~Belox - Appearance In the Town of Port Royal~

Copy/pasted from my Facebook Notes.

Just for clarification this is some writing I did with a Kingdom Hearts group. I normally am not a fan of fan-fics, and oftentimes they utterly repulse me, but in this case the fan-fickies got a hold of my inner creator. IE I was hanging out with them at the time that the urge to write hit me.

EDIT::Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention. For some reason Writer's Cafe isn't working for me, so until that starts back up all writing materials deemed admissible by yours truly will be posted hence forth in my notes.

AGAIN EDIT::And another thing. There are a LOT of commas.





A cloaked and hooded figure stood amongst the roiling ocean known as the crowd, an unmoving and commanding force against the press of human flesh. His cloak, the current centerpiece of his garb, was one of the purest fabrics, black as pitch yet velvet as the midnight sky. The drawstring that lay upon the collar was of a smooth and golden thread, loose enough so as not to bother him though tight enough to effectively conceal his build and face. Even the sharp but youthful features and the scarlet eyes that danced through the panicked crowds, were unseen, were just silhouetted shrouds.

They held a hint of regret though, those eyes, watching the people. But he was not their savior, and so he did nothing. Interfering with the paths of those around him was something that this man never did, neither was it anything he intended to do.

The hooded face turned, and glanced around him, a morbid expression pulled across his hidden brow. The motion caused a long thin braid of cornflower blue to fall from the hood, reaching his waist. It led back a long ways to a mass of tightly wound braids of the same thickness, all balled up in a bun at the back of his skull, and let to hang loose beneath. The braids that hung loose, were there styled as a long pony-tail of sorts. Yet even still, those long strands reached just inches past the line of his belt.

On the other hand, there were several places where the here was allowed to hang loose and comfortable. Specifically at the ears, and in key points where it was allowed to hang in bangs. The effect would have framed his face quite nicely should one have been able to see it.

In brief, all else that this man carried upon his person was simple enough for the era in which he had grown. He wore a simple black shirt with a small V at the neck, strung together with a thick leather thread. Below the shirt was a solid set of muscles, and above was a leather vest of black, strung together all along the front. An unadorned brown belt could was worn at his waist, though it was unwarranted due to the tailored fit of the black pants.

In addition, he wore brown boots (in order to match the belt, of course), but they seemed only as shoes, because of the fact that he'd not tucked his pant legs into them, and instead pulled them over the majority of the boot. The cut of the boots were simple, and, at the foot at least, very square seeming. Like regular shoes. Regular enough, anyway.

The clothing was all tight and tailored, matching perfectly the lean, fleet-footed body. The shape and form of a renaissance fencer.

The only gaudy ornament upon him was the elbow length gauntlet that was secured tightly around his forearm. And for good purpose too, though that was not a topic of conversation something he brought up all too often.

The cloak parted down the center as a waters of the falls before a jutting stone; moreover, a golden set of claws, fancily designed and metallic in nature, reached out. They were vicious and pointed, curling and curved, yet moved with a delicate grace as they brought the venturous, oh-so blue braid back into the abyssal depths of the hood.

That was when, while he looked through the crowd, into the crowd, beyond the crowd, and with the crowd, he reflected upon his reason for witnessing this event.


Only weeks before, he'd received word from an anonymous source answering a cry for help. The cry had been one of search, and the crier? Belox the Regal Wanderer. A self-given name and title.

In search of two specific men from his past. Victur Krane and Darien Lorringston. They were his driving passion. His sole reason for being. His last memory.

They two had been the ones that had led his life to ruin, humiliated him, killed him, and in doing so, killed everyone he loved. His desire to reap his vengeance had led him blindly along the given path, into a small town called Port Royal in one of the many distant worlds.

The first day had seemed to garner results. Information about surroundings was gathered, lodgings acquired, a steady availability of nourishment, and a reliable source of income.

Things went only downhill from there. Every day with every person he spoke to, each had a different legend, and a different myth to tell. The residents of this world were filled with tales of the supernatural.

It was any searchers worst nightmare. There was no way he could confirm either of his quarry's presence, yet no way he could deny it. No way he could go, but even still, nothing that truly moved him forward at all. And so, his sights turned to the see in all it's mysterious glory.

It had been his suspicion that that was the only place that could yield the answers he sought...


Belox stood motionless in the overwhelming tides of thought that drowned everything else in absolute. So little of the time he dedicated any thought to purely thinking, and so when he let ideas and memories meld and dance through the void of his mind, there was a hint of vulnerability about him.

Of course, it was at this perfect timing that he was attacked by an intruder, purely by happenstance. A coincident. Being in the right place at the wrong time, if you will.

Santorin, likely mistaking him for the Zexion that had caused this chaos in the peaceful town of Port Royal, had attacked him verbally, and opted to go so far as to pull down the hood of his cloak.

Now, Belox had begun pulling from himself from his own thoughts the moment that he felt the hood be touched, and as soon as it was fully down, Belox was wild eyes, his dramatically red eyes flaring. His face was painted an odd color by the firelight.

With an obviously spiteful grunt he leapt backwards, his feet digging into the ground as people leapt from his way, while the ragtag assembly of Nobodies let loose upon the townspeople. There were much fewer running about now.

Whipping his hood back around his face, he let the gauntleted hand appear from the thinly slit part in his cloak, producing a rapier bound by a white sheath. In a rare fit of anger Belox berated the other without thought.

"You repulse me, creature. Leave at once, or let this be a challenge." His arm was extended to it's fullest revealing the cruel design of the meticulously crafted gauntlet. In it's grasp the rapier was held as if provoking his opponent to answer in kind. Indeed, that is what he hoped for.