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Wanderlost

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Wanderlost last won the day on August 23 2016

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About Wanderlost

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    King of Swords
  • Birthday 02/29/1996

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    Wanderlost#0957

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  1. Wanderlost

    Sick, Old Man

    Lucas turned his attention, and Avaerus receded into a deep, rumbling bout of laughter. Everything he had wanted on a neat little platter: he was pleased, and doubly amused at his verbalized aversion to altruism. Theirs would be a fun stroll. "I have never, concerned myself, with the affairs, of the weak." He spoke to no one in particular, acknowledging that he bore no concerns for the values Lucas seemed to worry he might care for. He didn't expect to be paid any attention of theirs, hoping they would finish their conversation. They would soon have time to discuss what he wished. It was always good, forging alliances, or at least making acquaintences. Having this Lucas Black as a contact could prove useful, were any of his kindred to travel to Valucre again. Although he would have to find a tactful way to inquire about their lifespan. It was always unfortunate to send people seeking a dead man. Avaerus stepped down from the barstool and took up his staff. Looking over the wary patrons, glasses left, and the grim-eyed bartender, he made no move to apologize for any of it, and seemed to be of a mind that it didn't matter. When Lucas was ready, they could have their travel, and they could discuss. He only wondered whether they would still have the woman in their company. The dragonson didn't think he'd mind. Her lack of fear pleased him, she was unoffensive, and with little else on his mind, he could afford her interruptions. Things ahead were beginning to look promising. "Travel, it is."
  2. Wanderlost

    Sick, Old Man

    Theirs was a cursory clasp of hands, skepticism-strained on behalf of the dragon before the woman was distracted by Lucas's ramblings. Shortly, his clawed and scaled hand slipped from hers and clinked against the glass as it enveloped it. Finishing it, he ordered another. Waiting, he nodded along to Lucas's notes on the properties of red hair, and was surprised to find him as learned as he was for one so naturally gifted. He was absolutely right, it oft depended on the nature of the user's magics, what components were most important. Being one who drew from many arts, and knew more, there were a handful of things that came to mind, but most that involved humanoid hair were of a more occult nature. Being the firstborn of Talra, and a descendant of the fae queen Anala, Avaerus and his kindred were something of a unique oddity. He had siblings, but next to him, they were failures. His sister concerned herself with less direct magics, and had a fascination with mechanics and those that laid on the edge the legality of reality, and his brothers had both gotten themselves killed in time. Sona had dishonored their fathers wishes, but Vicorus had made something of himself, even in death, and in the wake of their conflict with The Order of the Faceless, continued to bring security to their home. As such, most of his father's living lineage was made of his own descendants, though he had great hopes for his nephew Soris. The elder archmage knew Lucas's struggles as a building extrasensory menace that dissipated in reaction to his yelling at the floor. The gathered power had almost drawn a reaction from him, but he had confidence in his wards, and the half-elf seemed yet to harbor any ill will against him, despite bearing a massive strength that, at least in nature, seemed to disagree. Whether they were separate entities was a concern. Then his control would come into question, but if he was in control, he would find no fault or blame from Avaerus as to the methods that allowed that. He sipped at his newest drink, the same well draft, and ruminated. How would he treat an actual dragon, were he holding similar company to it? A crackling chuckle helped affirm that he wouldn't choose to act much differently. Then, the half-elf greeted him, and he nodded. He tasted his words and thought, and took longer to reply than was polite in the company of mortals. This was something he recognized, but he found it convenient to take the time to consider, and use it as a way to test the man's patience. For all the very little he desired, he would need his patience. He finished his drink and placed his coins on the counter for his next, interlaced his claws, tended to his posture, and let his eyes drift to meet the half-elf's. "Valucre, As I have, heard it... Is a temporal, anomaly. "And in this world, At the center, of worlds, You stood out. "Not a dragon, Yet you breathe shadows. Not a monster, Yet you bear, such menace. Not of strong blood, Yet I doubt, your mortality. "To a foreign arcanist, you are, a curiosity. And one, worth befriending, if circumstances, allow." Still trying to keep his flames from escaping his throat, Avaerus traded more coin with the bartender for his next glass. "For his, next drink."
  3. Wanderlost

