A lone figure dashes down the deserted streets of the run down town. Clad in a long black jacket, the jacket manages to conceal a majority of the stranger's clothes underneath. However, one could easily make out the heavy black boots they wear as they take long, even strides down the street. The occasional car drives by, its windows would be cracked and seem like they would fall off at any moment. Somewhere overhead an old cloak chimes loudly, telling the man that it is an hour past twelve in the morning.
Only an insane person would stalk the deserted streets of Revelord, Massachusetts at this time of night, or early morning depending on how you saw it. However, this man was far from insane. He is merely different from the average Joe. Any regular, sane person would hug a street lamp if they were forced to march down the deserted streets in the "broken" part of the city. This black clad man stays close to the shadows as he hurries down the streets and turns sharply around the tight intersections. Someone would have to have super human eyesight to make out his speeding form in the depths of the night around him.
With every swish and swoop of his jacket, the man brings himself deeper into the damaged streets that surrounds him and towers over him. Around him were crumbling buildings and debris filled streets. Just one glance at the building leaning just a tad too much to the left would be sure enough sign that no one lived in this part of town, not even the homeless would want to risk their near valueless lives in this place. So, why would he be making his way through this death trap?
Eckhart Night had never been one to socialize nor stop for small chitchat. The way his mouth was drawn in a tight line with his eyes narrowed proved it. He was a man of short stature and unbelievable flexibility and nimbleness. Standing no more than 5'6", he was lean in build and would often be referred to as "stick skinny". His neat, close cut black hair grew just long enough to occasionally fall into his large, dark chocolate brown eyes. As mentioned earlier, a long black jacket clings to his stocky shoulders and his feet are covered with heavy black boots. Golden embroidery crisscrosses and weaves around the edges of his jacket with fur at the neckline. One could just barely catch a glimpse of a skin-tight, black t-shirt with a golden line running across his chest underneath. Any other signs of clothing were hidden under the jacket he wore.
The streets grow narrower as Eckhart quickened his pace, his already long strides becoming longer. More debris and garage litter the ground beneath his feet and gives his step a sharp crackle and sqoish. By the time the raven haired man finally comes to a screeching halt, his breathing is labored and overhead a clock chimes once more, signaling the time to be two in the morning. Eckhart has stopped in front of a very poor, abandoned building. Its stone structure weathered from years upon years of heavy showers and howling winds. The wooden steps leading up to the front door are caved in and the steps that still stand can barely support the weight of a grown man. People often question why the steps are made out of wood when the rest of the building is constructed out of stone; Eckhart just assumes they ran out of money for stone.
Making his way up the stairs in a way that would prevent him from adding too much of his weight onto each surviving step, he fumbles around with his pockets in search of a key for the door. Because of his search for the key to the door, one can finally make out the entirety of his outfit. A brown, leathery belt is loped loosely around his square hips and has all sorts of pouches and charms hanging from it. He wears a pair of black pants to match his shirt. On his small hands are black, finger less gloves. Tucked right under his loosely hanging belt was a black and white mask with golden embroidery curling around it. The street lamp on the corner tosses shadows over his serious face and reveals a piercing or two on his left ear.
Finally finding what he has been searching for, Eckhart jams the tiny key into the rusted lock and twists it harshly to the left. With a soft click, the lock is removed and the door is opened with an unhealthy squeak. Eckhart made no sound as he steps into the dark, quiet house. His so called house is actually more of an apartment complex, but he stubbornly refuses to see it as such since it is a home to him and his family. With each sure step comes a loud, resounding creak, much to Eckhart's displeasure. He had never been one for unnecessary noise.
Inside the building was just as worn as the outside, if not worse. The hideous floral wallpaper is peeling off, moth-eaten curtains hang from the boarded up windows, and the floorboards are rotten and almost as horrible as the stairs that led to the front door. Eckhart and his family are lucky the floor can support all of their weight because they aren't exactly in the mood to move yet again. Dark eyes flicker over towards a doorway to his left, taking in the fact that someone left it slightly ajar. Someone was either still awake or Oz was careless again. Both statements prove to be true as Eckhart fluidly throws open the rotten door, revealing said red head that looks more awake than a child who stayed up a little too late passed their bedtime.
