RP:A Lover's Quarrel
Gualon City Plaza
The new city square of Gualon, this tiered quad is stocked with decor and feat of design, the small canals that feed from the fountain-pool to the north continuing their journeys almost unnoticed. Levelled in such a way that the grand square consists of three plateaus, the lowermost, and that which navigates the perimeter, designed in crosshatch fashion. Alternating black marble and onyx slabs, mimicking a gigantic chessboard, serve as surface for sole, hoof, paw and wheel, the surfaces polished and repaired regularly by the city maintenance crews. The second of the triad begins five slab rows in from skirting of the surrounding buildings, a small flight of steps leading to a vast square of kimberlite, a precious rock of blue tinge, polished and stripped of the diamonds within and utilised as material for the city square. The third is a circular base of elvan stone, a hardy material and specimen awash with tiny ovals of quartz that catch light of moon or sun to give illusion of a tiny pool of glittering stars. At the centre of this earthbound stratosphere stands the symbol of New Gualon; a great tree crafted entirely from bronze. From the base of sturdy trunk to tip of highest branch, the inanimate carving of perfection resembles entirely the form of a grand Sycamore, a true masterpiece of sculpture, every knot and miniscule crevasse upon the metal skin consolidated into depiction of meticulous craftsmanship. When season requires, ladders are set against the sides of this grand testament, lanterns hung from the branches and their tributaries, ribbons slung between, that the image appears to give off sense of life, though the only truth to this would be that tree which gave the idealistic workmen inspiration. A house appears available for rent along the western borough, south and north lead along the main road of the city. East takes into the grand garden parks of Gualon.
The lightning that tore fierily across Gualon’s night sky, and its threatening crack of thunder that chased after that angry purple streak, saw Rawnie riding her mare hard and fast back to the city surrounded by the swamps; her daughter hated storms just as much as the gypsy herself did, and finding shelter with her children seemed much more important than reading cards any day. Now, in the current time and place, Rawnie and her muck covered mare gallop down the city streets, weaving gracefully around those who had wandered from their homes and the tavern to inspect the night’s skies for any torrential downpour, or another brilliant streak of lightening. When the throng of people become too thick to rush through safely and quickly, the gypsy woman dismounts her steed and sends it from the city and back into the dry lands opposite the swamps with a resounding smack to its flank. While curiosity has the best of her, she tilts her dark gaze to the sky, almost waiting for a second bolt to rip apart the atmosphere.
Hadrian is completely ignorant of the bolt of lightning, ripping asunder the otherwise blackness of the sky. It is a norm now, under the present conditions. His hulking form stands in front of what once was the Governor's Estate, eyes--or at least what could be considered such--watch the tiny bodies down below as they move about hauling broken shards of the building out, and bringing in new resources with which to hew The Damned's HQ. "Each soul that contributes will be rewarded handsomely by He himself," his tone is the eerie sound of rocks grating against each other. Constantine, of the Murum Mors, nods his head from the ground and runs back into the throng to round up more willing citizens to work through the night. Not a moment of time has been wasted, evidenced by the steadily growing foundation of the undoubtedly grand structure that will serve as home to Vuryal. Rawnie's eventual approach is not noticed by Hadrian, whom cannot possibly make out such tiny features of a singular individual within the throng of those gathered.
Rawnie, having had her undivided attention set solely on reaching her house to be with her children, hadn’t noticed the change that occurred so near Gualon’s plaza; she even failed to notice the hulking creature who oversaw the project. In the moment following her rapid dismount, and her inquisitive glance to the night sky, she realizes that the crowd isn’t seeking for another cosmic flash, but staring at the golem. “What in god’s name…” She breathes, her bare feet seeking ground behind her in a slow retreat whilst her charmed bells jingle their small tune. Those around her looked on in quiet awe at the sheer size of the beast, while others pushed forth from the crowd to greedily take the offer provided by the disguised Hadrian, whose voice nearly rendered the gypsy deaf. Given her sensitive hearing, thanks due to her lycanthropy, she issues forth a squeal and immediately throws her hands over her ringing ears.
Hadrian is focused upon the task at hand--watching the people move about their decided job. This is to say that the pain his voice brings to Rawnie's ears, or even the surprise in which his form might elicit, goes yet again, unbeknownst to him. His hulking form bends over; the horrid sound of metal grating ensues once more, as he comes to grasp part of the building not yet cleared out. The demonstration of his raw power plays into effect, unearthing part of the establishment with a mighty tug that shows no strain upon the metal-bound Hadrian. Both hands come together, effectively crushing the particles into scraps, which fall haphazardly to the ground below him. "Now that it is all cleared, I don't want any time wasted." He speaks in that horribly rough voice of his, head angled down to better glean a look at the workers below. "He will be very pleased with how efficiently we complete this task He has set before us." He mutters in that droning voice, as if to stir excitement in the bodies of the workers fervently doing as they're told.