    Sick, Old Man

    A frown fell in shadows over old Avaerus's face at the subtle shift in Lucas's fount of great energy, but the force of a half breed was paying attention to the girl, and further attention from the firstborn revealed that he had begun with a defensive shape to that dark aura. At that, the dragon withdrew into a long sip of his drink and the following rumination over its flavor, which was not a good flavor, as a way to disguise a moment of focused thought. He decided there was little need to weave any further spells, as he had the defense and escape methods he would need for his intentions already, but it had caused him a moment of doubt in those things, learning the kind of fine and free-handed control the man had over his magic. He'd met certain Edian Angels in the past with similar control, and fighting one such person had been a trial of his own ability to come prepared. But perhaps it would be best to acknowledge Lucas in turn, and what better way to do it than to paint him a picture? The clawed hand of the dragon drew a line in the air, silver energy glowing, which was not how he usually drew his runes in modern times, though it was effective for his intentions. It was one of the simplest spells of its kind, a universal rune of abjuration, which he hoped any mage in any world would recognize, and let it drift to his staff and disperse into it, to the visible scorn of the bartender. "If you're looking to use any of your magic, I will not have it in here sir." Hot saliva rumbled in the dragon's throat. "That, is the idea." Proud as he was, it was an attempt to reassure the man, for whom he was growing some respect. Otherwise, powerful and ancient arcanist or not, Avaerus knew his limitations. He was a spellcaster in most things, save for some rougher exertions of power, and while that offered a wider expanse of arcane utility, it limited his speed next to one who controlled their own aura in minute detail as Lucas seemed to. He had to buy time to weave his ancestral magics into other spell shapes, otherwise all he had to work with was fire and pure energy, both of which asked a lot of him to use in the necessary amounts. Letting these ruminations rest, he returned to the point of his intent. Taking in Lucas then was a cursory thing. Greater consideration was demanded for the ginger flower of flesh and scents of many things, bundled in many cloths. He wondered how much she knew of what she had gotten into. He was a half-dragon, and the half-elf wore his power on his sleeve. It wouldn't take much of any ability to recognize either as foreboding, but she showed no fear, nor did she indicate any recognition for the situation. Perhaps she was confident that the omen-elf saw her similarly, in that it was always better not to burn the trees when fighting in a forest. Though again, it seemed like neither of them sought any sort of conflict that day. The half-dragon finished his shot, dropped two gold coins in the glass, and slid it forward for the bartender to take. "Another." His tone called the word a necessary labor more than a question or a demand. While he waited for the bartender's action, he dug through his pockets, and eventually withdrew a small rectangular box; in it, he knew there to be a tea bag. It was something he kept for a very rare and specific sort of occasion, and he knew he could recreate it. On top of being a pleasantly smoked rose pedal blend, it had a particular property that would offer the imbiber a supernatural level of clarity. It was a tea he had used once before to weave a ritual spell of innovative intricacy. At least at the time--that was at least a century ago. He slid the box to the woman. "A gift, "For your "Daring."
  4. Wanderlost