Oz Blazior had never been one to stay up late. The way her eyes are just barely open and how she leans onto her arms every so often proves it. If Eckhart has a short stature, she has an even shorter one. Standing not an inch over 5'0", Oz is a thin and fragile looking woman. Her vibrant, bright red hair is naturally curly and is tied lazily into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. Said ponytail droops over her right shoulder and ends a little ways past the right breast pocket of her dirty, red pajama shirt. Her skinny legs are also clad in dirty, red pajama bottoms.
On the feeble table before her, she has an outdated map of the city weighted down on its edges with chucks of stone she found randomly shattered about. Eckhart can see one of her hands gripping tightly at the edge of the table, the knuckles white from her vice grip. Slim, clumsy fingers hold onto a red ballpoint pen that hastily circled here and there and jots down notes next to those marked areas. The pen makes scratching noises as she sketches in words upon words onto the already overwhelmed map. Slowly, her bright lime green eyes drags over to Eckhart's unmoving form in the doorway. Oz notes that the raven haired man is home two hours too early but does not comment on it. Eckhart himself is going to comment on her being up five hours too late but she waves a dismissive hand at him before he can. The motion is oddly fluid, unlike her usual clumsy and jerky gestures. Few words, if any, are exchanged between them this particular morning. If their wordless mumbles could count as words. A gesture here and a pointing finger there is all that is needed between them to mark up and cover the map in even more scribbles.
By the time Oz calls it a night, a clock struck 4 a.m. and the map is practically drowning in written words. Eckhart wishes to question her being up so late, or early depending on how you saw it, but she waves off his questioning once again with another dismissive wave of the hand, her fingers doing a small dance in the air as she waves at the raven haired man. The red head is up and stretching her short limbs before he even turns to look at the door. Beneath her feet comes a creek as Oz let her arms drop back down and clumsily walks over towards a set of worn steps.
Each step loudly protests against the weight of her body as she climbs up the single flight of stairs. Following close beside, but in a quieter manner, is Eckhart. Though, when he did occasionally misplace his foot the wooden boards protest the loudest against his weight when compared to Oz's heavy-footed steps. They depart at the top step and walk off in opposite directions towards their rooms. The door knocks into something as Oz opens her door and she lets out a grunt as she pushes her weight against it to make it open all the way. With much effort, the door steadily opens its jaws to let the petite woman inside the cluttered room. More maps and pens are tossed on the floor and one would only have to take a single step in order to step on something new. Her small feet kicks aside anything that gets in her way, not caring whether or not the noise woke up the other occupants within the room.
On one of the small, messy twin beds that Oz has to share is Irena Gale. Even when she is asleep one can tell that Irena is someone who carried herself with a natural grace that is hard to come by these days. Unlike the other two introduced, Irena is a tall individual who stands a little over 5'9". She has long, straight hair the color of grass that grows down to her ankles. Her body is clad in the only pair of clean, spotless pajamas, the blue button up top clinging loosely to her torso while the blue bottoms fit a little too well on her long legs.
Irena had always been one to keep her few belongings spotless as well as orderly. The others often question why she allows Oz's pigsty in the room, but she merely says it takes far too much energy to clean up. One of her piecing, and yet gentle, amber colored eyes peaks opens upon Oz hopping into bed beside her. Oz gives her an apologetic look before snuggling closer to the taller and older woman, wrapping her arms around her waist so that she can take in as much of her warmth as possible. A low, sleepy chuckle escapes Irena before she closes her eye and falls into the land of dreams once again.
Anyone who meets Irena and Oz can easily tell they are not alike in any shape or form. Irena's movements are full of grace and elegance that is difficult to mimic while Oz's are jerky and clumsy. The red head lacks the ability to keep her room clean and is known for her short attention span while the green haired woman can turn even the messiest of messes spotless and has more than enough patience to spare. Irena always gets her work done while Oz needs some guidance and reminders just to change into her work clothes. In a way, Irena is the teacher and Oz is her student. Despite their differences, however, they're the closet of friends and the way they cling to each other in their sleep was more than enough to prove it.
