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Found 556 results

  1. Current Status Read Before Posting Tavern of Legend OOC Thread When you're ready to leave the TOL and explore Valucre, check out these transition suggestions. Note these are suggestions and you are not limited to the options detailed there. The Tavern of Legend is a jumping off point for new members, a sort of sandbox where new members can play with other new members while getting used to the site. This is especially useful for those new to online role-playing in general. Only members registered on the site for 90 days or less can post in the ToL unless otherwise approved (such as select events or mentors). We strongly encourage participating in Tavern quests and activities as a starting point, but this isn't required and a member can leave the ToL at any time. The new member guide can assist you as you go forward. The water cooler is a good place to check out when you're ready. You don't have to read the whole thread. Given the amount of new members that get funneled into the ToL on a regular basis, members aren't expected to read dozens or hundreds of pages. You read this post to get an understanding of the tavern, the last few posts to get a handle on what other members are doing, then you're free to introduce your character in whatever fashion you deem fit. The Tavern of Legend is an RP forum that is quasi-canon; nothing here is canonized as 'world of Valucre' lore, but its internal canon is consistent. Note that the tavern also "heals itself", so things like holes in the wall and accidental fires won't affect the overall aesthetic. What you do in the ToL can be referenced later on in other RP threads within the world of Valucre. Any quests you complete for the Tavern that take place in canon lands can be canonized as well. The Tavern They say the road to the tavern was once a nondescript journey, traveling through nothingness until you happened upon a quiet little hamlet out in the middle of nowhere. Farmers would wave, children following a short distance behind, curious as to your origins and intent. Only, things have changed now. You travel through lands scarred by fires and death, through an atmosphere of despair laden with only the slightest traces of hope. Burned down buildings are as common a sight as are the rats and vultures still searching for morsels. At this time, people still bury their dead- and there is many, while others hurry to get back within the cover of what remains of their home. Eventually, your journey leads you down a dimly lit path, finding that night has come upon you faster than you first expected. You come to a location said to be the corner of all existence, the point between the world of Valucre and all other possibilities. There sits a quaint structure, small and unassuming. It is only one story, hardly more than a shack, and certainly nothing like what was promised by those claiming to have once stayed within its walls. The paint is peeling, the sign is careworn and faded. Perhaps you feel cheated, having come all this way just to find some hole in the wall that gives only a welcome home to drunks too far into their cups to notice the difference. Still, there is an inviting smell coming from inside, a welcome change from the smell of death you left behind. Perhaps you should enter then, and stay for a drink or two. Even if this tavern is not what was promised, a drink and a hot meal would do you some good. And there you find that the Tavern is all that was promised you - and more. It reaches high, higher than you could have even imagined, the ceiling reaching hundreds of feet above. Layers upon layers of rafters fill in the gaps, where some patrons sit, served by a young man who traverses them with ease. Down below, the sprawling layout reveals a tavern with more than a dozen corners (each with its own table), despite the improbability. At the center of establishment is a large stage, where bands of bards play and leave- their lineup and styles as random as anything could be. Along what could be called the back, a long bar stretches out, ending at a doorway leading to the kitchens. Also in the back are stairs leading up to an upstairs that cannot be seen from here, and a door that leads down to the storage basement. Weapons can be checked at the door or brought to the weapons counter, where the character will be relieved of their weapon and given a chip when they're ready to reclaim it Staff The staff is varied. Some are transient, coming and going within a few days, and others are permanent fixtures of the tavern's setting. Some are from the world of Valucre, and others are wanderers from further off. The only constants in this ever-shifting tapestry are the core staff members who manage the tavern itself, each serving their own special function. Attractions Recurring Wait Staff Young Attractive Barmaid: Early 20’s, Green eyes and chestnut hair, with a noticeably large bust. Her name is Gwen. Young exhausted Barmaid: Just out of her teens, always looks worn out and haggard. Smaller frame on top, but generous hips below. Her name is Beatrice. Young scrawny barmaid: New on the job, looks nervous and eager to please. Often speaks in a rehearsed manner, quite rapidly. Tiny, but looks healthy otherwise. Average looking. Her name is Clair. Young man with dark skin and bare feet: The Rafters server, as nimble and acrobatic as an ape in the jungles, he was hired for his abilities to assist those patrons with difficult logistical seating placements. His name is Tova. Man in his mid-twenties, blond, frequently scruffy. Rather friendly, a bit boisterous at times. He gets along well with anyone, and is known for flirting with the prettier customers who don’t come in with obvious attachment. His name is Fjorn (pronounced Fee-orn). Woman in her late forties, wavy, short grey hair and blue eyes. She has no patience for the workers she thinks are lazy and will be quick to click her tongue and chastise slackers. She is stocky but short, with old battle scars she says she earned from "Fighting in the pits, earning her freedom with blood." She's willing to tell a tale or two about her past fights. Her name is Wentree. [Hired recently] Younger man in his mid twenties, about 5'10 but huge build and a bald head, with nearly black skin. He speaks with a mild accent, but he is happy to repeat himself when required--but you have to make sure he knows you missed it, because he has a tendency to miss those signs, among other things. He seems to zone out a lot, and will trip over objects too. His name is Fendrel. He does not flirt, as his Husband wouldn't like it. [Hired Recently] Young man with long, red braids and grey eyes. He is perhaps 18, and quite talkative. He has his left eyebrow pierced three times and both ears filled with hoops and cuffs on his cartilage. He sometimes gets distracted by the bard, or pretty women. Wentree frequently gets on him about staying about his work. His name is Mism. [Hired Recently] Toilet Scrubber Not all the dragons fell during battle. One so-called "Tom" managed to fall inside the range of Ghallen's protective magic, sparing his life when the Dragon Cultist General decided to hit friends and foes with a blast of necrotic magic designed to drain life from others. Ghallen later found him playing "dead" as he was told to, and could see that the dragon-kin really did feel bad about the whole ordeal--those cultists, they sure can be convincing! So, Ghallen got him patched up, but not all is amended yet. The Tavern expects people to earn their keep, and that those who wish to reform their way should do so through hard labor. Vaddock set the dragon-kin to work as the official toilet-scrubber, keeping the privies clean. So far, he's been doing a pretty good job. His name is Zezzicryt, but most just call him "Z." He is 7' tall, and rather intimidating at first glance, especially for those who fought them. The veterans of the battle eye him suspiciously, but Vaddock feels like he might really mean to turn over a new leaf. Nevertheless, he still has Hand keep a close eye on him.
