitek armour capable of wiping out a dozen men in one fell shot. Fortunately, some among the Allied forces were skilled enough with either arms or aether to pinpoint the armour’s weak points and take them down quickly...though not quickly enough for those who had fallen.

There were adventurers in the throng as well -- free fighting men and women under their own banners who had lent themselves to the cause for whatever reasons they saw fit. Among them were Berrod Armstrong and Caleb Agron, who had not only joined in on behalf of their company, but also for the sake of the realm, and for those with whom they shared ancestral Gyr Abanian blood. Berrod had a heavier investment in the war than Caleb, having been born in Ala Mhigo only to have lost it a few years later. To that day he was still unsure if Caleb was fighting for the Gyr Abanians, of for him. Despite the Agron’s Highlander blood, Berrod knew quite well that both Caleb and his brother were Gridanian to the core.

It mattered none in the face of the Imperials. They would be killed all the same...and so they took to the battle fiercely. They were perhaps a hundred yalms away from one another, separated by the churning mass of battle. Though he fought with confidence, there was still a tightening in the pit of Berrod’s stomach anytime he heard a dying cry. Just so long as it wasn’t Caleb’s. A selfish thought, but one he could not help.

The monk had seen it fit to target magitek armour first and foremost. Not only was it the deadliest of their adversaries, but he possessed the destructive power needed to cripple or destroy them. His fist weapons smashed against the metal hulls with explosive force; the aether that gushed through his chakras detonated on impact to render the machinery to scrap...and the driver to little more. The problem with such a feat was that he immediately drew the attention of others; far too often did he have to dive behind cover to avoid being peppered with the fire from gunblades. It was never long before the gunmen were occupied elsewise, however, and he was free to continue his crusade of destruction once more.

Every bit of armour he felled was a demonstration unto Rhalgr himself, offered with a whole soul. Every driver slain was tribute to the Fury, both on his and Caleb’s behalf. Every onze of scrap that fell to the floor was an offering to the Builder, that what was destroyed would be brought to create anew. Thus did the raging battle become his prayer.

The Imperials, however, had no love for prayer. Their reply was an ear-aching blast and a tremble of the ground. Even the towers shuddered for a moment...right before the easternmost one exploded and slid into crumbling ruin. Berrod had time to see the gleam of Caleb’s armour, then the frantic searching as he sought to make sure Berrod himself was unharmed. Blue met green, and the men exchanged silent worry as the rubble and dust from the blast fell between them. What had started as a prayer to three became a desperate plea to all twelve.

“Please -- please let him be alright…!”

[berrodarmstrong]

Prompt #2 - Synthetic

The ingot was lumpy and oddly hued.

Berrod Armstrong leaned close to the horribly misshapen and squinted at it rather intensely. It did no good; even through the haze of ruddy eyelashes it was plain to see that he had failed the synthesis spectacularly. Next to the metallic abomination sat a perfectly crafted specimen; symmetrical, even and gleaming. The Highlander who had crafted it stood next to him with arms akimbo in pride.

Caleb Agron leveled a reassuring smile at the red-head; all it took was those white teeth underneath blue steel to dull his ire. “Ye did alright for yer first one. It takes practice. Can’t expect to get a perfect one with never havin’ done it before, yea?”

Berrod begrudgingly nodded. It was a lesson he had taught to many a student -- something that he was sure Caleb was aware of. Still, just looking at the malformed rubbish failure next to Caleb’s perfect sample dealt quite a blow to his pride. “I did everythin’ you showed me, though,” He protested, “The crystals, the ore, the tools, everythin’.”

“Mostly,” Caleb murmured with a slight frown. “What ye need to remember is that synthesis isn’t just about poundin’ metal with a hammer until ye get what ye want. The crystals involved means raw aether is gonna play into it, and -that- means --”

“-- that will an’ concentration are just as important as the tools, yeah,” Berrod finished with a nod. He took another look at his botched ingot and poked at it with a gloved finger. “So can I salvage this into somethin’ worth using?”

Caleb’s laugh was deep and loud, but by no means demeaning. “That one’s a lost cause, I’m afraid. We’ve got more materials here, all ye need.” As he spoke he leaned over to procure a few titanium nuggets and a handful of crystals -- fire and earth aspected. “Grab yer tools and go on ahead. I’ll be right here ta help.”

[berrodarmstrong]

Love In a Time of War - Ala Gannha

Morning had come all too quickly.

Gentle rays pushed through the thin spaces between the wooden shutters and door of the small Ala Ghanna apartment. Rather, it was an old storage space that had been turned into a makeshift dormitory by a generous local family. Perhaps it had been a living space even before that -- it would explain why there was a window with shutters to begin with. The ribbon of sun illuminated the floating bits of dust in the air, and cut a clean swath through a pair of bodies tangled upon a spread of blankets.

One of those bodies stirred in protest, while the other remained fast asleep. A shock of messy red hair emerged above a pair of bright green eyes that squinted in a most harassed fashion. The soft light from the shutters may as well have cut through him like a blade. The cross squint relaxed into adoration as he looked down at the other man with whom he had entwined; they had remained so after a night of vigorous lovemaking. It had been a rare and rewarding treat; with everything that had happened, the pair hardly had a chance for more than just furtive affections. Still...with the sun up and streaming into the room, Berrod Armstrong knew all too well that their comfort would need to end for the time being. There was work to do.

Ruefully he nudged Caleb, who immediately pulled in a deep breath and squirmed in resistance. "Gimme a quarter bell more," He mumbled groggily. Berrod smiled, and slipped a pair of fingers to scratch along the other man's beard. His bonded was not a morning person in the least. "Sun's already up, we're runnin' late." Caleb's hand covered his own, and quietly opened that pair of fingers into a full palm. The feel of the Agron's jawline pulled a slow sigh from Berrod -- and the dark haired Highlander knew all too well the effect it had on the other. "If we're already late then a quarter bell more won't matter, ey? Can't be late twice."

Berrod felt the urgency, he knew that every passing moment counted...but the prickle of Caleb's beard under his palm, the warmth of his skin, the push and ebb of his torso...the way their legs entwined to join them in intimacy. Even the smell of him -- the smell of them that they had made together; a quarter bell more was truly a tempting prospect. With a slow exhale, he relented, "Fine. Quarter bell. I'm leavin' you to get yelled at by the Adders, though. Won't come to your rescue there at all."

Caleb chuckled sleepily and shook his solid frame shaking against Berrod's. It was a subtle thing, but it warmed the redhead with the dull flame of desire. "I don't mind. That sounds like a plan to me." The bargain was struck, and Berrod leaned down to seal it with a slow, deep kiss -- a kiss that Caleb interrupted after a few ticks with a pushing palm. "Sleep," He urged.

It was Berrod's turn to chuckle. "Naw. I'll just relax until it's time. Rest up, big man." He sneaked in a peck, then settled down to watch the other man snooze. The Agron was so handsome, so strong...so alluring; so good. It was one of the things that made it so easy for Berrod to join the fight. Thinking about liberating an entire nation was daunting. It was enough pressure to bend a man out of shape in the worst ways, and make the entire experience unhappy -- even afterward, if they survived it. When Berrod thought of  fighting just to give a few people moments like this, it all came as naturally as breathing. This is what he wanted for himself...and this is what he would fight for others to have.

"I love you," He murmured. Caleb's response was a sleepy hum to the tune of the words, but it carried the same weight nonetheless.  Suddenly a quarter bell did not seem like enough.