Eckhart has less trouble getting his door open, since he and his roommate tolerate very little mess. However, his roommate is more annoyed with his presence then relieved that he made it home alright. Mihile Soltus is a very light sleeper, the way his stormy blue eyes snaps open and narrows upon the door opening is enough evidence to prove it. He easily towers over every member of their little family, being a man of 6'8". His mop of sunlight blonde hair refuses to be tamed by any comb, constantly gets in his eyes, and in the back grows half-way down to his waist. A single gold piercing can be seen on his right ear. The filthy white pajamas he wears are one size too small for him and reveals just how muscular he is, being several times larger and stronger then Eckhart in every way.
If Eckhart were to look at him the wrong way he would never be able to prevent Mihile from knocking him into a coma had he not been nimble and quick on his feet. Mihile lets out an annoyed grunt as greeting and forces his tired body to face the other direction so that he doesn't have to deal with the shorter and younger man. He and Eckhart didn't get along so well and yet they are forced to room with each other due to some odd circumstances. They are like night and day, opposites. Mihile is tall whereas Eckhart is short. Eckhart is quick on his feet whereas Mihile trudges heavily on his. Mihile is physically the strongest of the group whereas Eckhart would've lost an arm-wrestling match with Neinheart. Eckhart functions the best during the night whereas Mihile will pass out once the sun has set. Mihile is a morning person whereas Eckhart snarls like a wild animal when approached in the morning. All in all, they are completely different people. The shorter of the two throws off his work cloths and pulls on his pajamas that have been discarded on the floor earlier. He roughly pats the blonde's mop of hair before squeezing into the bed beside him, smirking a bit when Mihile lets out a low growl at the sensation. Throwing the blanket over their bodies, Eckhart puts as much space between him and the blonde as possible without falling off the twin sized bed.
Just a one floor beneath the sleeping residents of the trashy apartment complex, dawn begins to rear its mighty head. Rays of pale sunlight pours in through the Swiss cheese curtains and the cracks in the walls. Cockroaches, rats, and other pests scurry back into their homes for fear they would be caught. Somewhere off in the distance a dog howls and a cat meows. There is a yelp and cry of pain as someone falls off their bed upstairs.
That cry belongs to none other than Hawkeye Strike; a man of 6'2" with short ginger hair that partially covers his grey left eye. Clad in simple blue PJ's, as he likes to call them, he struggles to get back onto his own two feet without waking his strict roommate. Hawkeye wakes up every day the same exact way, by tumbling off his bed with a loud shout that miraculously didn't wake anyone up. The ginger hastily rushes out of the room and down the rickety steps to prepare breakfast, tripping down the last few steps with another shout out of routine. Once he has regained his composure and makes sure all of his teeth are right where they belonged, Hawkeye clears the table Oz and Eckhart had used earlier with a clean swipe of the arm. Pens and stones clatter noisily on the floor and he catches the rolled up map in his fist before it hits the ground. Throwing it carelessly onto a dusty counter, he sets to work with making breakfast from stale bread and almost spoiled meat.
The next to wake is Mihile. With a mighty yawn and stretch he leaves the bed and marches down the steps. Hawkeye is lucky enough to receive of low grunt as greeting from him this morning as the blonde stoops down to pick up the cluster of pens on the floor. The stones stay on the floor and are kicked to the side so that no one may trip on them. Grey meets stormy blue when their eyes lock and Hawkeye tries not to cave into the intensity of Mihile's glare. His eyes only leave him when Hawkeye offers him a sandwich for breakfast, which is almost immediately refused because there are only three sandwiches left for the others to eat.