  2. On the terrace of a rather posh cafe, Yineffe passed her gaze over the displays below. Mageside City was lively, people everywhere. Academy students mostly, fresh-faced youth hustling about, carrying tomes and hawk feathers, cracked spice and crystals. She took a deep breath, shifting herself carefully. The bazaar was below, loud, lining the alley with hooting stall-keepers. The drinks were a draw. The cafe served her favorite mint flavored tea, but she was really there to watch the local painter practice. He was a fascinating creature. She had been in the city for a time and she had seen him labor over his creations like the world beyond him did not exist. Wearing an navy smock, sat at his easel, his brow crinkled in concentration. He painted beautifully exotic tradesmen and street performers. His face was clean shaven and his light-colored hair was clipped. He was middle aged, Yineffe surmised, the sweeping brush stokes of his work suggesting seasoned confidence. Artisans were highly thought of in her clan, creativity a rare and desired gift... “Handsome, don’t you agree?” Yineffe whipped her head up, catching the eye of the older woman who stood near her table. “Sorry?” “My husband,” the woman pointed, pulling out the other chair. “The painter?” Yineffe felt her face twist in embarrassment. The newcomer was dress in a tight grey pant suit. She was a much older woman, plump, with dark eyes and thin wrinkled lips. On a short leash she ushered two dogs around. Both stood on stick-thin legs and had hair gathered at each joint in odd little puffs. Yineffe frowned, clearly a vanity breed. “I’ve seen you poking around the public portion of the academy library.” The other woman spoke, sitting elegantly across from Yineffe with a pleased sigh. “You’re trying to study magic, aren’t you?" Yineffe glared over the rim of her cup and arched a brow. “Who are you?” “Leanna Bontavia, dear.” She spoke her name like Yineffe should know it. “I’m an administrator for the academy. I have been for years...” With scarre few words, a waiter delivered a white cup and saucer to their table. Bontavia took the teacup in hand and flipped her greying hair with pride. “I can get you some free training with a professor or two. If you agree to aid me.” Yineffe nearly choked on her tea. “Aid you how?” Bontavia wet her lips, thinking. “My nephew and I had an arrangement,” she explained. “I front the money for his startup company, a distillery, and he sends me 60% of the profits.” Her eyes flashed in anger. “I was receiving the money right along, until a few weeks ago. He just vanished. No one can find him.” “I have a sneaky suspicion,” she continued, “that he didn’t start a business at all and that he was sending small portions of my own money back to me instead, and pocketing the rest!” She patted one of the hounds heads at her side. “I want someone to track him down and return my money.” Yineffe paused, looking down to the bottom of her cup through her clear tea. “I do not know you. Why ask me?” “I’ve asked several people thus far, you are the first stranger. I think my nephew is paying off my friends and family in exchange for their silence on the matter.” Eyes narrowed, Yineffe considered the offer. Finding a well connected man in this city could be complicated, more so if he had any magical skill. She knew the very basic layout of the city, enough to survive, but little beyond that. Seeming to sense her hesitation, Bontavia reassured, “it shouldn’t be very difficult to find him. He stands out. Just convince him to return the money and my academy resources are at your disposal.” “Alright...” Yineffe agreed, although hesitant. “Great!” The other woman grinned. She took a pad of paper from her purse and scribbled a few notes on it. “That is his name and addressed of his supposed business." She said, handing off the note. "I suggest you start there.” Somewhat bewildered, Yineffe stood, shuffling on her coat. Bontavia stood as well and offered her hand. Yineffe tentatively shook it. “Good luck, dear...”
  3. Genesaris. He never thought he would be returning to the continent again. A wild and prosperous land full of beasts and magestorms, living was a daily challenge for the denizens who called Genesaris home. Soap MacTavish had called Shrine City his place of belonging once, a land shrouded in darkness from the lack of technology and geographic location, until the crowning of the Emperor brought in necessary resources and raised the era to one of enlightenment. Although proud of Shrine Cities progress, Soap would not be returning home anytime soon. Nah. Instead the Artificer headed toward the Carmine Dominion in search of work and somewhere to call home. A funny word, home. The definition in the dictionary describes the word as somewhere a person belonged, where they can relax and feel comfortable. He exhaled, transforming it into the rough shape of laughter while his hand raked through his orange hair. "Fucking unbelievable. A place to belong. I have never found such a place before in all my years of searching, and I doubt I will find it here."
