An Old Man's Quest: Part 2 - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: An Old Man's Quest: Part 2 (/showthread.php?tid=11805) |
- Marcus Biscay - 08-12-2010 [html] Hey there! This thread pre-dated to July 30th, yeah? That's what goes with my story arc. It can be set near Tallermein's Cottage, or walking through the countryside. At the cottage would be preferred. The only thing that can't be done is a trip to Haven Manor. Someone can either arrive, or already have been there. Whichever suits you better. :-) In the books that Marcus had read, the morning always seemed to come too soon. Today, he thought, the morning had come too late. He had gone to sleep anxious for sunrise, and anxious for his postponed adventure. Still, he woke up in the morning, and followed his usual routine. He rose from his bunk, wound his fob watch, and stumbled to the galley. Today, his left ankle was acting up. He glared at it with disappointed scorn. The afternoon before, prior to arriving at his ship, Marcus had picked some berries he found in the countryside. He threw them together with some eggs he had taken from a small nest in the trees, and cooked them on his fire stove. As he ate, he glanced at his cane, which was leaning against the starboard wall. He could still recall the time he began using that cane. It was the summer of '05. He was on assignment from the Congregatio, in Sarajevo. As he arrived in the city, a large pack of men on horseba--. Marcus had finished his breakfast. It was time to set out. He would have to recall his ventures in Sarajevo some other time. He grabbed his cane and satchel, thrust himself outside, and set out once again seeking Haven Manor, and Savina Marino. Not wanting to make another trip though the military camp he had crossed though the day before, Marcus followed the Mersey River northwest. He enjoyed the trickle of water in his ears as he walked. They reminded him of his time in Rome, along the Tiber. He would sit for days, just listening. Of course, as soon as his mark appeared, he would need to strike, but for the time, he would sit in bliss, just listening to the gentle waters against the docks. He could hear a great many things, sitting on the wooden bulkheads of the harbour. Captains quarrelling, their crews drinking and laughing gaily. Citizens chatting with each other, discussing the latest news. Birds gawking at nothing, and screeching at even less. Occasionally, even a few revolutionists, trying to re-establish 'The Ancient's Legacy'. Marcus would always laugh at these students, as they walked by, plotting assassinations, and drawing up 'battle plans'. If they had done their research properly, they would have seen that 'The Ancients' were nothing more than humans, and their 'Legacy' was nothing more than the empty shell they left behind when they---. Marcus came to the draw of the Mersey. 'Lake Rossignol', he thought. The Manor must be located on the other side of the water. He reached down to his waist, and took his spyglass out from it's case. Looking through it, he could make out the figure of a large, brick building. He smiled, content with his findings, and reached for his right fob watch. He opened it, shook it swiftly back and forth, and frowned. Putting it away, he took the other watch from his left pocket, and opened it. He smiled, put it away, and began walking once more. After a short time, Marcus looked to his left, and saw the windmill he had rested at the day before. He remembered his conversation with Ehno, and how wonderful it was to have met another who was well travelled. It made him happy to know that he wasn't alone in experience. Marcus continued to walk until he came to a sight which caught him off guard. Before him stood a goat. This wasn't an unusual sight to Marcus. Nor was it expected. He had seen goats rampant in the territories around Berlin. Though domestication teams were doing their best, the fact of the matter were that there were just too many to rally. Marcus was called in to subdue the problem. His mission was to destroy the breeding grounds that the goats had established. It made Marcus chuckle that the Congregatio was taking such official action against goats. They even went as far as to call it a 'secret operation'. When he arrived, Marcus' jaw fell limp at the overwhelming amount of fauna before him. It was apparent that he would need to---. Marcus remembered his mission. He checked his left fob watch. It was already half past eleven. He would need to move quickly if he wanted his visit to last. He spun around, and started to walk again. He looked about as he walked, and his eyes caught on to a figure. He smiled slightly, and planted his feet, cane in between for support. He then waited. Whatever happened next would be up to the figure that stood before him. 800+ .marcus-a04 b {font-weight:bold; color:#021F2B; letter-spacing:1px; } .marcus-a04 i {color: #021F2B; } .marcus-a04 .ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px;} .marcus-a04 p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:10px;} .marcus-a04 {margin:0 auto; width:400px; background-color:#5A5A5A; background-image:url(http://miserymagazine.webs.com/Marcus%20Table%2033.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #000000; padding: 10px 0px 350px 0px; font-family: Big Caslon, sans-serif; font-size:15px; color:#FFFFFF; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} .marcus-a04 .separator{width:375px; border-bottom:.05px dotted #FFFFFF; margin:0 auto 50px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-17-2010 [html] ^-^ Here I am! Sorry the post is a little rambly at the beginning... xD