"Up and about like always, I see," Irena's voice is like a cool breeze in the summer heat, refreshing and never really there when you want it most. She glides down the broken steps with not a single sound as she continues to talk to the air; she knows they are in the kitchen from routine. "One day I would love to learn how you get up so early." Though Irena already knows that Mihile is an early riser and Hawkeye gets kicked out of bed every morning. Hawkeye flashes a cocky grin and leans on a nearby wall when she enters the room, attempting to flirt and be seductive. But his work is left ignored, as it does every day, when Irena gives Mihile a kind smile instead. The ginger pouts at her ignorance but immediately grins like a goofball when she gives him a quick peck on the cheek just to be polite. A giggle in the doorway causes three pairs of eyes to flicker towards it where a young, young girl waits for their attention.
Cygnus Swan is no older than ten years with pale blonde hair and pale, almost light grey, blue eyes. With a sleepy expression permanently glued to her face, Cygnus wears the smallest of smiles on her lips when awake. Her hair is as long as Irena's and her eyes are as large as Eckhart's. Standing at 5'0", Cygnus is just as petite as Oz, if not smaller, and the way her arms dangle loosely by her sides show she has little energy to preform simple tasks. The young blonde moves with a type of lazy grace that is unlike Irena's but is just as elegant. Despite the lack of energy to simply hold her arms correctly, Cygnus stands with an air of seriousness and authority that is not unlike Mihile's. Past the sleepy, half-lidded eyes, one could just make out the spark of pride and hope that only Oz and Hawkeye could replicate. When she speaks her voice is soft, barely audible.
"Irena, you truly spoil our male companions with the amount of affection you give them every morning," she says to Irena. Mihile swipes her off her feet, in the literal sense, and carries her to the table in his strong arms. Once Cygnus is seated in a somewhat stable chair, Hawkeye offers her a sandwich to make sure she grows to be as healthy and strong as him. "Why thank you, Mihile and Hawkeye," the young blonde thanks them graciously before biting into her food. Truthfully, she does not want to eat the food, not because it is rough on her tongue and tastes similar to the smell of a dying animal, but because she knows Irena and Mihile are going to skip breakfast once again. Both of them go out of their way to make sure the rest of the family eats and sleep well. What she would give to switch places with them for at least one day so that they didn't have to carry so much weight on their shoulders.
The ten year-old opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by Mihile closing the kitchen door behind him as he leaves. Irena tosses another sweet smile their way before she too departs to prepare for another long day at work. When he notices the grim look on Cygnus' face, Hawkeye rushes after them to try and get them to stay home just a tiny bit longer than they usually to. But, alas, as routine would have it they were already out the door by the time Hawkeye has tripped his way into the corridor. A heavy sigh escapes him as he prepares some story to tell Cygnus. He stands in front of the stairs as the gears in his head turn round and around. By the time he notices the fuming stare of his roommate, Hawkeye has come up with a story to tell. With yet another yell, the ginger stumbles back and lands heavily on his butt when he sees Neinheart Von Rubistein.
Neinheart Von Rubistein is a punctual man with an air of strictness around him. His long, light blue hair is yanked back in a tight, tight ponytail. His neutral expression gives the impression that he is bored with his surroundings and wishes for nothing more than an escape of some sort. However, when a tight smile forms on his lips or a frown appears Neinheart's face lights up with a flurry of emotions and confessions. Though, even with those flashes of emotions and confessions, his eyes remain narrow and perceptive. One can see that his eyes are a pale blue like Cygnus' but have far more grey in them. He stands at 5'10" and usually has his arms crossed over his lean chest. Much like Eckhart, Neinheart can be described as "stick skinny", though he is slightly stockier than the raven. Everything about the man is perfect and precise. Not a single strand of hair carelessly escapes his tight ponytail and his eyes hold more focus then they really should. Each button of his pressed, but dirty, grey pajamas are done with such precision one would almost think they were sewed onto the garments. Even the wrinkles on his shirt and pants were in order and weren't out of place. He holds his body up stiffly and readily. No muscle is relaxed as he stands at attention. A gold rimmed monocle over his right eye only adds on to his expensive behavior.
