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User: ZackDarkWings
Character: Prince Rick Damon (Rick for short)
Age:18
Gender:Male
Statues:Bi
Bio- He is the king of Laibith's son but is against the war between both lands and has no intention of becoming king. He sneaks out of the palace to bask in the sun, the waters, roam the markets, and find whatever entertainment there is outside of the palace.
Land: Laibith
Appearance: Rick

User: Keshi_Emeraldeye
Character: Iastheu (nicknamed Ia). Pronounced: Iastheu- Ee-as-theeoo Ia: Ee-ah
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Statues: Bi though probably leaning more towards gay; he's never had to think about it before.
Bio: Iastheu was the son of merchants from Showron, or so he was always told, and while travelling with them their cart was attacked by bandits. Being the only survivor, these bandits took him under their harsh wing, teaching them what they knew and enlisting him in their raids; he was only 12 at the time and his small body could get where their fully grown ones could not. Finally fed up with that life and the ever close eye they kept on him, he ran off during a raid when their gaze lifted from him for only a moment. He made his next home in the capital of Laibith and grew his hair long so he could hide at will his eyes which gave his orrigin away. There he found a gang of theives who were willing to take him in so long as he paid them 60% of whatever he 'earned' for their protection from other gangs around the city. He quietly resented being so reliant on them but was small and, due to the lack of food anyone living on the street feels, was not particularly strong and thus had no chance to challenge them. This is how he now lives.
Land (side): Laibith is his new home so, reguardless of his race, he does not want to see her fall. He stays out of the politics of the world, however, as they don't take into account those living on the streets.
Appearance: (sorry no pic, I made this character up on the spot so haven't found a pic for him) Ia is small for his age, appearing perhaps fourteen or fifteen but it often works to his advantage as he is nearly always underestimated. His hair reaches just past his shoulders and is a brown-mahogany kind of colour. His eyes are the golden hazel of his kind though he often obscures them with his hair and doesn't meet others gaze if he senses that they will be a threat (though those in his gang know of his herritage but don't care so long as he continues bringing in the revenue).

Iastheu wandered the dark familiar streets, not really paying much attention to where he was going, hands shoved deep down into his pockets. He was hungry, but then he was always hungry, even when he made a big snatch and was able to get a lot of food it never seemed to be enough. He half hoped it would mean that he was still growing but at seventeen it looked as though he was going to be short forever.

These particular streets, his home, were dark, the over-hanging buildings blocking out what little moonlight there was that night. Ia should have been working, it was the perfect night for it and he would likely get into trouble for coming up with nothing but petty silk handkerchiefs filched from this passerby and that passerby but even they were scarce tonight. He just wasn't in the mood for it.

Not paying any attention to where he was going, he crossed a street -

- Only to have someone run into him, knocking him to the ground. Landing with a grunt he snapped, "Watch where you're goin', would ya? You could get knifed for that, ya know."

Glancing up from where he was on the ground, he saw the one who had ran into him. Didn't recognise him but saw him. It wasn't a face he was likely to forget, it was a beautiful face, and his clothes spoke of being rich. Great.

Immediately self-conscious, he lowered his gaze so his hair fell over his face, hiding his foreign eyes, hiding his true race.

"Yeah well," Iastheu said as he stood up, not taking his eyes of the other. "You should be more careful," he continued, ignoring the fact that it had been entirely his fault for not paying attention; just because he knew these streets like the back of his hand didn't mean he could not pay attention. It could have been him who was knifed and no gang protection was any good once you were dead.

Squinting a little through his hair, he said, "You don't belong here, do you? Where you from?" Maybe he could follow and hit this guy for all he had later, turn this to his advantage.

A triumphant smirk crossed Ia's lips as he got just the answer he was looking for. He knew that it was rather obvious from his speech where he hailed from - that is the streets - but speech alone often wasn't enough to determine how rich someone was. This man had just confirmed that he was as good as loaded; why else would he hide what status he was from? If he was a not-so-well-off noble then he would likely act all haughty and try to impress Ia or stare down his nose at him. This one did none of that so he was trying to hide his wealth from a potential theif. Well. Not really a potential thief. Just a thief.

That smirk still on his face he stood where he was for a while, letting the stranger continue on his way before going into his thief mode. He was good, one of the best in this area, probably how he had survived as long as he had. If there was one thing his gang was known for it was knocking off those who fail to be 'useful'.

Sticking to the shadows, and sometimes swinging up to the roof-tops for extra cover (no one ever looks up) with the agility agility of a cat, he tracked his prey, looking for the oportune moment to filch his purse. As soon as he found it. Maybe he should try the ameture but sometimes effective dash past and grab technique to lift his cloak; that thing looked warm and worth a bundle. So long as he timed it when no guards were about. They knew his face, he had been a known criminal practically from the day he arrived on the scene.

Slowly, carefully and ever so quietly Iastheu gained on his quarry. He slipped out one of the daggers at his hip and slipped the leather thong attatched to the end of it around his wrist; it was one of the things he loved about this particular set of daggers: they were long enough to knife someone good with one strike and the grip could be changed quickly and easily without fear of dropping or losing the blade.

This time he held it forwards, not the best attack but he wasn't moving in to attack, merely cut the pursestrings. Unfortunately he hadn't come prepared for a night of pickpocketing but that couldn't be helped. Served the fool right for wandering such dangerous streets this time of night. He was just asking to be robbed. He was just luky Iastheu wasn't the type who prefered to take what he wanted from a dead body; he welcomed the thrill and adrenalin rush of a plain pick-pocket.