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-17-2010 [html] Ahaha no problem! You must be a walking talking thesaurus! Great vocabulary! :-D Female. This was the first of many words to come to Marcus' head in his brief deduction. Cane, weaker right side. No sign of scarring. Bone shattered, perhaps. Crushed. Yes. Recovering, about two months along. Injury therefore sustained in early June, late May. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Ear pierced. Slim build. Stunning resemblance to Ehno Marcus blinked. Savina... No. Cane. Injury. Alphess would need to impose upon the whole of the pack. Impossible for a leader to show a sign of weakness... She doesn't look weak to me. The old man looked the female before him up and down, and drew more and more conclusions. Clothing. Well, partial clothing. Well, sarong. Pretty colour. Marcus had not seen a sarong in quite some time. His mother used to wear them around the house. She would wear a bright red one, with beads and heavy detail which she had added herself. All of Marcus' clothing was made by her. Including the vest he was wearing this day. The tell tale beads and detail were present. The beads closed the pockets, and the entire backing on the vest had a tremendous amount of detail. Thinking about his mother often made Marcus fall into a fit of depression, and so, all thought on that subject ceased and desisted. Marcus regarded the woman in front of him as she spoke. Another Italian, he thought. Glorious! A smile was becoming familiar to his face at this point. There were so many wonderful things in these lands. How could he resist? Everything around him was pulsating with nuance and adventure, something which he longed for, even as a child. At the age of 6 months, Marcus had uncovered a locksmithing kit from a shop in Kensington. He quickly picked up basic lock-picking after disassembling a few lock mechanisms, and so, decided to try out his skill on a larger target. Namely, the Tower of London. This new world, the people, the places, the air, even the grass, gave him the same rush as the prison antechambers inside the great fortress of the White Tower. " Good morning. No, I can't imagine you would have seen me here before. I'm new, said Marcus with a sort of odd pride. "La mia nave ha portato a me a queste terre. Vengo da Europa anche." The Musketeer smiled, and gave his counterpart a wonderful glance. My name is Marcus Thadeus Biscay. No, you won't have to say that every time. I'm old, I save time by sticking to 'Marcus'. Come ti chiami, signora?" It did Marcus good to brush up on his languages. And surprising people with foreign words was always a good time. 500+ .marcus-a05 .ooc {font-style:italic; } .marcus-a05 p {padding:0px 20px 5px 20px; margin:0px; text-indent:35px;} .marcus-a05 b {color:#FDF252; letter-spacing:-.2px;} .marcus-a05 i {color:#FDF252; letter-spacing:-.4px;} .marcus-a05 {margin:0 auto; width:400px; background-color:#A87B58; background-image:url(http://miserymagazine.webs.com/Marcus%20Table%205.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; padding:10px 0px 285px 0px; border:1px solid #2B5286; font-family: Baskerville, serif; font-size:14px; color:#2B5286; letter-spacing:.4px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:16px; width:400px; text-align:justify; } .marcus-a05 .separator{width:360px; border-bottom:1px dotted #2B5286; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-17-2010 [html] Aw, thank you! Not really - just on some of the older words. I apparently have a very old-fashioned way of speaking, but I can usually wean it off in writing. ;3 And this post would've been done faster, but your girlfriend was distracting me. XD
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-17-2010 [html]
As the brown haired woman walked toward Marcus, he noticed subtle things about her. Her hips moved with the sort of wide stride that accompanies childbirth. She was a mother. Also, the stick which she walked with had a rustic quality about it. It reminded Marcus of an old friend of his: Jacques Baroné, The Hammer.* He would always hulk about carrying a large staff that he had ripped from a great oak. It was old, worn, and absolutely devastating when used properly. The woman before Marcus seemed to be powerful enough to be imposing with a cane, but too lacking in experience to do any proper damage. Still, he would not want to test her. "New? To the pack you mean, or just to the area?" said the woman. Marcus had only the confirmation of two of the pack's many members, and so he did not count himself as being a part of such yet. "To the area," he said, "I've only just arrived on these shores in the past few days." Marcus approved of such questions. He would not expect anybody to know who he was around here. His legends were strung in lands far far away. When the blue-eyed female in front of him slipped her utterances into Italian, Marcus once more felt right at home. As with Ehno, it had warmed his heart to find such a familiar tone in such a far off place. He smiled a deep, warm smile, and said, "Thank you. I picked up a lot during my stays in Rome and Venice. I myself, however, hail from London. I tend to figure that my accent would give it away, but I'm so world weary at this point that I suppose my tone has become one of many dialects. It was true. Marcus had become so peregrinated that his London accent had been lost, and a new, 'Pseudo-Euro' dialect had consumed his speech. It would be near impossible for anybody to pinpoint his exact origin from his voice alone. Marcus' eyes widened in glee, and his mouth opened to sound out a celebratory noise. "Ha! I could have bet my life on that! You look so much like your brother, I could have sworn you were the same person," the old man laughed. "A pleasure to meet you, Ghita Marino. And thank you. But I suppose this is hardly the appropriate instance for 'welcome'. I arrived two days ago, and met with Anu. Yesterday, I met your brother. I suppose it is fitting