    Sick, Old Man

    A curiosity had taken Avaerus in the brief time he had used to divine his nephew's location: something old and powerful in the world of Valucre; a dragon by his first guess, risen again, but it had taken him time to recover from other trips between worlds and dimensions, so it took him a few days to return to Valucre, and more still to divine its location. He hadn't tried to conceal his scrying, so he expected that whatever sort of being he was tracking knew that he was coming. He had considered weaving the sort of dweomer that would change his form to something more mundane, more humanoid, but the ancient half dragon chose to wear his heritage proudly. Something that when he got to hell's gate, proved interesting, for surely his kind was something of a rarity here too, and it took him until a hoodlum teen poorly concealed the phrase, "Just another freak," To understand that it was already a world of oddities, and few would care for his particular type. It was an amusing concept, however, to call a tall dragon with shining golden scales, who was clearly adorned in a robe woven of colored dragon scales and walking with a tap to echo his booted steps, "Just another freak," But who could speak to the foolery of children? His staff was of an ironwood tree, the last forest of which had been razed some centuries past on his world, and the head of it had a crystal eye embedded in it. He neglected to draw similarities between Valucre and Siwailigol. He had been to other worlds before. Though, that did not mean he was disinterested in the unfamiliar sights of such a dirty industrial city. Taking his eyes away from that, he channeled his magics. First, a rune that he let fade into his dragonscale robes, and second, a crystal he could use to leave if the situation demanded it. He judged the power of this being, this 'Lucas,' If he had managed to divine a real name of it, was enough that he would rather be prepared in approaching him. His mark was not a dragon, notably, and if again, he had gotten a real name of him, definitely humanoid, but that had not undone his curiosity. The Weary Orc was not any significant sight to him, as common ales and other alcohols often disappointed him next to the crafts of some of his descendants. Folding an excessive amount of foreign gold in the bouncer's hand served as well as a bribe as anything else, and the humanoid dragon found himself on the threshold of the bar, not needing much of his arcana to identify his mark as the gangly, gaunt half-elf sitting alone at the bar. Though that wasn't to say that he neglected to check what he saw with his arcane sight, which only brought an acknowledging nod from him. Avaerus found a seat to his liking: one on the corner, where he could get a good look at the face of the ominous, slumping figure, but before he opened a conversation or elected to perturb the one he had been tracking, he slid a gold to the bartender when he came to attend him. In a voice that boiled and crackeled under the heat of the flame within him, he said, "Something fumy." "Sir, I can't take this." The bartender uttered a phrase that took any sense of life or even kindness from the face of the draconic mage. Some sleight of hand brought a second from his palm, which he placed on the table, leaving his claw to pin it down. "A second, for the chore, of translating it then." Despite the unique, grating nature of Avaerus's deep voice, there was a cadence to it, which flowed and drew out certain words, letting the sounds roil and die in his throat. Eyeing the gold the claw was sunken into, he nodded his ascent. They were large, and obviously pure. "Something fumy." The golden liquid that settled in his glass was clearly of the well sort, but the dragonson didn't seem to care as he let its fumes fill his senses, his scales and fangs clinking just as his claws had against the glass, though he seemed to bear the delicate finesse required to avoid shattering the object. Setting it on the table, he finally gave himself to a bold, or unabashedly curious stare at the half-elf's face.
  5. I don't really write here anymore. I still do, and I enjoyed my time here very much.

    I can be contacted on Discord at Wanderlost#0957

    Be well.

  6. I'm phasing out my activity on Valucre. Whether I'll take on other role plays in the time it takes to finish my story with Antique here is something I haven't made a definitive decision on. It's been swell, but I think my time here is on its way toward an end.

    1. supernal
    2. Eternity

      Eternity

      Too bad to hear, wondered why our thread died. Take care.

  7. Wanderlost

    OOC: Grey Gateway

    Oh! Got it. Yeah, sorry for not having been as attentive as I could have been.
  8. Wanderlost

    OOC: Grey Gateway

    Sorry, I could've sworn I responded with my own assent here. That works for me.
  9. Wanderlost