  4. Theme[spoiler]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lMbVzFtvM8[/spoiler]   Acreos had been traveling all night. He was exhausted. Fatigued. Famished. His black beard somehow felt like weight on his face, eyes stinging, body weak. He had lost his caravan to bandits. His men, his coin, his supplies—gone. Ashville, he hoped, would offer valuable enough restock to get back on track, but for now he was a merchant whose fortunes had become fines, and whose pockets of depth had become pockets of debt. He had put everything into that endeavor. Everything…   Well, at least tonight he could afford himself some slivers of solace, actually managing to find comfort in the drink and the food and the warmth of the inn he had decided would be his resting place for the night. The Traveler’s Tug was positioned about halfway in between Ashville and the Forgotten Wood, allowing a resting period for anyone traveling in either direction. Though enjoying a consistency of customer activity, the inn was no fancy establishment, preferring simpler architecture and basic layout; the 'everyman's inn'. Located where flat grassland began to take place toward Ashville, its outside color of a slightly dark yellow was selected to allow more obvious detection by persons farther away.   Acreos had chosen to sit in the middle of the inn's dining floor, enjoying the swarm of activity that elevated the atmosphere; an all too welcome change from the cold loneliness of an arduous voyage. To make things that much more quaint, alongside a roaring fire, the smell of stewed cabbage and salted meat and the aftertaste of average ale, the incoherent rampage of mixed conversations which ruled the ambiance was overthrown by the majesty of music.   Instruments took cue in their performance. Acreos felt himself smile, heart beating faster, at the sight of the beautiful woman who came to open her mouth and let escape an angelic voice if ever the man had heard one. Her singing was…intense. Taking a slow swig of his ale that suddenly tasted much better, he resided to sitting in comfort, imagining for himself a wife like the woman who had stolen his attention. 
  5. Through the Sigil’s Door Prelude Everything rattled. A man vomited into the corner of a dimly light metallic room. Seated everywhere against the walls were men and women of varying degrees of danger, most clocking in at around heavily armed and extremely dangerous. Criminals, mercenaries, people who fought for coin and lacked a sense of honor. The exact people that Miss Blonde the Crime Lord tended to surround herself with. The kind of people who would do anything to get this job done, even if it meant burning down entire towns and leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. These people were on a mission and they had been paid well. Considering the risks they had to be paid generously. If one were to look out the window they’d see the dark and heavy storm clouds that belted out lightning and screamed thunder. In an massive airships cargo hold, the ship pushed its way through the storm that surrounded a massive portal in the center of this planet. What used to be a chunk of land was swallowed into itself and had become a portal to the multiverse, it was her opportunity to get back home. ”Five minutes to drop!” A voice from the forward compartment yelled. Standing up Miss Blonde stood at the front of the drop gate. She was short in stature, just a hair short of five feet tall. Yet she carried herself with a deadly seriousness and raw power that radiated off of her body. Facing all those who had decided to join her in this endeavor to secure a package and return it, she would give an operational briefing. So with her gas mask on and her robotic laced voice, Blonde spoke to her temporary employees. ”Half of you will die or go MIA. That’s the best outcome of this mission.” She needed to tell the truth, this was not a moment to sugarcoat anything. ”We will be dropping into a portal that will hopefully send us to a place known as Sigil. It is a city that lays at the center of the multiverse, and when I say hopefully I do mean hopefully. I will be leading the jump and will be the first off the ship, so if you follow me, and you stay on my six, and a breeze or lightning bolt doesn’t take you off course. Then you will be ok. Otherwise you will be lost to the multiverse, and let me make this perfectly clear.” Blonde paused and looked over all their faces. ”Neither myself or anyone in my employ will come back for you. You are on your own and I expect that all of you would do the same for me. No matter what happens to me, you will complete the mission. Mission specifics will become unlocked in your data devices that you have been provided once we push through the portal. So make your peace with whatever god you subscribe to because this is it people.” Her briefing was short, unceremonious, and only slightly depressing. Yet it was what needed to be said. ”Four minutes!!” The forward voice shouted once again. As everyone readied themselves, they would be provided with an portable inflatable raft and a parachute should they get blown off course or decide to leave. It was really more of a formality and safety blanket. This was after all a giant portal in the middle of the ocean, so chances were they wouldn’t come in handy. If anyone were to look over to Blonde they’d see her forgo the emergency supplies and just take what was most important. A rather body shaped sub machine-gun and a bandolier of grenades and ammo strapped across her black jacket. She was ready. As for everyone else. They had about four minutes until they would jump into hell.