that now, I meet you, and then tomorrow, your sister." Marcus laughed, but then drew himself back inward. He had come to seek out Savina, not her sister... But what was another day? Perhaps it would be best to gain favour with the pack members before meeting their leader. It wasn't like he had a deadline to meet. Savina could wait. Ghita was worth a chat. *In 1997, a group of French revolutionaries took it upon themselves to create L'Orage de Approche; The Oncoming Storm. It was a radical group designed to locate and destroy any and all pieces of human architecture, technology, and culture. In 2002, a large Orage platoon led by Raelle Couchon ransacked Versaille, and began to rip it apart. The Congregatio took notice, and sent in their best associates to deal with the threat. Marcus Birch, The Musketeer; Amalia Corusa, The Historian; and Stanislaus Javoltz, Der Spion, were all present. During the initial struggle, Amalia and Marcus were captured while supplying a distraction for Stan. He would proceed to run to the nearest settlement, and rally up a small militia. The militia, led by Stan and the town's Alpha Male, Jacques Baroné, would rush the palace, and succeed in saving most of the valuables inside. In the final confrontation between Raelle Couchon and Jacques, the latter would show his exceptional strength of mind and body, leading to his eventual induction into the Congregatio. wc = 735 .marcus-a02 b {font-weight:bold; color:#ADD8E6; letter-spacing:1px; } .marcus-a02 i {font-weight:italic; color:#ADD8E6; letter-spacing:1px; } .marcus-a02 .ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px;} .marcus-a02 p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .marcus-a02 {margin:0 auto; width:500px; background-color:#000000; background-image:url(http://miserymagazine.webs.com/Marcus%20Table%202.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #000000; padding: 10px 0px 300px 0px; font-family: Chaparral Pro, sans-serif; font-size:14px; color:#85ADAD; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-18-2010 [html] Sorry it's not a particularly good post... muse doesn't tend to favor me early in the morning. : P
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-18-2010 [html] That's ok, I don't expect mine to be that cunning and brilliant either... I've been having bad headaches lately. "England, yes." Marcus had forgotten where he was. People no longer knew of such places. It was by chance that even a native to Italy knew of England. Transportation back in Europe tended to be very limited, and therefore, so was communication. Ships, horses, and wagons were the extent of European transport. The great metal machines described by the archives as 'Airplanes' were obsolete. Cars, trucks, and vans also could not be used. Even fuel powered ships were turned into scrap. Not only could such mediums of transport not be powered, but the knowledge required to pilot such machines was lost long ago. The whole of European society had, in essence, reverted to the 19th century. Technology such as phones and computers were also obsolete, along with any other device requiring electricity. Long ago, the power plants of the humans were shut down. Many organizations (including the Congregatio), had attempted to get them running once again, but such a task was daunting, even for brilliant minds. Thinking on such topics as electricity brought sadness to Marcus. He had lost a great friend to such devices. But he would not dwell on such things. He had a conversation to uphold. Eleven nieces and nephews... Marcus had thought about the extent of the Marino family the day before, but that was before he had met Ghita. The Marino clan was truly massive. Not as massive as it could be, or as large as his hypothesis had projected, but still, massive. He would not dare attempt to meet them all. Such a task would eventually fulfill itself. In the future, he would eventually meet everyone, but for now, Savina would suffice. Ghita deserved to know why Marcus was seeking her sister. Truthfully, anybody who asked deserved to know. It wasn't a devastating secret. "I wish to make my presence known," started Marcus. "I could not possibly feel at home here without first meeting the woman in charge." Realizing a skip in formality, Marcus corrected himself. "I've taken residence here, you see. Thanks to that lovely woman, Anu, giving me permission to stay... But that still puts my concern into the light. I must discuss my permanent stay with Savina. She deserves to know what she's letting into her lands." The old man reached back to his satchel, and pulled out a small package. "Also, I have a gift." He glanced at Ghita, and deposited the package into his bag once more. "Sadly, for her eyes only. I apologize." Marcus wasn't sure how the rest of the pack would react to his gift. He didn't even know how Savina would react. Hopefully, she would understand his plea. Otherwise, The Musketeer may be sailing to new lands once again. 500+ .marcus-a05 .ooc {font-style:italic; } .marcus-a05 p {padding:0px 20px 5px 20px; margin:0px; text-indent:35px;} .marcus-a05 b {color:#FDF252; letter-spacing:-.2px;} .marcus-a05 {margin:0 auto; width:400px; background-color:#A87B58; background-image:url(http://miserymagazine.webs.com/Marcus%20Table%205.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; padding:10px 0px 285px 0px; border:1px solid #2B5286; font-family: Baskerville, serif; font-size:14px; color:#2B5286; letter-spacing:.4px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:16px; width:400px; text-align:justify; } .marcus-a05 .separator{width:360px; border-bottom:1px dotted #2B5286; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-19-2010 [html] Aw, that's no good! DX Try some advil and lots of liquid? I can't say I'm a stranger to bad headaches, though..
