Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-25363089-20190131225052/@comment-25389303-20190220010621

Sensing the growing storm of furniture behind him, Rio quickly wheeled around and redirected his Ice Dust at his feet. Immediately, a massive wall of ice formed behind him - easily withstanding the bludgeoning chairs sent against him. Rosa, meanwhile, dived to the side as her flames were repulsed by the shield-like construct of Zareen's creation, barely managing to avoid her own explosive attack as it was reflected towards her. By the time their Dust crystals faded, the twins found themselves suddenly facing only one opponent.

"It appears your partner has abandoned you, interloper," Rosa told Koray as she rolled back to her feet and re-equipped her rifle while her brother did the same. Adjusting the mask that had misaligned during her impromptu action roll, she glanced at the broken window nearby. "Surely you realise your time has come? Surrender, and I promise - I'll make it quick."

The sound of synchronised reloading bullets echoed through the suddenly silent auction room.

---

Orpheus inclined his head downwards and pretended to read the faded words hidden within, when in reality hid hidden eyes remained fixed on Nickelae's slowly retreating figure. Most of the people he had met thought that just because he was a giant of a man, that somehow made him stupid. Unfortunately for those people - who were typically his current victims - the leader of the Gravediggers was no fool. He didn't even need to look at the fake words within the tome to tell that it was fake. Not because of its suspiciously decent craftsmanship, but of the young man's obvious nervousness. No doubt he was here for the same purpose as Orpheus was, in which case all the man needed to do was think what he himself would do in this situation.

"You know, the Tome of Widowgast is said to contain some of the most advanced and secretive Dust-casting techniques in Remnant..." Orpheus began, flicking through a few more pages for dramatic effect, "...and yet, I see nothing of particular interest written in these pages," he bluffed in a stoic voice that betrayed nothing of the sort. "That leaves me with only two possible outcomes. Either the real tome is currently somewhere far away from here beyond both our knowledge, or it is instead right..."

"...Here!"

Orpheus suddenly froze. The voice had not come from the young man before him, and yet it sounded eerily familiar somehow. Perhaps a passer-by had witnessed their encounter? If so, they'd have to be dealt with.

Working quickly, Orpheus whirled around - dropping the book in the process - and threw a heavy blade-tipped chain hidden beneath his heavy brown cloak. The weapon flew forward in an eye blink, and seemed certain to impale Orpheus' unfortunate target. Instead, however, a sudden beam of bright red fire lit up the alleyway walls in a powerful blast that sent the man's chain skidding away across the concrete pavement.

"Dear oh dear, it appears you've lost your weapon!" the stranger's voice noted in a eccentric, highly amused voice. He had a strange accent - but one Orpheus knew all to well. Even before the flames died down and the figure revealed himself, he knew the man's identity.

"Z-Zobet..." Orpheus growled, stuttering ever so slightly as a tall, lanky man stepped forward into view. He dressed in a pure-white getup, with spotless trousers and shoes despite the snow around them, and around his thin frame he donned a long open-front coat that fell down to his knees. Beneath it he wore nothing, revealing a dark-skinned and slender frame, though most notably every bare patch of his skin was covered in sharp, highly-detailed white tattoos depicting what appeared to be every possible bone in the human body - as if he were using himself as an anatomical model. It was a bizarre and terrifying display, heightened only by the smile of delight adorning the man's features.

"Orpheus, my old friend! How long it has been!" the man exclaimed, his black, white-pupiled eyes wide with child-like glee. In his right hand he clutched a long skull-tipped staff, while in his right was held a very familiar object - the Tome of Lady Widowgast.

"Hope you don't mind me taking this," the man named Zobet said, turning over a dusty page with his right index finger while he scanned the first verse, "it was a real ordeal swapping this one out for my fake - the fake which our young friend behind you appears to currently believe is real. But I suppose it's payment enough, no?"