  6. House Mythal " You think you will have any of your own?" "What, wine? You know I don't have the stomach for it." Austere looked at his brother unamused. You never felt in one place with Milorian, as if he was the sole individual making the world revolve and if he stopped, so would it. A strange round-aboutness, it could drive a man crazy just to get a straight answer out of the elf. "Milo ..." "Don't look so sour, Austere. I was only joking." Milo looked down at the small body resting peacefully in his lap. He would have forgotten about the child, so light he felt and so quiet he has been the last few hours. Easton was by far the most well-behaved child out of the rest, and often enough Milorian has admitted (to himself only) to spoiling the boy with the attention he does not need. It wasn't out of pity, the elf told himself for the thousandth time, it was out of love and pride and joy - especially joy. The child was a weakness of his, though if asked he would push the subject aside and pursue another route of thinking. He hated being put on the spot about emotional attachments. Idly, he sifted his fingers through the child's white hair (a homage to his Mythal name) and allowed himself a brief smile. Children would be a wish come true, yes. Brooding eyes looked out the window of his humble quarters; there was so much to do that wishes and dreams have to be set aside. "Maybe someday, though Ronan and Terra will have already populated our ranks enough by then I won't have to worry about trying." "So I've heard! At this point, it's unnatural to see Terra not heavy with child!" Austere's laugh made his brother chuckle in reply, the action and sound oddities to the both of them. It felt wonderful just to speak, to laugh and think about the future. Milo lost himself in thought, still stroking Easton's hair, occasionally fiddling with the pointedness of the child's ear. Austere watched his brother, admiring the man that fit perfectly in their father's chair while he entertained himself with the sleeping child. The Dred Wolves have fought through the lines of partition, spilled their blood for the people of their home, died in the name of deserved justice. They all did their part of maintaining their house and name, most of the work done by Milorian. Looking upon his brother, he did not envy his position as head of the house. "Are you prepared for tonight?" If at all possible, Milo's frown deepened as he sighed, apparently forgetting that tonight was rife with celebration. Head of the house, sure, but he had no power over his mother and sisters; they had him wrapped around their finger, and he didn't have the strength to fight them. He was gotten. "No," he cradled Easton in his arms, needing something to keep him anchored. People will be filling their home this evening, and he wasn't prepared to face any of them just yet. "You could have - no, no you couldn't have." Austere was older than Milo. Thus he's had years of practice to stay stalwart against their mother's insistence. The memory of his brother folding under their mother's suggestions, her backing being the wives of the family, all the while their father stood back in false ignorance, made him smirk. There was entirely no surviving the attack; they laid siege to Milo's defenses, already weak and poor. "Tonight then?" "Do you have to ask?" Easton briefly woke up as he was exchanged between hands. Austere was a gentle man whose attachment to his only child is needy and often overbearing. Though such actions could be considered the norm, for the Mythal's are known for their selfishness towards their family and its growth. Their wounds were also still very fresh, the terrible loss of their brother and Austere’s wife and child still hung on the Mythal’s sharp shoulders; Austere was allowed his possessiveness. Some hours later he was trying to find his footing, thwarted continuously by grabbing hands that spin him in a reel he’s relatively unfamiliar with. His mother had unceremoniously pushed him into the dancing circle, and he was immediately assaulted by a young woman with vibrant flowers woven into her hair and a smile that sparkled. He did not return her smile, quickly he spun out, but he was fresh pray to the eager and was once again victim to the celebratory dance. Somewhere on the edges of his hazy mind, he heard his siblings snickering, his mother joyfully clapping her hands to the tune, and his sisters-in-law cackling at the scene of poor Milo dancing awkwardly. “All of you are banished!” Milorian yelled once he escaped; long fingers worked to adjust the elaborate robes he wore. His hair had been braided, a red ribbon threaded through it, but now all that hard work demolished. “That didn’t work the first time, what makes you think it will now?” Ronan yelled over the music, his right hand resting comfortably on the lower back of his pregnant wife. His blue eyes were dancing, and his stupid smile was shaking from how extensive it was spread against his equally foolish face. Milo glared at the laughing group, his blue hues turning into daggers aimed directly at all their heads. As the youngest he was the most natural target; for years he has been taken blows from his brothers without delivering any of his own. While the Mythal’s are known for their prowess of speech, he lacks the art of insult, especially against these monsters. “Behave,” Terra playfully slapped her husband’s shoulder. Ever the opportunist, Ronan grabbed the hateful hand and began to slather kisses along each digit. This poor display made their audience groan. Crossroads was alive. The bridge had been decorated by the people of the Free Marches; garlands of flowers thrown everywhere, banners of the Dred Wolf hung at every entrance, the wine was flowing from every corner, food nearly bowed the trestle tables, and the people … the people were okay. Tomorrow they may remember the aches and pains, but for a moment in time, they are given the freedom to mingle and speak of the weather, their families, the game of chess they’ve lost to their child - anything. Tonight is meant for celebration and gods willing they will celebrate.
  7. Redeye Ruckus The Free City of Izral was a field of poppies. Scarlet blooms reaching desperately for the sky, to drink in the light that nurtures. But, rise too tall, and the harvestman’s scythe would swipe off your head. Torek Redeye had rose high in the past month. Had. The cards favored him, promised him sweet, sweet dreams in the form of pills, a nice place to sleep, and perhaps a vacation to one of the villages. Then the cards bent him over and fucked him. Such was life. The difference, was, this time, he had bit off too much. Too many favors burned, too many loans taken. Redeye had gotten this far from pushing his luck, but push it any more and the reputation he had won for himself would break, dragging him screaming into the abyss. So just as always, he took it upon himself to find honest work. Honest casing, honest deals, honest blackmails, honest frauds and an honest group of rebels descending upon the Daius’ shipment only to find the weapons and supplies cleaned out. An honest, anonymous letter to one of the 12 Kings. An honest fee that would wipe off his debts. With the side deals he had made, Redeye had already set up some understandings with his creditors. The harvestman’s scythe passed over him, and he found himself alive and smelling like roses and sex. He was standing in front of a window, the revelry of the nightclub rumbling below, the gentle snore of an escort in his suite. His coarse hand pressed on the glass pane as he downed some more beer. There, in the jungle of buildings, he hid his stash. The rebellion would pay him handsomely for the weapons. He had his big break after the worst week in his life. “Mmh, enjoying the view?” his partner said. Turning from the window, Redeye grinned and wasn’t sure which view he liked better. “Oh, yes, very.” What could possibly go wrong now? He hummed happily to himself as he headed back to bed, ignorant of the metaphorical gaze of the Daius, and the literal gaze of a Daius agent, reading his name on a piece of paper, somewhere far away from the brothel. @Keen @-Lilium- @Rin
  8. The airship landed on the lush grass of the dock. It could have landed in the sea, but then it probably sink. And Rowan not being so big, it was how they landed any aircraft. Unless it came crashing from the sky. Rin exited the ship as she looked at the people around her. Hearing the exploits of what happened in the two islands of Talia and Allia. Two dead elders at the hands of the beast. She wondered if they connected it to her yet. She didn't know. At the same time she casually strolled into the heart of Argyll-Obelisk. She knew that she would have to reach the bigger city to find the elder. But for now she wanted to visit the temple. It use to house an artifact. But now it held nothing but old whispers and wind. And it sounded interesting. She heard that the sorceress Sabbath hung around the temple. It could be a good opportunity to gain an ally to her side. Or probably another chance to fall deeper into the darkness. For now she checked into the Shady Iris Inn and rented a room. For now the local gossip would fuel her mind to see what was going on in time. "The world is ending. Two elders dead. How many more will fall before the tide of war kills us all?!" "The beast has come to Rowan. We need to stand up to it. The elder will help us If we ask him!" "Thats how the last two fell! We are doomed." Climbing the stairs to the last room on the left, she heard the scared patrons of the inn. How things unraveled to the point the elders were dying. Yet no children or seeds made their appearance yet. And she wondered why. Closing the oak door to her room, Rin flopped onto the bed exhausted. She also wondered why Flanna would be mad at her, her only friend in the world at the moment even though she was demon and she said nothing. She sighed. Closing her eye she tried to sleep.