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-20-2010 [html] Uh oh, the leg has been brought up xD Kind was not the word Marcus would have used to describe his gift to Savina. Words could not describe the emotion behind the small lump of faded white parchment inside the old man's satchel. He imagined it's mystery. He imagined the wondrous things which he himself would picture inside. Rings, rubies, gold, heirlooms-- all fantastic. All wrong. "Yes, I suppose," chuckled Marcus. "I do hope it is well received." The old man's head began to veer off to the right, lost in distress. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about - Savina is a kind Alphess, and she'll be more than happy to have you, if I know her at all," said Ghita. These words lifted Marcus' heart from the slump it had begun to fall into. After all, who would know Savina better than her own sister? Perhaps her brother..? Marcus had never bothered to ask Ehno about the gift. But no matter. That was in the past. "Your sister continues to present herself as a wonderful person. She should consider that a compliment, seeing as I have yet to make her acquaintance," said Marcus. "I suppose her appreciation will have to be had unconsciously." A spark of light hit the green of Marcus' left eye. He began to laugh. An old arm reached towards his left waistcoat pocket. As the tip of his index finger reached the dark burgundy bead that held closed the pocket, the entire arm froze, and retreated. The opposite hand patted the pocket, and a content chuckle sounded from within a worn old throat. Marcus did not need to know the time. He looked up at Ghita, and then down to her leg. A small wheel in the back of his mind began turning once more, and the fires of the old man's memory came blazing to life. "Your leg. It must have been overwhelming," started Marcus, as he drew his eyes up to meet with Ghita's. The pain, I mean." The grizzled seriousness of Marcus' face was only matched by the vividness of his sincerity. He threw his cane up, and caught it mid-air, grasping the midsection. "There's more to my using this cane than old age. He regarded his cane almost curiously, and then turned a straight face onto Ghita. A slight smile cracked the corner of his mouth. "Would you like to hear a story?" 300+ .marcusgift01a b {font-weight:bold; color:#aaa299; letter-spacing:1px; } .marcusgift01a-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#44403d; text-align:left;} .marcusgift01a p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 15px; margin:0px;} .marcusgift01a {margin:0 auto; width:446px; background-color:#d3cec9; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... ift001.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #44403d; padding: 250px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#44403d; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .marcusgift01a-border1 {width:448px; border:1px solid #beaba5; margin:0 auto;} .marcusgift01a-line1 {width:416px; border-bottom:1px dotted #8d8884; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-21-2010 [html] Oh noes! D:! But story time makes it better. XD
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-21-2010 [html] Sorry it's so long xD You don't have to read it all if you don't want to. The end is the important part ;-) Marcus' eyes widened, and his lungs filled with a gloriously generous amount of air. Oh, how he wished to tell a story. It gave him joy, in it's rawest form. For a man who's life had been so long, and so turbulent, the retelling of events made him realize just how lucky he was to have found refuge. It brought happiness to an old man's heart to be able to dazzle people with the ventures of The Musketeer. Marcus gestured for his new friend to sit down on a mound, and slid his cane back down to the palm of his hand. "I always wish to tell a story, Ghita, said Marcus, as he looked to the sky. His bi-coloured eyes squinted as they hit the sun's heavy rays. He turned the whole of his body towards Ghita, and planted his cane by his foot. He leaned on the old stick, and used it as a balance to sit on a large stone. Once the old man was down, the cane was placed by the side of the stone, and his eyes met the curled ball that his hands had become. "Back where I come from-- and I suppose where you come from as well-- there was an ancient society. Ever since the Rising, the society was flourishing. They were The Specialis Lupus Congregatio. Nobody really knew who they were, what they did, or why they did it, but what was known for sure is that they were the most powerful organization ever to cross the face of Europe. They were kings, and they were paupers. They were generals, and they were slaves. To those within the organization, it was simply 'The Congregatio'. To those without, it was nothing. A speck in the light. A shadow from the corner of their eye." Marcus' tone darkened slightly. "And what can a shadow do? Nothing. So you ignore it. You let it slip away from your mind. But then it's dark, and the shadow can consume you. This was The Congregatio. Wonderful, and treacherous." His tone settled once more. "Among the society's renowned alumni were the very best in every field imaginable. Spies, historians, brutes, linguists, scientists, chemists, navigators, strategists, and of course, swordsmen. Among the best of all, arguably the best of all, was The Musketeer; the master of swordsmanship, and jack of all other trades. He was so named for his mastery of the sword and gun, and his righteousness towards others. Throughout the whole of his career, he amassed such a large reputation that in the end, he had to be retired, due to the large pantheon of enemies he had won himself. This, is a story of him." "You yourself are from Italy, and so I assume you are familiar with the Adriatic Sea. Well, on the other side of that immense body of water is a large city known as Sarajevo. It is a city of impossibly ancient buildings, and amazingly scarce order. Even the wonders