Close now, so close that he had to match his footsteps and breathing exactly to the rich man. Reaching forward he lifted the side of his cloak slightly, gently, so softly it was unlikely that it would be felt. Holding it aside with one of his fingers, he held strings tight, keeping the same amount of pressure there so it still felt as though the purse was hanging by its own weigt. He then cut the strings.

Moment of truth. He would have felt that without his normal counterweights.

Immedieatly Ia darted backwards, out of reach of a sudden attack and bolted down the street in the opposite direction. He would be seen, he knew, but he didn't want to risk the rooftops; too easy for a mistake on them.

Ia couldn't believe his luck! Not only had he gotten away with the theft, something he would have expected anyway, but there had been no fight, no outcry. It was as if they guy didn't even realize it and that was something unusual considering he didn't have his weights to counter the effect left by the weight suddenly not being there.

He wanted to see what else he could nick but it was there he struck a problem. Should he go home and stash this money, of which there seemed to be a fair amount, where it would be safe and risk losing the guy for good or should he trail him and look for another opening, risking the noise of the purse alerting him or someone mugging him. Afterall, no one in his gang would do that but his gang wasn't the only one in the city.

Sighing, he pulled a wind of cloth from his pocket and used it to bind the purse to try to stop the coins from chinking too much and pocketted it. He then set to trailing the man again.

He managed to circle around in front of him and was going to try the cloak dash when he heard armoured feet clomping their way towards him. Instinctively he faded into the shadows once more but was close enough to hear the muttered 'Lovely' from his target as he caught sight of the guards. Ia frowned. Did that mean he was running from them as well? Was he stealing from the wrong person? But why was someone who was so loaded worried about guards? Unless he was a thief too who had just struck lucky and then unlucky...

Either way there was little time to work it out as the guards approached. Darting out of the shadows, he ran forwards towards the man, his speed blowing his hair from his eyes, showing them. Instead of snatching his cloak as he went by however he grabbed a hold of the man's wrist and pulled, yanking him into an ally-way then down a narrow side-street. Shoving him in the chest, pushing him into an abandoned house, he rose a hand to his lips to motion for silence while the guards passed.

((Noooo! *sob* I had nearly finished a reply and my whole dumb computer froze and I lost it.... this happens a lot... it makes me sad -_-
heh... um... it's kinda long, hope you like long replies >.< This tends to happen once my rp partner goes offline, I just go a little crazy and post lengthy stuff cause I'm not rushing ^^))

Ia gave a soft snort of laughter that soon descended into uncontrolable giggles at the man's language. "Thank-you again for your services?" he mimiced mockingly between giggles. "What services?" he asked, calming down slightly though he did wear a foolish grin on his face, making him look almost pleasant despite the golden eyes he had forgotten to hide which marked him as someone from Showron. "The guards were after you. If they caught you, you would tell them of me, they would remember me and remember to come after me and that will make my life difficult."

He peered at the man quizically, looking under his hood, using his small stature to his advantage to see the man's face as if to work out what he was thinking. He didn't recognise him but then he had paid no attention to the royal family and, not being the kind to welcome being killed for deciding to rob the palace, he had no chance to see the prince that way. To Iastheu he was just some ignorant noble. He was sure of that now, there was no way he could have been just an oblivious thief with language like that. That thought set him giggling again and he looked away, not wanting him to think that he was laughing at his face.

He had almost forgotten what the man had said before that hilarious statement but it suddenly came to him and he frowned. "Are you mad?" he asked, as if his own teasing had never even occured. He had a tendancy to do that, sometimes leading to other's confusion as to what he was talking about. "You may not have noticed, but you have guards after you," he said sarcastically. "You'd be insane to try to leave with them after you," he continued as he walked away from the main room and made his way to the staircase. Afterall, this was his main house, one of many run down ruins he called his own. Pausing by the rickety staircase, he leant against the wall and looked over his shoulder. Why don't you stay here or something till morning at least when they will have given up looking for you. There are plenty quick escape routes from this place incase they come here, unlikely though." He didn't really know what was possessing him to ask someone he had just robbed to stay in his house but there it was. There was something about this guy that made Iastheu take an instant liking to him.

"The name's Iastheu, by the way. Ia for short," he said before heading up the stairs relatively quickly and not bothering to see if the man followed or not. Reaching the top floor he levered open a tile by the fireplace and dropped the stolen purse in it before dropping it back into place again. Other members of his gang may not assult him but that didn't mean they wouldn't rob him to turn his good luck to their own.

That done he pulled out a flint and struck it against the blade of said dagger, creating a spark and starting a fire, albiet a small one, in the fire place. He couldn't aford to build up one of a decent size lest the light attract unwanted attention but if one sat close enough it provided warmth and the body tended to block most of the light. This is what he did now, turning his back to the flames so he could watch the entrance and not be blinded.

Pulling the left sleve of his shirt up he unwound the hastily made bandages that wrapped his forarm, inspecting the wound there. It was a relatively deep wound from a knife. He had gotten into a fight late in the afternoon, not an unusual thing, but it was fairly rare for Iastheu to be injured. Either way there was now a dead body to be found in one of the backstreets and Iastheu was too glad that it wasn't his to be worrying about the wound. It needed stitching but Iastheu didn't have the skill, nor the needle and thread, required to do it one-handed. Sighing, he left it open to the air. It was just lucky it hadn't cut any tendons.