  9. (Hello, may I join the roleplay please?)
  10. Decadence in measure cannot oft be maintained; temptation, whilst adamantly resisted, is a cruel and cunning mistress whose lips whisper bittersweet truths. Who are you to deny this birthright? Vacant words tantalize the recesses of her thoughts and weigh the edges of a pale smile. The path she gleaned free of travelers allowed monsters to pervade the sanctity of her solitude. The voice so unceremoniously brash held no gender, though she heard it in both her father's and mother's colorful intonations; he ever the melancholy whisper and she the flicker of black rage. Raw emotion seeded in her heart and bore fruit, and the nectar therein coursed through her veins with each thrum of her pulse: uncontrollable rage tempered by icy calm. Her existence was an enigma-- to be born of both creation and destruction, of order and chaos. With the rustle of nearby foliage, her attention tore from those invasive thoughts and she was bequeathed a momentary reprieve. Who are you to squander this power that we have bestowed? The relief of absence was fleeting, for then returns the whispers carried by the warm breeze. Eyes of toxic green, wreathed in a halo of long, luxurious lashes, redirect their attention to the task at hand: she was looking for them-- both of them. Not long ago she felt a heaviness plague the land that has long since dissipated... but was still sensed. Soft fingertips caress the bulky leaves of a nearby plant, thumb taking care to gently caress the struggling bud shrouded by its fuller brothers and sisters; with an audible sigh, the foliage blossomed at her touch, stretching itself full and surpassing even the hardiest bloom. "So this is where you've escaped to Xintylin, Colvin... a land bereft of me." [Enter: Tziporah Arenios]
  11. Caspian Mountain Ranges - Final Fantasy Character - Vito Summon - Floki Background Ambience (If you so choose) - Link Quest - The Ouread Cargo Raid The Ouread was a well known mountain range, it's crescent landscape scattered with caves and other yet to be discovered mysteries. The day was gloomy, the sky letting out a gentle rainfall. The sound of the rain echoed throughout the mountain range, complimenting the beautiful scenery. In between the two mountain ranges was a small lake, providing water to whatever life manages to survive the harsh landscape. A strong wind rippled it's surface and blew debris around, sending a shiver down his spine. He sat at one of the many peaks, waiting. Despite what surrounded Vito, he wasn't here for the scenery. A raid was about to take place. 'They should've already made their way through here an hour ago, typical lazy smugglers' He pat his mount of the back, even Floki was growing bored. The vessel was an airship that traveled through the mountain ranges, the course of which Vito had been monitoring for a while. The airship was used to transport cargo between Blairville and Norkotia, the contents of which are questionable. Vito had learned from members of the gypsies market that the contents included illegal narcotics, and potentially may also include smuggled criminals. While these maybe rumors, the suspicious flight path seemed to reinforce these accusations. No legitimate business practice would use such a dangerous method of transport, unless it had something to hide. The plan was simple. Board the ship, kill the crew, steal the ship and sell its contents. A simple mission which boasted the possession of a new vessel and potentially the acquiring of illegal goods, something that would sell well on the black market. "Where are you guys? I grow impatient, bring me the goods." The raider whispered to himself, clenching his fist in anticipation. Suddenly, a small vessel appeared around the corner. A wooden bow peering into sight. A small chant was just audible over the winds, three crew member stood on the top deck singing and drinking. A lovely sight to most, but an easy target for Vito. He brought his mount out of sight, ensuring the ship would not be able to see him. He lay waiting for the ship to come into sight, ready to pounce on his prey from above.