of Rome could not compete with it's age. It is there that our story is set." Marcus leaned back, and rested his hand on the grass, supporting his weight. " It was near the end of The Musketeer's career. He had just finished his last assignment in Berlin, turning up only one lead on the man he was chasing. The one lead led him to Sarajevo. As he arrived in the city, he was greeted by a large pack of men on horseback. They looked mostly harmless, save for one; apparently, the leader. He was armed to the teeth with weapons, customized to fit his hands, and upgraded to cause maximum destruction. He also bore the seal of the family Harsevekt. The seal which The Musketeer was chasing. The sealed leader spoke up, and said, 'What is your business in Sarajevo?' The Musketeer's ears peaked. He knew that tone. This man would not think twice about shooting him clear in the head. He tried to reason, saying 'I am here, only to find a friend of mine. Let me pass, and none of you will be harmed' The men laughed at The Musketeer's threat. The leader drew his sword, and laughed even louder: 'You are one man! We are legion! YOU will leave now, or else YOU will be "harmed"' The Musketeer sighed. He did not want to see bloodshed. 'This is your last warning, Harsevekt. Let me to your brother, or I will take no pleasure in killing you.' The Harsevekt leader's eyes widened. His grip on his sword grew tighter and tighter, and he reared his horse in anger. He let out a foul scream. The Musketeer was not welcome here. But alas, wherever his mission led him, he had to go, and so, he quickly drew a pistol from his belt, and fired a single shot towards the leader. The Harsevekt thugs started scattering, and began to attempt attacks. The Musketeer's single bullet spun through the air, and finally met with it's target. The Harsevekt leader flew off of his horse, and tumbled to the ground. A path had been cleared, and The Musketeer began to dash to City Hall." "Around every corner of every block The Musketeer cleared, a new group of thugs appeared to challenge him. He would lash out his gun, blaze two or three off of their horses, and clash swords with the rest. He worked for what seemed like a lifetime to get to the town square, and eventually made it into City Hall. An eerie silence fell on the main room of the hall. The Musketeer grew uneasy. This was a trap. The man he was seeking, Klaus Harsevekt, was a renegade spy from The Congregatio. He was one of the best, and more than a match for the skills of The Musketeer. Caution was key. An easy foot was The Musketeer's most friendly ally as he snuck through the empty hallways. Eventually, he made his way to the Governor's office, where Klaus was sure to be. He stepped inside, and heard the voice of an old friend. 'Mr. Birch!' This was The Musketeer's name. 'Mr Birch! how lovely it is to see you again!' His tone was evil in nature. Mr. Birch threw his head about the room, searching for his old ally. He spoke: 'If only I could say the same, Mr. Harsevekt.' Suddenly, Klaus burst from a cabinet, sword brandished, and threw himself toward The Musketeer, who drew his sword just as suddenly, and clashed blades with the spy. Having lost the element of surprise, Klaus ran out of the room, and jumped out of a window. He landed in a bail of hay, and exploded upwards, and outwards toward his horse." "The Musketeer saw his target's planned direction, and ran out to the front door. He drew his pistol once more, and stepped out into the sun to meet his enemy. Klaus, predicting The Musketeer's actions, led his horse around the corner of the City Hall, and charged towards The Musketeer. Now, The Musketeer was fast, but not fast enough. The horse trampled over top of him, and crushed his ankles beneath it's tremendous weight. The Musketeer howled in pain, and laid broken on the ground. But he would not be beaten." Marcus rolled off of the stone he was on, and mimed the next part of his story. "He grabbed his pistol from in front of him, used his arm as a balance rod, and aimed at his fleeing enemy. He waited for the correct moment, and when the moment presented itself, he took his shot." The old man stood, and mimed the bullet's path with his hands. "The shot connected perfectly, piercing both Klaus' leg, and the horse's torso. The horse bucked wildly, flinging the wounded spy wickedly into the air, and into a stone wall. If the impact had not destroyed him, the Congregatio would soon be around to collect his body. Not soon enough for The Musketeer, however. He crawled across the city, quickly ridding the streets of any leftover thugs who thought they could take advantage of a crippled man. He arrived at the harbour, and put himself on-board an old fishing boat. He grabbed an oar, sat himself up, and rowed back into neutral lands, to the North." The excitement on Marcus' face soon turned to diluted sadness. "When he arrived at the Congregatio outpost, he was celebrated, and honoured. Imagine... To be celebrated for killing a friend. He was given two months leave after that. Recovery time. Time to be spent with his family. He enjoyed that time..." Marcus trailed off. That time that he spoke of was the last period in which he spent more than a few days with his family. But he would not let his past catch up to him. Not yet. He pulled out his watch. It was almost three o' clock. A friendly glance was sent to Ghita. "The moral is, you're only as weak as you believe you are. The Musketeer was no-one special. Just a regular man, from a regular pack, in a regular city. His wounds have healed, and nowadays, he's no less dangerous." Marcus winked at Ghita, and gave her a playful grin. Perhaps she knew what it meant, and perhaps not. Truthfully, it didn't matter. The old man's point had come across. That is all he could have hoped for. 1,500+ .marcusgift01a b {font-weight:bold; color:#aaa299; letter-spacing:1px; } .marcusgift01a-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#44403d; text-align:left;} .marcusgift01a p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 15px; margin:0px;} .marcusgift01a {margin:0 auto; width:446px; background-color:#d3cec9; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... ift001.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #44403d; padding: 250px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#44403d; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .marcusgift01a-border1 {width:448px; border:1px solid #beaba5; margin:0 auto;} .marcusgift01a-line1 {width:416px; border-bottom:1px dotted #8d8884; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-23-2010 [html] Don't worry - I love story time too. XD