    Madness Loves Company

    Instantly, the other woman's question cut through Antique. Through the maddening sea of memories she couldn't sort, through any facade she might have worn at any time. Not even the Queen of Youth bore the arrogance to deny how deep it cut for someone else to ask one of the questions most core to her everlasting plight. Tears welled up in her eyes and for that place in time, it seemed like all the voices in her head, murmuring, shouting, screaming, droning, and otherwise all hushed to a murmur. Three memories passed clearly in her mind and her eyes traveled downward as she gathered her limbs close to her body. With the wide, manic gaze of a flooded mind and the hovering fingers that came with trauma and shock, she answered in her greatest moment of clarity since encountering Lun'Silth, and lacked the awareness to realize it. "Because I can't have both." She said in a shuddering breath. And on they traveled, as few would have chosen to cross their path. Yelstadt was armed and alert, and leading a large enough mass to dissuade most natural predators; certainly any that took note of them that day. As the sun crawled across the sky, above the pines which dappled them in shadows, Antique became steadily less coherent until she lapsed into an unresponsive muttering state. In time, Tobi's steps and the wagon truly did blend into a sort of white noise, and the veteran sighed some few hours after that. The light of the sun had grown orange and the shadows had grown long enough to prevent any reasonable progress henceforth. It was time to set up camp, and they did. Tobi was happy to be free of the weight of the wagon and indicated he had no desire but to eat and sleep for the evening, so Yelstadt fed him and tied him comfortably around a tree. Having walked all day, he was sore and tired in a way that made him worry for his animal companion, but nevertheless he found himself with his guests, not in a tent but in the back of the wagon, which he'd covered over with a canvas tarp. Beneath it, it was already much warmer than outside, and he easily found himself on the farther side from the two women. "Alright." He sighed, feeling so content resting his weary body. "How's Kaia doing, is she any better now that we're away from Yh'mi?" He asked, and later said, "We should trade watches. I don't think we need to cover the whole night, but it would be wise to cover some of the dark hours I think. Do you have any preferences with that?"
  10. I've cut down my stories and characters within Valucre. I will probably continue to write here for quite some time to come, but I don't foresee myself returning to the scale at which I participated before. I'll be keeping few role plays at a time, and seldom write characters other than Antique. This is not a goodbye though. Just a reduction in order to keep play-by-post role playing as a small hobby. 

    Thank you.

  11. Wanderlost

    The Grey Gateway [Taen & Yh'mi Worldrift Event, Part 1]

    In descending into the recess by Ezekiel's offer, Antique had taken her sword into hand by the blade just above the guard, and found its hilt with her other hand when unease beset the trio, so it was as such that she found herself when one of the horrific wolf pups leaped for her with its impossible maw so wide. Flinching seemed to serve her when she took a retreating step and struck its jaw with the pommel of her weapon, or at least, it seemed so until it recovered, and she had to gather her long, coal black ringlets with a fast and careless free hand to keep it from blinding her. She tried to kick it down, only to feed it her booted foot. Those many, many fangs not fully penetrating her flesh for the breadth of the material, though they still caused her to cry out in pain for the blood they drew, until she raised her weapon and plunged its blade through the small assailant. Doing so seemed to hurt it enough to release her foot and she changed her stance to withdraw the weapon and slash at its head, remembering from somewhere not to watch after she was sure her blade would land true. Why she looped her finger over the guard when she saw Dawen fighting off the rest of the nest would have been a mystery to her if she had noticed, but it did aid in stabbing at the one on the other woman's arm. She missed, sure, but she was close enough to have to widen the movement to make sure she didn't cut the elf, only to find the dangling monster's spine with the false edge on her next attack, cutting part way through its body and showering the both of them in the warm scarlet nectar of its yelping death. Yelping which had unlatched it from the elf's arm. In its last throes, she tossed it to the wall with a swing, and looked to Dawen to assess whether she needed further assistance, dropping her other hand from her hair to take the hilt of her sword in two hands.
  12. Wanderlost

    The Masked Conjurer

    Species: Human, fae and draconic ancestry. Given Name: Soris Family Name: Talra Titles: (Formerly) The Masked Conjurer Hair Color: Brown Hair Details: No facial hair. Long head hair, shoulder-length, which he keeps tied to the rest of his hair behind his ears. Eye Color: Green Complexion: Tan Age: 57, still prime of body. Height: 5'10" Weight: 167 lbs. Body Build: Muscular, wide shoulders Magical Aptitude: Very strong Magic Details: His magic manifests in the swords he's created, and the Mirror Blades he uses, which are glowing white manifestations of swords with incredibly sharp edges. He's forged his own set of powerful weapons with names and unique abilities. Special Abilities: Dabbles in many sword forms, and wields them with seldom-matched skill and familiarity. He is also supernaturally strong and resistant, but not extremely so. Party Role: Fighter Social Status: Wanderer General Behavior: Dutiful, and intentional in his mannerisms. Alignment: True Neutral Clothing: Favors nicely cut clothing and fine cloths. Weapons: His arsenal of Nine Swords have yet to be fully revealed. Armor: Often wears light armor that's comfortable for everyday wear, including but not limited to gambesons and mail shirts. Artifacts and Magical Objects: His Nine Swords. History: Soris Talra grew up in an unconventional way. He was taken away from his loving family when he was very young, and since the time he was able to lift a sword, he trained under a man he only knew as the Eyeless Emissary. He was raised to serve as an assassin for the Order of the Faceless, and they forced him to hone his abilities both as a swordsman and a mage. The Eyeless Emissary directed him even from the first day toward skill with the sword, and made his training in it so rigorous that his other magics suffered for the specialty, but now, it has produced incredibly deadly results. He was considered ready to serve in his late twenties, and did so as the Order's assassin in his home dimension. It was only recently, some thirty years later, that he was relocated, and raised to a position as one of the Four Masks on Valucre. He served his position for roughly a year before his contemplation brought him to a position of disagreement with his peers, and he sought to leave freely. They, however, attempted to prevent him, and he felt he was forced to slay them in order to earn his freedom, and so he did, leaving the pocket dimension they operated from stranded and silent, filled with the corpses of his once-friends. Details and Notes:
  13. Wanderlost