  12. 'Something happened in the mountains,' he said, voice echoing across the halls of dreams. Across from him, he watched the elf nod, her eyes dulled with sorrow and worry. Instinctively he reached forth, his eager hand crossing the space between them like a falling star streaking the heavens. Here he can't feel the lush curve of her cheek or the warmth of her soft skin, but his mind conjured the sensations, and it was the next best thing. 'I don't know what yet. They shouldn't be so ... active." She leaned into the welcoming palm, finding home within the callouses freckling his palm. Within these halls, they work the magic to help bring life to memories, like the warmth of his touch and curve of her cheek. They are real, yet they are not - it's a difficult thing to paint. For them, it did not matter, not when there is so much to be said in just a matter of hours. It is too easy to get caught up within the winding maze of their dreams and memories; the temptation to stay can be an alluring song most can't fight. 'They will figure it out, Harshal,' she said with conviction that made him think she was telling the truth. 'We have our mission; we can't abandon our post.' And when she turned her face, she placed a familiar kiss on the palm of his hand. It made his skin crawl, causing the song of dreams to beat louder and louder in his ears. The day they parted ways she had done the very same, and now it was replaying before him, causing him to suck in a deep breath that did nothing to quell his nerves. Elves of his homeland kissed their closest friends palm as a farewell to one another; a representation of companionship that would stretch for years to come as they are now bound together. And she had linked him to her, their friendship forever safely harbored in the palm of their united hands. He missed the smell of spices and smoke wafting through his room; he yearned for the voice of his mother's singing while she baked. The sweet familiarities of a mundane life made him eager to return to the tall mountains of his home, abandoning this mission. 'No, you don't.' 'No, I don't,' he replied, forgetting that it's easy to hear someone's thoughts if you're not too careful. 'Don't wait so long to speak with me, okay? I worry.' 'I promise.' That promise pushed him back into the world of the living, his brief moment of hesitance making the reunion of soul and body a rough one. Startled awake, the large knight rolled roughly to his hands and knees, the biting morning air causing him to shiver. He has visited the halls every night since he and Shanti departed, hoping that he would meet her there but time stretched into months, and he began to give up hope. They both are connected to the heart of their homeland, so it wasn't much of a surprise to see her there in the halls with the same feeling of dread as himself. The mountains of the Flame Court are alive for reasons unknown, creating a danger that is just as mysterious. Blinking away his dream, red eyes focused up to the sky, noting the mix of colors of early morning spread above them. The journey hadn't been a terrible one, almost pleasant if he's to be entirely honest. He turned his attention to Jal who slept close by (their bedrolls next to one another) and heaved a sigh of relief - he was the pleasantness. The knight had almost fallen to the temptation of staying inside his dream, and it was worrisome; seeing Jal made it clear that he had truly returned to the real world with only a slight touch of the halls tainting his mind. "Creator give me strength," he growled, hauling himself to his feet. Harshal began the morning routine quickly, wanting to feel the chill of the morning, smell the sweetness of the world around him. This has become a habit during their journey: Harshal began breakfast of eggs and bread, wait for Jal to wake up, eat, and talk around the fire before setting out. They've had their fair share of interruptions with beasts and bandits, escaping each moment with only minor blunders. The decision to go to Temple City was made after one particular little struggle that left them with only half of their supplies intact, and he knows he can handle a few more weeks with just the minimum, but he was not willing to push such struggles on his friend. After breakfast, he would don his armor, for now, he wears simple travelers wear that made it much more comfortable with sifting about their small camp. While separating the rest of their food in equal measure, he kept his eyes on their surroundings, noting the sandy hills and minor vegetation. It was quiet, and it raked his already raw nerves.
  13. Outsider. Unnatural. Heretic. Bittersweet were the epithets that tripped off the wagging tongues of those who could not appreciate Caeceila Glasmann's affliction. In their unflagging ignorance, the superstitious and the malcontent readily misrepresented Caeceila's motives and branded her with all manner of vulgar misnomers, none of which bear repeating, that overplayed her purported ruthless efficiency and insatiable lust for blood. Of late, Hell's Gate was a cornucopia of such rumors where the nobility was concerned, particularly in drinking establishments frequented by the lower classes. In truth, anyone who was anyone could testify that none of these labels applied to Caeceila, for definitive knowledge of her condition, at least among the powers that be, easily outpaced the gossipmongers' litany. Nevertheless, a convenient lie coupled with Caeceila's newfound notoriety had transformed her into a symbol entities with an agenda could assail. She was much despised by the downtrodden who had lost their livelihoods to astounding advances in industrial automation, marked forever as a noble who cared more for the welfare of strangers than the poignant suffering of her own people, and they sought to vilify her for that injustice whether or not she was a deserving recipient of their rage. Was it any surprise, then, that drunken rabble had assembled at the gates of the Glasmann Estate, brandishing crude, improvised weaponry, approximately a quarter of an hour before guests were permitted to set foot on the premises? Not at all. Nor was it especially alarming when the mob forced itself past the team of young, well-groomed servants unfurling plush crimson carpets in advance of whatever might constitute the evening's opening ceremony, hellbent on vandalizing Caeceila's property. It was the terror that gripped the intruders in the chaotic retreat that ensued, the sustained shrieking of adult men carted out on stretchers, and the wild-eyed stares of the handful who were silent that caused the local looky-loos to quietly disperse, leaving only the scarce few who weren't so intimidated by Caeceila's show of force that they dare not brave her lair and risk her wrath. When the servants were recalled and the stout, ebony gate slid aside, its steady, telescoping motions doing much to enrich the pageantry of the reveal, a cavernous expanse illuminated by an artificial star stretched out before the audience. A tremendous collection of life-sized metal soldiers, facing inward toward the crimson finery neatly draped over the mass of platforms spread before a fleet of luxurious hovercraft, chartered for the express purpose of conveying guests from the entrance to the estate to the manor's great hall, scintillated in rays of light cast by the setting "sun," a soft, white orb that engendered no discomfort in the eye when viewed directly. A host of six-legged robots, mobile artillery units, judging by their heavy-duty design and menacing black frames, skittered in the distance, their imposing armaments repurposed for the night's festivities, firing a ceaseless barrage of cylindrical canisters that erupted into fantastical shapes cut from brilliant light into the air above crowd. The air itself was sweet