In essence, he was the hero of all of the stories she and Jazper had told Sophia and Aro, finally coming to life. .ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-23-2010 [html] Good! I kinda can't help myself when it comes to telling tales :-P By the way, sorry it's so short... I don't really have much to say xD Ghita did not say so, nor did she need to, but she understood. Marcus could see in her eyes that she had pieced his story together. It was his goal, not to gloat about his tremendous accomplishments, but to teach a life lesson. If he had told her flat out that he had accomplished all that was in his story, the impact of emotion would never be anywhere near what it was. In Marcus' eyes, she had nothing to be ashamed of, limping about. She had survived whatever it was that crushed her leg. That would be enough for Marcus to respect her immensely. As she spoke, the old adventurer turned his head to the side, and sported a facetious laugh. "You have have no idea, my dear," he said, strafing his eyes about to meet Ghita's. Telling his story had made Marcus curious about Ghita's leg, and how exactly it was damaged. He could tell by looking at it that it had been crushed by something of immense weight and size, but what could be so large? A quick glance down towards his left ankle gave Marcus a quick shot of pain; a remembrance of his visit to Sarajevo. In his old age, the damage was coming back to haunt him. But his pain was quickly forgotten as Ghita offered her story. A wish had been granted! It was always Marcus' way to remain silent about curiosity until the answer presented itself, and so this suited him fine. "If you wish to tell it," joked Marcus, throwing his hand to the air in jest. He attempted to lighten the mood further, in hopes that Ghita's story would be a little more fortune filled than his own. 300+ .marcus-a01 .ooc {font-style:italic; } .marcus-a01 p {padding:0px 20px 5px 20px; margin:0px; text-indent:35px;} .marcus-a01 b {color:#2B5286; letter-spacing:-.2px;} .marcus-a01 {background-color:#D6E2EE; background-image:url(http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/2010june/marcus.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; padding:10px 0px 275px 0px; border:1px solid #2B5286; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#374961; letter-spacing:.4px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:16px; width:400px; text-align:justify; } .marcus-a01-border {width:402px; border:1px solid #FFFFFF; margin:0 auto; } .marcus-a01 .separator{width:320px; border-bottom:1px dotted #07121E; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-25-2010 [html] No problem! Ghita'll make up for that
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-25-2010 [html] Ahaha of course she will! ... Has!:-P I have to get my mind back into this thread xD I've been updating the wiki, so my mind is... shall we say... elsewhere? Marcus listened to Ghita's story with eagerness. He knew absolutely nothing of the lands he walked, and so, was delighted to hear even the most abysmal stories of it's past. And this was indeed a story from a darker time in the past of Crimson Dreams. Marcus' head swum with the images Ghita described. His overactive imagination created an entire scene and setting for Ghita's story. The old trees marking the flanks... A few rolling hills, green with Summer freshness... And Old Red, a tall, red barn. In Marcus' mind, a wonderfully aged white trim was added to the edges of the barn. The imaginary smell of hay and manure filled his nostrils, and a fantastically cool breeze swept back his hair. The scene had now been set, and Marcus was free to soak up more details from the story. First came names. Cambria, Savina's daughter... For a brief moment, a shiver ran down the old man's spine. I can't breath. Why can't I breath? It hurts to look... Daddy... Daddy, save me... Marcus' mind shifted back into reality. Mati, Anu's daughter. For some reason, Marcus found it hard to picture the offspring of Anu, and so instead, he pictured Anu, a few years younger. He pictured the children playing together. It brought him joy to see children play once more, even if they were only figments of the mind. He pictured them in his perfect scene. A blissful day had been had in Marcus' mind. But then, the sun clouded over, and the breeze turned to a spiteful wind. The decrepit foundation of Old Red cracked under it's own weight, and a terrible sound rang out in Marcus' imaginary ears. But now, what could this be? A team of imaginary wolves, coming to save the day, arrived in the scene, which was quickly becoming more and more frightful. Kansas was pictured as a tall, strong man with light brown fur, and Jazper was pictured as the only other Jasper Marcus knew: Jasper Camala. The Jasper Marcus knew was mid-sized, well built, and completely white. The only thing Ghita's Jazper remained without was the pink eyes, separating Camala as an albino. As the story progressed, Marcus grew more and more enthralled in suspense. He knew very well what was going to happen. He had deduced it several minutes before. He simply wanted the reassurance of Ghita's word. And then he had it. His scalp drew back swiftly, and his expression remained still. The only part of him moving was his left ankle, pulsating with empathy. The epilogue of Ghita's story