"Hawkeye," he snaps in his strange, unknown accent," Would you care to explain to me as to why you dare block my path to the kitchen this particular morning?" Despite Hawkeye being a good few inches taller than Neinheart, the light blue haired man made the ginger feel small and weak when faced with his cold, harsh tone. Hawkeye stammers over his words as he tries to give him a decent excuse. Instead of giving him an excuse, he settles for just dashing up the stairs to get ready for work. "Why I never…!" Neinheart allows that one sentence to trail off as he flies into the kitchen. A smile, though small and tight, stretches across his lips when his light, bluish grey eyes fall on Cygnus. "Good morning, Cygnus. I see you have eaten breakfast. It's a shame to see you alone, however. Shouldn't that no-good Hawkeye be watching over you when Mihile and Irena leave for work?"
"A good morning to you as well, Neinheart," she greets him before answering his question," Hawkeye merely wanted to get Irena and Mihile to stay home a little while longer before they had to leave for work." As Cygnus speaks, she stands and hands him a sandwich for breakfast, which he politely declines for that kind of food is not good enough for him, though he secretly also wants Oz and Eckhart to have breakfast because they are the ones who work. "I worry about them so much. Always working and staying up late with the maps, and for what? No respect from the rest of society?"
"Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, Cygnus," Neinheart says sagely," Mihile, Irena, Oz, Eckhart, and even Hawkeye work to protect the very people who shun them and us as well. Throughout the centuries people have constantly been persecuted because they are different. The people we live with now are no exception to that rule. However, just because they are treated differently does not mean they should do the same. Our little group does what it can to make sure none of the…Unwanted gets out of hand. Without Mihile and Irena on patrol in the other 'broken' parts of the city, who knows what may happen. And someone should be doing the same," he raises his voice a little when Hawkeye tries to sneak past the kitchen clad in his work clothes, Hawkeye lets out a yelp and rushes out the door in a panic. Neinheart winces at the sound of Hawkeye falling through the last surviving steps and quickly mutters to himself," Now I'll have to fix that. We cannot afford to move this soon." Cygnus lets out a giggle at the thought of Neinheart actually working. He shoots her a mildly annoyed look but says nothing to her as he goes over what to do in his head. "Wrap up those sandwiches for Eckhart and Oz, why don't you? This day is going to be like any other day, boring," his tone is sandpaper as he slowly shuffles out the door.
Neinheart's strides are short and unrushed. It is just as he says, there's nothing to do so there is no need for speed for either for them. The door squawks shut behind him, leaving Cygnus alone with a bunch of pens, two sandwiches, and a rolled up map. It is the map that grabs her attention after she completes the task of carefully storing away the sandwiches for her still sleeping family members. They work so hard during the day and stay up late filling up maps. Never once has she been told about what exactly they do and is forced to stay within their current home at all times. Letting her curiosity take over, the young blonde snatches the map from the counter and unfurls it in a flourish.
What her pale blue eyes see are Oz's scribbles, Hawkeye's chicken scratch, Eckhart's block characters, Irena's elegant calligraphy, and Mihile's slanted handwriting. The map is very, very outdated. Despite being stuck inside all day long, Cygnus can see that one of the older members of the family has edited it in green ink and put a date on the top right hand corning stating just how old the map is. Everywhere there is writing, all over the streets and stores and buildings and homes. Writing everywhere. Each unique script tells stories of victorious battles and inevitable loses. Those that tell of lose are noticeably messier than the rest. Victories are written in blue while loses are written in red. Cygnus' eyes flicker over to the only pen with its cap off, the very pen that Oz and Eckhart had used just hours earlier. She frowns and prays that no one has used that pen for a long time. Her attention is momentarily captured when a figure noisily gallops down the steps, Neinheart's shouts being heard from outside when his finely tuned ears catch the sound. Oz bursts through the kitchen door and smiles wide at Cygnus.