    Thelan, the Druid

    Species: Half-elf Given Name: Thelan Family Name: Osinvi-Miri-Lephka Hair Color: Black Hair Details: Long, curly, often tied back. Has a thin beard. Eye Color: Gold Complexion: White Age: 1055 Height: 6'1" Weight: 180 lbs. Body Build: Thin, but not overly so. Magical Aptitude: Exceptional Magic Details: Magic limited to interacting with nature and animals. Carries many exotic seeds from different worlds he's been to, which he can grow and mutate. Special Abilities: Skilled in the use of swords and weapons, primarily trained with the rapier style of Holinsi Mountain, using ropes and nets and shields in the offhand. (More untold.) Languages: Tongues, can also communicate with plants and animals. Social Status: Outcast, Wanderer General Behavior: Secluded, prone to anger, violent Alignment: TN Clothing: Wears furs and homemade clothes. Weapons: A spear, a rapier Artifacts and Magical Objects: A pendant in the shape of a human hand. History: Thelan is the son of a woman of the Edian Realms and Tora Ovinsi of Holinsi Mountain. He was raised briefly by his mother, who by then did go by Antique, before she left him in the care of Lysian Holins, a high lord who had been close friends with Tora. He was raised as a noble child from there, but he took to it poorly, and when he turned sixteen, he was surprised by meeting Siwal, the god of the Edian Realms, in his dreams. He was instructed by Siwal as to how he could try to meet his mother again, and he woke the next morning clutching a pendant that would allow him to travel between worlds. Still, it took him almost a year to actually prepare and be able to leave Angradon. He traveled to the Successor Grove to try to find her, but found himself almost helpless among the exotic plants and wildlife there. He spent a week in agony, fumbling with magics and a knife trying to remove the Stone Bleeder briers without killing himself, but he failed. It took over most of his body by the time he came upon one of the Grove's guardians. The guardian, Maple, offered to free him of it, but he refused, warning her not to touch him. She convinced him to at least listen to her before leaving, and she told him that Eternal Ivy might at least fight it back and offer him benefits for it all if he wanted to be host to the plants there. He tried more to remove the Stone Bleeder, but didn't have the knowledge at the time. He was able to find the Eternal Ivy and let it fight the Stone Bleeder briers that had overtaken his body. It was shortly after that that Antique left that world, and he followed. He chased her for centuries. About three on Wattara, where he was continents away and took about 30 years alone to sail to where she had been, but no one knew her enough by her description to point him in her direction. He had encountered much trouble combating the armed forces in the place he'd ended up on Earth, and never made it to where she was. He later spent a couple centuries chasing her across multiple different planes before she finally ended up on Valucre. He's been searching for her in Terrenus ever since, but she recently left the continent and he is trying to follow. However, without a better way to pinpoint her than knowing whether or not he's on the same continent in the same dimension, he fears he might never truly meet her. Relationships: Alarin Dalier - He met this woman after a failed attempt to retrieve moss from the Haunted Glenn. He has a pact to contact her when he meets Antique. Antique - His mother. She left him when he was very young, and he's dedicated his life to chasing her across the multiverse. Thaddeus Bothwick XIII - Thelan accompanied this man with two women in an excursion into the Bloodstone Marsh. He sees him as lost in his ways, caught in egotism and fascinated with technology. Still, the man was kind, and he earned Thelan's respect during their journey. Zara Vikturian - One of the women who was there with Thaddeus in the Bloodstone Marsh. He also sees her as one who is too busy with the dealings of human societies to appreciate the true meaning of life as he sees it. Karuna Renala - The other woman present when he was in the Bloodstone Marsh. He respects her method of magic (the conventional way), though he finds it heavy handed. Details and Notes: Nature magic Fighter (Namely sword and spear) Bear Companion Smells like fur and earth Species: Black Bear Given Name: Tora Gender: Male Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Brown Clothing: Wears saddlebags, but no saddle. History: Thelan's friend since his time on Earth, this bear is constantly at his side, and often lets his friend mount and ride him. Tora has enjoyed almost every place they've been since Earth more than his home. Details and Notes:
  14. Wanderlost