continued, leaving Marcus questioning this new information about 'Aniwaya', but he decided to leave that for another day. The look on Ghita's face told Marcus a new story which he was unaccustomed to hearing. In Europe, when somebody was wounded, they were taken to a practitioner, and given treatment. After that, they would be given an alloted time to recover. During that period, they would be given a tremendous amount of respect for their pain. In Marcus' eyes, a female, who's leg had been crushed-- by a barn, at that --should be given an immense amount of respect for her suffering. To have lived through such a thing is a feat which should never go overlooked. The old man heard the end of the story, and eyed the afflicted leg with marked grief. "Yes, I imagine so. I'm surprised you didn't get worse. You're a very lucky woman," said Marcus. "As for that cane... I suspect you'll not be seeing the end of it's use for quite some time." His arm lifted slightly, bearing the cane, and pointing it to the horizon. He looked it over, and placed the midsection into his other hand. "I've been using this ever since my injury. I expect it's use to stop with my heart. But..." The old man stood up, and walked slowly, five paces. A smile crossed his face. "I've learned to manage. Quite well in fact. People never seem to expect the crippled old man to be able to topple them with a single blow." As he uttered the last syllable of his sentence, he tapped a nearby tree with his cane. His entire body remained perfectly still, save his eyes, which turned to meet Ghita's. "You're only as weak as you believe." 500+ .marcusgift01a b {font-weight:bold; color:#aaa299; letter-spacing:1px; } .marcusgift01a-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#44403d; text-align:left;} .marcusgift01a p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 15px; margin:0px;} .marcusgift01a {margin:0 auto; width:446px; background-color:#d3cec9; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... ift001.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #44403d; padding: 250px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#44403d; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .marcusgift01a-border1 {width:448px; border:1px solid #beaba5; margin:0 auto;} .marcusgift01a-line1 {width:416px; border-bottom:1px dotted #8d8884; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-27-2010 [html] XD No problem at all!
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-27-2010 [html] Bahh, I like reading reactions in EXTREME DETAIL xD Speaking of extreme detail... This post is lacking :-\ I found myself oddly unmotivated... BUT then I watched a bit of Zorro, and that pulled me through! :-) Marcus did not, by any means, endorse murder. He had always wished that those around him would do as he said, and not as he did. If posed with an enemy, he would be much more inclined to knock them out with a blow to the head than to stab them through the chest. Yet his life, as complicated as it was, could never allow him to do such a thing. There was always the one man who would get back up, and add a scar to the old man's collection. He simply couldn't risk it. At Ghita's question, Marcus stayed remarkably still. He thought about his cane, and the many ways it could be manipulated. He thought about the sword on his ship, and how similar the two weapons could be. For what was his cane, other than a walking aid? It was a long, hard object which could easily knock someone onto the ground within seconds. "I know how to wield this cane as many things. One of which is a fighting tool, yes." he replied, slowly regarding it's copper grip. Then, he mimed the many uses of his apparatus. "It can also be an arm, a lever, a prod--" his attempts to avoid violent uses soon ran out. He returned his glance to the grip, and held it up. "A club," he said, somewhat sarcastically. The sarcasm was however, uncalled for. That copper pistol grip, fastened to the end of Marcus' cane could easily break an arm, leg, or rib, given the appropriate amount of power, accuracy, and leverage. Marcus continued to scan his cane. Originally, it was a gift from Alisa, his mate. She knew he would need it eventually, and also knew that he would want a few upgrades added. She visited the local carpenter, and then made a trip to London to visit a blacksmith. Sparing no expense, she bought long, bendy cane, made from the finest wood, and had the carpenter hollow out a cavern inside. In London, she purchased the finest steel, and the most beautiful copper, to have a pistol gripped sword made, matching the exact specifications of the hollowed out cane. She then had the two fitted, and put a latch onto the neck, preventing any accidents. Over the next few months, Alisa would make several attempts to inform her mate of her little 'upgrade', but always found some distraction to keep her from telling him. To this day, Marcus has never found out. He remains completely daft to the true lethality of his walking stick. The old man ran his fingers along the curvatures of his cane. At Ghita's next inquiry, his hand stopped, and was brought to his side. He looked up to her, and sent a straight look into the back of her head. "Yes. Yes I could teach you. Speaking generally, I could teach everyone in this pack. The trouble is, one can never know how a skill will eventually be put to use," said Marcus. "If I were to teach you how to use your injury to your advantage, I would be turning that stick into something much more---" His tone grew strong, and serious, "Helpful, than a cane used for walking," and then settled back to normality. "I understand you, Ghita. I know why you're asking this of me, and that is why I will agree. But understand that you will have to be patient. This will take time, and this will take dedication. This may even take a certain degree of pain. But I can promise you, once you are ready, you will praise the day Old Red came down." A pain shot through the back of the old man's head, and then receded. He felt badly for bringing up Ghita's past once again, but the feeling was soon lifted. He knew what it was to be made stronger by a travesty. He knew it all too well. It was painful, and morbid, and it was outrageously hard, but most of all, and best of all, it was triumph in it's purest form. 750+ .marcus-a05 .ooc {font-style:italic; } .marcus-a05 p {padding:0px 20px 5px 20px; margin:0px; text-indent:35px;} .marcus-a05 b {color:#FDF252; letter-spacing:-.2px;} .marcus-a05 {margin:0 auto; width:400px; background-color:#A87B58; background-image:url(http://miserymagazine.webs.com/Marcus%20Table%205.