with the amalgamated scent of beds of magnolia and lilac in blossom, courtesy of a microhabitat enabled by the city's world-renowned magitech. Indeed, all kinds of flowering flora dotted the landscape, tended, as they were, by swarms of butterflies so garish their admirers might get the impression that they too dressed their Sunday best for just this occasion. Empty birdcages are suspended from towering trees, implying that the exotic songbirds they once held have been moved elsewhere until the fireworks show concludes. The palatial structure that serves as the Glasmann residence proudly stands in consummate contrast to the bulk of Hell's Gate. Artistry and craftsmanship adorn every shining facet of the ancient domicile. Each stone bespeaks both the longevity and prosperity of the venerable Glasmann line, as if the fates of House Glasmann and the city of Hell's Gate were inextricably interwoven in days of yore. Much of the central structure, in fact, predates what is now considered the basic infrastructure of Hell's Gate, painstakingly preserved from the first settlement and transferred to the modern age with a profound reverence for tradition that is so very lacking in a great number of Hell's Gate's modern nobility. All of the glasswork in the older sections of the manor has been recently rehabilitated, allowing the throng of onlookers to examine renditions of Caeceila's ancestors and key events in the history of Hell's Gate through various viewscreens in the hovercrafts as they soar toward the newest wing of the manor, a staggeringly advanced wing constructed primarily from concrete, steel, glass, and composite materials. Several other buildings are visible from the hovercraft, including a private airship dock, servants' quarters, and what appears to be a small communications center flying Drow colors, but none can hope to hold a candle to the sprawling behemoth that is the Glasmann manor. Almost universally, the atmosphere is charged with magic and excitement, for this is the maiden unveiling of the Glasmann Estate. The news crews that remain descend into a dizzying spirals of feverish activity as influential and inconsequential members of society alike are whisked, as one, into this veritable wonderland that was hiding beneath their very noses. Upon disembarking at the great hall and proceeding through its titanic, metal doors, all guests, having checked in with the servants manning the gates prior to their admittance to a hovercraft, are issued a magitech tablet displaying the itinerary for the event and assigned a personal servant who shall see to their needs for the duration of the event. After this, guests are permitted to wander the great hall and the lawn in front of the great hall with the caveat that the uppermost balcony, accessible by both a staircase and an elevator, is a restricted area. For the majority, there is little draw in scaling that cordoned off staircase, for the diversions available on the first floor, mezzanine, and lawn are guaranteed to entertain even the most boorish partygoer. From skeet shooting and dueling with foils to sipping aged Yamazaki whiskey, snacking on hors d'oeuvres prepared by a teppanyaki chef, and chatting about relics, tapestries, and hunting trophies locked in various display cabinets or fixed to the dark purple wall above the handcarved wainscoting before the roaring fire of the great hearth, all ought to find something they can enjoy until the event gets underway. Yet... The organizer of the event, Caeceila Glasmann, is nowhere to be found. As with the interlopers, this is no real cause for alarm... Except that those sensitive to the paranormal will sense that the veil is especially weak in this manor. Something is amiss, but there's no time to investigate now. A bell rings, signaling that the first round has begun. White leather armchairs, velveteen loungers, mahogany furniture, fur rugs, Byōbu and sundries have been placed on the mezzanine and the first floor to facilitate social interaction with the intent of strengthening Valucre as a whole.
  14. “Listen, I just wanted to know the price on this scarf and nothing else!” Like talking over a storm, he thought while wearing an exasperated lopsided smirk. The woman didn't like him, and that's perfectly okay in his book, he didn't harbor any love for her either, but damn it! All he wanted to know was the price; it's not like he insulted her ancestors or anything. The likelihood of him buying it was extremely high; was the right color of red, fit just like a glove, and he could justify the purchase. Her ranting and raving at him were only knocking the item down in price, and he was becoming extremely irritated by her attitude. She said something that made him look down at his appearance - come again? He'll have her know that his armor was the best and just because he chose to wear it fashionably doesn't make him some haphazard knight. There are generations and generations built into the black armor, he’s not going to let some wrinkled old hag insult him because he may not fit in with the rest of the crowd. What gave her the gal? The man stood six-feet and at least - at least! - five inches and she was standing up against him like he was just a breeze to her mountainous impersonation. “Listen! I will give you what you want for it, just stop yelling at me!” Harshal said a prayer for the old woman’s family, because if she was his granny … “Wait, what?!” Just as he fished the coin out of its pouch, she slapped him with a preposterous number. He looked at her like she had three heads (matching the current two already protruding from her short frame). “Who has that kind of money?! It's a scarf, a scarf! Did the All-Creator wipe her ass with it?!” By this point, a small crowd of onlookers gathered around the stall to put their noses in not their business. Entertained by the sight of this giant man arguing with an old woman, some felt the need to stick around and see who was going to win this tug-o-war. Harshal is not going to bend knee for this hustler in wrinkles; he is also not leaving without the scarf. Now just a matter of principle, she was wasting his time throwing numbers she’s probably pulled out of her ear, but he’s no fool. He could care less if she’s a lady probably older than dirt itself, she started this whole thing by being snooty with him, and he’s not going to back down. @ourlachesism
  15. You and a group of people are tasked to acquire an extremely powerful artifact from somewhere, but as to where you will be going is still unknown. During the beefing, you were told that this mission was tasked to you by your superiors as a test run of a new technology that has been created. This technology was from a project that had been going on for a few months in the dark. You and group members are the first people outside of the lab to know about this project. It was code name "Project Tempo" and its goal was to utilize a new found temporal space called "W". This space has a few proportions that the scientist have only started to harness. They said that small tests on mice have shown positive results, but prolong exposure in "W" can have adverse effects on the physical body. Following this was a short clip on how the terminological equipment works. In the video, there were 4 distinct electronica l devices in the shape of wrist bands. it almost looks as if it were made of cloth. The first one was strapped to a rat over its wast. Connected to the band was a wire with a button. what the button was pressed quickly the rat became a pail semi translucent blue. same for the 2nt band but rather them blue its red, and the 3rd with Silver and finaly the 4th with a soft Green. "As for what you will be capable of in said "Temporal Space" is what we will be testing" The director of the mission beefing mentioned, "Now any questions."