    Madness Loves Company

    "Oh, we'll be on the trail for a good few days. The farm is Southwest of Palgard and we'll be cutting off the trail for a more direct route. Should take about a week to get there if we stay on schedule." Yelstadt did answer, sure, but he offered no further attempts at conversation, nor any reciprocating inquiries. He had already assumed a mindset fit for the monotony of travel. One where he was lost in his head, sorting things and contemplating and half ignoring the road before him, as he always did when he knew he had a lot of easy work to get through. It was just a matter of letting it happen and giving it as little direct attention as possible. He could walk and keep direction just fine without having to mind it, and he had the warmth of Toby by his side to bring him comfort in his stride. Antique however, dragged herself up to a sitting position where she could stare at the wood beneath her, having seemingly forgotten what had happened mere moments before. Going over a bump bounced the wagon and its contents, but did little to shake her focus. Her golden eyes were so wide, one might guess her afraid of it, like she were observing a venomous snake, but she had her hands flat on the floor and did little to recoil from whatever fear she'd attached to the wagon floor. "How many times..." She muttered to herself, that aspect of horror on her face creasing deeper. "How many people..." Sadness drooped her shoulders and felled her fearful looks as her eyes wandered down. "How..." Mumbling as she was, she spoke in disjointed phrases relating to things only she could see. "It's not right." "A planet in my hands..." "A kingdom, those wars, the gangs and survival, cruelty, jealousy, nothing since--" She gasped and held onto a part of what was happening in her brain, eyes raising up, "As many monsters but..." Speaking in a whisper, she fished out a necklace by the string extending beneath her collar, producing Avvercus's sigil and staring at it in the palm of her hand. "Not him." She let it fall and rest over her chest, dropping her arm to her lap and muttering again. "So much forgotten." She looked right at Rainza, her metallic eyes piercing the isolating haze about her. "Do you forget?"
  15. Wanderlost

    Madness Loves Company

    The short answer to her question was yes, but Antique did not respond to Rainza's question. If anything, what cognitive presence she had had left her in response. A cascade of memories added itself to the rest of her past she was lost in. Her hand went over her chest and she became panicked. Staring through the blue woman, she began to hyperventilate and huffed. "No! No more silver!" She curled into a fetal position and clawed at her hair with her head in her arms, cowering at haunts only she perceived. Leading Toby on the trail North, Yelstadt only heard Antique's exclamation and he almost shouted back at them, but they were hardly far enough to be out of ear shot of the guards, let alone free from the clouds that hung above, though he could see proper light shining on the trail ahead through the pines above. If Rainza were to cross a line with his aunt back there, he wasn't sure what he would do. Starting a fair fight would be folly without a proper weapon, and fire didn't pack the sort of punch he assumed he'd need to fight such a strangely heavy little girl. All in all, he was in an ugly situation, and where they were going, things weren't bound to get any better. Kaia and Tawni never got along, and with Lucas passed an Derrin secluded in his own farm up North, his unannounced guests were bound to cause her quite an upset. He had heard Falstadt was supposed to visit soon. Perhaps if he was there it wouldn't strike her as hard, but that wouldn't be a sure thing to count on, so Yelstadt would have to be prepared for the drama to come... Fortunately at least, there was relative quiet from the wagon as he brooded over how to approach it with his mother.
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