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; padding:10px 0px 285px 0px; border:1px solid #2B5286; font-family: Baskerville, serif; font-size:14px; color:#2B5286; letter-spacing:.4px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:16px; width:400px; text-align:justify; } .marcus-a05 .separator{width:360px; border-bottom:1px dotted #2B5286; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-29-2010 [html] XD Zorro seems perfect! But heh... I guess I got a little bit carried away.. ^^;
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Marcus Biscay - 08-30-2010 [html] Bah, that's fine. I enjoy long posts :-P Sadly, I can't seem to write them myself xD I'm starting to wrap this up. If you want, Ghita could walk back to the ship and see Marcus off there. Or it could end around here. Ghita was not ready for what Marcus had to teach her. She would need to heal a while longer before she could be strong enough to shoulder the exertion. The best thing for her, Marcus thought, was to spend time with her kin, and strengthen her mind. She obviously needed some time to get over the trauma that Old Red had caused. Marcus felt as if Ghita's reasons for loathing Old Red were somewhat misplaced. Yes, this Cambi was endangered, but surely she too had grown stronger from the experience. Surely, she would now know not to place herself in such a situation again, and surely she now realized the extents to which her family would go to save her. Perhaps Marcus would bring this point up during Ghita's training. That seemed an appropriate time for such a thing. Marcus had been staring at his foot as Ghita had been talking. Occasionally he would render a glance in her direction, but for the most part, his foot was the primary topic of his attention. This was by no means a rude gesture-- he still listened carefully to each of her words. But his foot just seemed to be abnormal. A strand of hair out of place, perhaps. As Ghita finished, Marcus' podiatric fixation came to a close, and he regarded her once more. His voice was now that of a professor, and he was teaching. "I agree. You are ready to learn. Mentally. However I fear that you may need to rest for a while longer. You said it happened a few months back? Well, judging by your injury's current vanity, my guess is only one or two months back. Now, I'm no physician, but I've spent a lot of time in hospitals, and a lot more time with field medics. And with that experience, I can tell you..." It pained Marcus to have to say this. He knew it would discourage her, but it was true, and had to be said. "You're going to need to recover for just a little while longer." Marcus quickly led the briefing away from despair, and on to Ghita's preparation. "Now before you say anything, don't." A smile crossed his face. He loved saying that. "Just because you won't be bolstering your skill doesn't mean I don't want you strengthening your will. I want you to recover for another month. During that time, read." Marcus worried... Could she read at all? "Read books in English, Italian, anything. Do whatever you can to decrease your reaction time. Your best friend will be your reflexes." Marcus paused. He smiled once more. "And Ghita... Don't tell anybody about these lessons. Your second best friend is surprise." The old man took out his left watch, and checked the time. Five 'o clock. Time to return home. He was slightly disappointed that he had not made it to Haven Manor that day, but equally pleased to have met Ghita. He closed the watch, and placed it back in his pocket. He then placed his cane in between his legs, and transferred his weight. 500+ .marcus-a01 .ooc {font-style:italic; } .marcus-a01 p {padding:0px 20px 5px 20px; margin:0px; text-indent:35px;} .marcus-a01 b {color:#2B5286; letter-spacing:-.2px;} .marcus-a01 {background-color:#D6E2EE; background-image:url(http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/2010june/marcus.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; padding:10px 0px 275px 0px; border:1px solid #2B5286; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#374961; letter-spacing:.4px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:16px; width:400px; text-align:justify; } .marcus-a01-border {width:402px; border:1px solid #FFFFFF; margin:0 auto; } .marcus-a01 .separator{width:320px; border-bottom:1px dotted #07121E; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] - Ghita Marino - 08-31-2010 [html] Sure, I'll reply one last time. Thanks for the thread! I enjoyed it. ^^
.ghitajulygift01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#8c99a5; letter-spacing:1px; } .ghitajulygift01-ooc {font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; text-align:center;} .ghitajulygift01 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 12px; margin:0px;} .ghitajulygift01 {margin:0 auto; width:381px; background-color:#e2d3c4; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v121/ ... uly01a.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #f0e7df; padding: 190px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#1d364c; letter-spacing:.3px; word-spacing:.8px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify;} .ghitajulygift01-border1 {width:383px; border:1px solid #0b151e; margin:0 auto;} .ghitajulygift01-line1 {width:357px; border-bottom:1px dotted #baada2; margin:0 auto 5px auto;} </style> [/html] |