Rawnie finds herself wincing once more as the thing’s voice rings out over the gathering crowd, and the noise it produces whilst moving. Despite, however, the bone jarring sound the metal man makes, the gypsy woman is left in awe at the simplicity in which he tears out the building, and with that display of strength, Rawnie is jerked back to the present and her dark gaze whips over her shoulder to the direction of Foundling Street. Her kids, Hadrian, her home- all in potential danger with this hulking monstrosity haphazardly destroying the city for He-who-is-not-named-at-current. To those that brush past her to aid in the quick demolition of the establishment, and the rebuilding of a new, Rawnie cries a pleading, “Hadrian would not want this!” As she tugs on arms and hands of those both trying to help or run back to the safety of their own homes, she spies Constantine and gives up on her ploy to near the Murum Mor soldier who is wrangling more members into the crew. “Constantine!” Her words thereafter consist of demanding to know what that beast was, what was happening, and where Hadrian was, and haphazardly lain curses freckle her demands. It’s the first answer she receives that is the most harrowing of all, “That’s Hadrian.” Whatever words follow fall deaf on her ears, and she shoves through the crowd. That’s not Hadrian, that’s not Hadrian, she repeats to herself, her personal mantra to fuel the sudden urge to protect Hadrian’s city, her children and her home as she nears the golem. When she breaks through into the opening, which harbors a few besotted Gualonites, before the demolition site and Vuryal’s beast, she wastes no time in her attack. Unlike many who rely on chanted words or archaic tomes, Rawnie beseeches her elements with her body. Instantly, her arms snake out to either side of her, coiling into small circles that see her wrists rotating in time with her stomping foot that causes her bells to chime a simple tune. What foliage lay under the cobbled streets immediately pierce through and slither in rhythm to the gypsy’s seducing dance. With each rotation of her wrists, those vines grow thicker until their girth is akin to a horse’s belly, and silently they lie in wait at the opposite ends of the street. Seconds pass, and the gypsy falls silent, her dance paused, allowing the calm before the storm to settle. And then, her outstretched arms are pulled together, her hands clapping soundly against one another with her finger tips pointed toward the metalized Hadrian. Those summoned vines streak through the streets like omnipotent lightning, deftly avoiding those of flesh, and reaching for Hadrian’s hands, elbows, knees and feet. Eight vines in total, two shooting to encircle each aforementioned joint, and should they curl around the beast, she’d tug her arms toward her body, yanking on an invisible rope, to ground the golem so she might speak to him on her own level and terms.
Hadrian 's arms begin to fold across his burly chest, just as those vines whip out to grasp at him. In all honesty, he isn't nearly fast enough to react to them, in order to avoid them, but even so... with his strength tantamount to that of a higher being itself, he easily rips free the vines by way of jerking each limb in turn. The thundering concussions to the earth upon each foot lifting and settling again, causes a plume of dirt, sand, and dust to rise up from the filthy streets. "Who attempts to stop my will?" His gaze sweeps across the expanse of the street, glaring violently at any that so much as dare to look back. The hulking monstrosity rises up, arching his back straight as he sets his imposing presence to the readied sentinel, prepared to launch an attack upon even the entirety of this city, should it present a threat once more to him and his objective.
Rawnie hadn’t truly expected her vines to hold the golem for long, but she had hoped to catch him off guard and wrench him to the ground. As he snaps free from the foliage restraints, they immediately wither and seep back into the ground through the cracks and fissures in the roadway. When Hadrian’s glare passes over her, she’s returning the look of malice tenfold, and those in awe’d Gualonites have quickly dispersed, creating a gaping hole around the gypsy to spotlight her presence. Never one to enjoy being looked down upon, the Alpha in her demands to level the monstrosity before her so the invisible line of respect isn’t outrageously exaggerated, and without offering a vocalized answer, the gypsy spins slowly, allowing her left leg to extend outward and trace the ground in a sweeping circle. No vegetation presents itself this time; instead, the ground beneath Hadrian begins to rumble ominously. Beneath his hulking body and buried at least three feet in the ground, a rocky layer of the earth shifts. Once the slight rumble has ceased, Rawnie begins to twirl at an amazing speed, causing that isolated circle of rock to spin rapidly, turning itself into a drill bit, and burrowing a deep hole. That three feet of shale, which is used to camouflage her intentions until it’s too late, will eventually crumble away, and drop the golem into a fifteen foot hole that is at least thirteen feet in diameter. No doubt, if the crew members haven’t scattered, they’d too be dropped down the shaft. And to ensure that Constantine or any other brainwashed citizen doesn’t try to hinder Rawnie’s attempts, she stomps her foot, causing those bells around her ankle to chime once more, and a semi circle of nothing but sheetrock and cobble stone erect around her and Hadrian, seven feet in height. Despite her magical expertise, manipulating the earth is much more taxing than plant life, and with that new wall built around her, she staggers back to rest against it, her breath panted, and her weariness blatant.
