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Post by Mace Parshath on Feb 25, 2007 21:57:04 GMT -5
About how old should they be? Sixteen? And what tier are they going to be fighting at?
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Post by Frederic Bourgault-Christie on Feb 25, 2007 22:42:24 GMT -5
Sixteen is fine, and like 2.0 would be around what it'd be.
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Post by Mace Parshath on Feb 26, 2007 19:37:43 GMT -5
Alright, so, how we start? Them getting right at fighting or a little story beforehand?
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Post by Frederic Bourgault-Christie on Feb 26, 2007 20:13:44 GMT -5
Little story, undoubtedly.
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Post by Mace Parshath on Feb 27, 2007 22:14:25 GMT -5
*shrugs* How ever you want to do it. Where will it be?
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Post by Frederic Bourgault-Christie on Feb 28, 2007 17:14:00 GMT -5
Probably further into the hills from their household.
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Post by Mace Parshath on Oct 21, 2007 21:54:24 GMT -5
Mace flicks a clot of dirt off his boot, sitting on a modest sized boulder and looking at some passing birds, absently. He wonders about how long it'll be until he finally moves out. There are still things he needs to learn magic-wise, but other than that he could really get out on his own, manage just fine. Maybe he should start looking for a job.
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Post by Frederic Bourgault-Christie on Nov 28, 2007 18:57:31 GMT -5
Quion sits down on a rock. "You said you wanted to talk to me, doofus?", he asks, a pebble pirouetting in his hands making beautiful patterns, a faint trail of dust held in mid-air as it passes.
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Post by Mace Parshath on Dec 12, 2007 19:03:01 GMT -5
"Yeah." Mace stands up and looks at Quion, his attention fully on him now. "Why do you hate me so much?" He says it in a matter-of-fact tone that shows he has contemplated the reasons for awhile now.
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Post by Frederic Bourgault-Christie on Jan 5, 2008 21:50:58 GMT -5
Quion laughs. "I don't hate you, bro. I call everyone doofuses. I make fun of everyone, pull pranks. If you can't take a joke, fuck off. There's more important stuff to worry about." He sighs and softens. "I guess that when you showed up, Dad... Dad treated me more independently. You needed help, you had lost so much. I'm smart, gifted, talented, powerful, but that doesn't mean I don't need a Dad. That's why I'm leaving. I'm making my own life. Mom is gonna go berserk. So I gotta say goodbye, and the only way I know how to do that with you is to fight. You ready? I don't want you whining I jumped you."
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Post by Mace Parshath on Mar 22, 2008 3:30:20 GMT -5
Mace hops off the rock and looks at his brother. His hands scrunch into fists, the left leading directly infront of his right, as if holding a SWAT-style submachine gun. His left foot leads. "Let's say good bye, bro. Might as well not draw this out."
(What would know around this time? How many trainers would he have had?)
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