"Hiya, Cygnus! How you doing this fine morning or is it afternoon? Whatever time it is, I'm late, late, late for work, work, work!" The red head speaks quickly, leaving no room at all for the young blonde to speak. "Ha! You know, if Irena hadn't stuck that note to my forehead I would've skipped work entirely! Good ol' Irena always looking out for me! Oh my, sandwiches! Yum!" Oz is now speaking with bits of food in her mouth. "Hawkie sure can make a mean sandwich! You know what I mean, Cygnus? Of course you do! You always eat his food like it's the end of the world or something! Say, what you got there? Is that a map?! Oh no, no, no, Cygnus! You shouldn't be wasting your time reading this old thing!" The energetic red head swiftly snatches the map from Cygnus' hands and tucks it under her arm as she continues to speak and eat. "Silly Cygnus, that stuff's for us adults, got it? Don't you go fussing about simple details like this here map! Got it? Good, that's my girl! Oh my, here I am just chatting away when there's a city to be saved! Well, I must be off, off, off! Have a lovely day, Cygnus, and don't wake up Eckhart or he'll be mean to ya!" She rushes out of the building and Neinheart lets out a pained yelp when she uses his back as a footstep on her way out. "Oh, No Heart-"
"Neinheart!" he corrects her.
"Neinheart, take this map!" Oz says quickly," Cygnus was looking at it and I didn't want her to be bothered by it, you know? Here! Thanks a bunch! Wait- Why are you trying to fix the stairs? Did Hawkeye break 'em again? That silly little pirate! He needs to be more careful or he'll tear the whole house down! You know what I mean, No Hea- I mean Neinheart! Ha! You look funny when your face is all red! Are you really that cold? It's like a thousand degrees out!" She is talking so fast that Neinheart has no time whatsoever to even interrupt her. "Well, have fun fixing those steps, Neiny! I have work to do!" She shoves the map into his occupied hands and dashes off.
"Wait, Oz! You're still in your pajamas!" he shouts. However, she can't hear him as she sings an old tone. The red head easily skips over the debris on the streets and dances around the tight turns. If there was one thing her forgetful mind always remembered, it was her patrol path. Irena had been clever enough to suggest they give her not only a simple path, but one that held some kind of value to her.
After some test runs, most of which Oz had been terribly lost, they settled with giving her a route through the very spot they had found her so many years ago. Stopping in front of a manhole, Oz cracks her fingers before she begins to lift up the loosened lid. After about five minutes of trying to lift the lid, she manages to wiggle it just enough to squeeze her petite body down the hole. Below the dirty streets is a filthy network of sewage. Narrow pathways that line the walls allow Oz to navigate the sewage tunnel without having to actually step in it. She wrinkles her nose at the foul stench and tries to quickly navigate the tunnels before she passes out from it. The petite woman carefully makes her way through the tunnel system, keeping a close eye on anything that may seem suspicious. By the time she's stops in front of a ladder, there is no sign of life except for hers. Oz hastily climbs up the ladder, nearly losing her grip on the rungs as she goes. She pauses for a moment to slow her slightly increased heart rate and continues to climb up the last few rungs. Back on the surface, Oz has climbed out of another manhole and is in a completely different part of town. The red head takes some time to enjoy the fresh air before continuing on her little journey around that part of town.
Now you all know how creative I am with last names (sarcastic) and how much I fail at formatting (Couldn't even find out how to put indents! DX)... That now aside, this story is actually based off of a messed up dream I had that involved the Cygnus Knights. I decided to write it out because it was pretty interesting without all of the "I'm totally a dream" parts in it. Really, the dream wasn't actually this long, I just took the idea and expanded it. I love the Cygnus Knights (At least, I love my interpretation of them) and I believe that they should be more appreciated, but that's just me. This story was in the works long before many of the updates happened, so some (Or a lot) of the characters who appear much later in the story may appear OOC. I really don't want to go back and change it, because it will ruin the story. So, yeah! That's really it...
List on Who will Appear:
Heroes (Excluding Luminous)
Black Wings
Resistance (?)
Cygnus Knights (Of Course)
Fun Fact ('Cause I can):
I don't, and refuse, to pronounce Mihile's name as "Me-High-Ale" as Nexon does. To me, it sounds stupid, choppy, and harsh to the ears. Instead, I pronounce his name as "Mile" with a sort of heavy, silent "h" added into that mix. Not only does it make him appear cooler, but it also gives it that foreign touch to him, since MapleStory did start out in Korea.