Hadrian doesn't hesitate, nor does he attempt to discern what exactly it is that Rawnie is doing, for who could defeat the Ghroundium Golem? Promised by Vuryal himself to be an undefeatable war-machine. It is with this arrogance, that Hadrian stands his ground, watching Rawnie draw her magics in quick reprise. It is not with surprise that he reacts, simply understanding, as the ground gives out below his weight. Upon the completion of his descent, does the crust of the earth crack asunder, sending rippling waves to catch up with the feet of the unwary and force them into the gaping maw of the earth; the blackness beyond of unknown depth. Cool eyes, metal in fabrication, regard the Gypsy--his height enough to keep his body from entirely disappearing into that fifteen foot precipice. "You come here, unbidden, and cause this damage to my city!?" He hollers at her in that unearthly tone. His arms lift up and are drawn back, the hole only chest-high to him, and with decisive force of unknown bounds, those massive mitts come together! The bone-jarring concussive force of the clap sends air, scattered debris, and the like hurtling with hurricane force at the Druid. A vicious growl ensues, as Hadrian slowly pulls himself up and out of that would-be grave, clearly not finished with the meddling Rawnie.
Rawnie, despite her premature exhaustion, slides her right foot along the ground rapidly, causing those fissures Hadrian creates to seal shut a few feet below the surface, spurred to do so by the screams of the people. Once that mana is spent, she staggers a step forward, and despite the want to double over at the waist and pant her fatigue, her pride strengthens her spine, and she stands tall, her dark gaze leveled menacingly on the golem. “This is not your city,” she hisses, cringing against the sounds made with his words. “This is Hadrian’s city, the citizen’s city, mine and my children’s city. This. Is. Not. YOUR. City!” With each utterance, her volume grows until she’s bellowing the last of her words at him. Thankfully, she manages to part with her argument before Hadrian claps his hands together, and despite her strong stance, the slat of wood – given flight by the heavy winds- that is thrown into her gut lifts her from her feet, and allows Hadrian’s produced gust to slams her in the most graceless of fashions against her barricade, which in hind-sight was now a terrible idea. With the breath knocked from her, a two lower ribs cracked, and the back of her head bleeding freely from the laceration she received, Rawnie slumps to the ground and is threatened with unconsciousness. Nauseous, and bleary eyed, the gypsy manages to witness the golem’s attempt to climb from the hole, and with a last ditch effort on her behalf, her right hand knots into a fist, and with a grunt, she jerks her arm across her chest as if ripping shut curtains. The ground flanking the right side of Hadrian quivers and is thrown forward into his metallic body, but given the weakness of gypsy’s spell, and her lack of physical strength, the golem would neither be harmed or stuck within that hole. Despite the fact that Hadrian isn’t done with her, she is out for the count, and those dark eyes roll upward into her skull as she’s rendered cataleptic.
Hadrian can feel the weight of that wall crumble into him, but it isn't much of a bother as he scales the wall and pulls himself up. "Constantine!" Comes that resounding voice, hollered into the direction that the Murum Mor had disappeared into earlier. His familiar shape steps forth from the crowd and just as Hadrian points to Rawnie's body, he has already begun scaling the rock wall built up around the previously feuding couple. "Who is that?" He asks whilst leaning in closer to garner a better look. "It's Rawnie, sir," Constantine's eyes look up to Hadrian, worry washing over him, "She needs a healer." Hadrian simply nods his head, stepping onto the rock wall to open up a mouth in the stone-wrought circle. "I need a healer," The voice echoes into the throng and after a moment of hesitancy, a few people in the crowd surge forward, all boasting of their abilities. "Constantine, see to it she is taken home and kept under careful scrutiny. I don't want her to feel a thing when she wakes up, you understand?" The rumbling of his voice shakes the very earth about them, but the Murum Mor leader doesn't quiver beneath the force--he only nods his head, gingerly scooping up the fallen Druid and tending to her like his own daughter. A gaggle of healers follow in his wake as they exit the cities square. Hadrian returns his gaze back to the temple still to be built, hollering out to those standing around, gawking, "You won't earn anything sitting around like this!" And with that, the mob rushes back to work, feverishly tending to their previously abandoned tasks.