  16. Area: 400,000 SQ FT Population: 1200+ The moon shone splendid white, in the obfuscated ominous sky, it was the main wellspring of light that could be seen for miles. Beneath its bright glow, lay heavy gates, icy to the touch should you dare open them. Revealing behind them the sight of a little grave yard. Owls, crows, and swarms of vampire bats shudder overhead, their silhouettes casting hazy shadows across the broken stones of those long lost and dead, their eyes watching you as you approach the Château. The uneven cobblestones underfoot, worn smooth from years of use, pitted from years of abandonment are littered with dead leaves and branches that crunch under foot. The path winds its way through a labyrinth of graves, hedges and leaf barren trees creaking in the wind. Pathetic patches of dead grass, dull and dim as though it had lost the will to live and quit its quest for growth. And a single desolate oak, influenced by the breeze whispering into the perpetual night with its leafless branches. All leading up to the grand Château Choisel. Enhanced as it was with foreboding figures and carvings, these Gothic touches stared out with blank marble eyes, gaping mouths, horns and claws spoke of vile evildoings inside. Château Choisel, carved and built deep into the mountain side, stood poised, its dilapidated exterior a mockery to the grandness hidden within. The way to the entryway was congested with hedges and briers whose thistles gave a last effort to stop an unknowing visitors progress. Pruned plants, long dead and abandoned flanked the steel swinging doors. They easily swing open with surprising silence, a sound counter to their dilapidated state. The ghost of hand on the shoulder, a puff of breath on the ear sends chills down the spine, characteristic responses to the sudden drop in temperature enough to drive one back toward the way they've come. The clucking from an imperceptible host and the flutter of movement just out of sight - all lead to one conclusion, this was not a safe place for mortals to tread. Counter to its exterior, superfluous and ornate with a desire for decoration; builders worked tirelessly to design décor and ornamentation to the Chateau. Patterns, shapes, and detail worked together to create a visual effect that was both imaginative and impressive. The interior of the Estate tended to be unique and rambling in its complexity. Multiple bedrooms, second-floor balconies, double doors, ornate stairways, and detailed interior trim. High ceilings, deep archways, carved woodwork, and ornate chandeliers set the stage. A formal dining room ensured enjoyable meals. A library stocked well with books and with a sprawling fireplace provided comfort and warmth. Spacious parlors located throughout the home provided occupants with formal living areas for welcoming guests. Parlors usually featured ostentatious décor such as tasseled draperies, heavy tapestries, dark wood, fireplaces with fancy mantles, and gilded wainscoting. - - - - - - - The Great Hall A multifunction room, the great hall was used for receiving guests and it was the place where the household would dine together, including the lord of the house, his gentleman attendants and at least some of the servants. From time to time it might also serve as the lord's courtroom. The decor as grand as it was imaginative, lent to the greatness of the hall and its importance. Paintings and tapestries, telling stories long lost hung on the walls, framing the ornate molding that encircled grand windows. The large bay window dominating the center wall, offering a glimpse out into the courtyard that lay beyond. The high ceilings supported by thick dark oak beams with paintings of the coat of arms looking down on the visitors, reminding them of who's benevolence they were seeking. A minstrel's gallery lay above the screen entrance to the hall, a little alcove from which music and joviality echoed across the expanse of hall and bounced gaily off the walls. At the other end of the hall, upon a raised dais, sat the head table, its heavy oak frame imposing to all who approached. Only the greatest of the great and most trusted of the Lord and Master would be honored a seat at such a prestigious place. Beyond the dais, behind a heavy oak framed door, the Lord and Master's family private rooms were concealed. A kitchen, buttery and pantry lay on the opposite side of the screen passage. Here lay the largest fireplace of the Chateau used for warmth and some of the cooking, so large a person could stand within it. It had an elaborate over mantle with stone carvings and plasterwork containing coats or arms, heraldic mottoes in Latin, caryatids and other adornments. Though the kitchen itself lies a level lower for the bulk of cooking. The great hall would be rigged with a listening device system allowing conversations to be heard in the lord's bedroom above as well as throughout the entire Chateau. The upper hall contained the Lord and Master's living quarters and bed room, a testament of comfort, lavishness and sin. Off one end of his quarters one had access from the external staircase tower from the ground-floor hall. The smaller ground-floor hall, directly beneath the Lord and Master's quarters, remained for receiving guests of social order. Its adornments and décor just as lavish as the great hall itself, a taste of the rest of the grandness that lay within. Teasing all who entered, filling them with a desire to be invited into the inner sanctum of their Lord and Master. Bed Chambers The Great chamber, the resting place for the Lord and Lady of the Chateau, lay above the ground floor hall. Its ceilings too painted with the crests of the families that presided within the residence. Walls draped with heavy tapestries, and windows that overlooked the courtyard. A large bed dominated the room, the dark oak a stark contrast to the tan of the plaster walls. Red drapes hung from the bed, concealing its comfort and warmth within. A set of lounging chairs were tucked to one side of the room, right near the fireplace. A place for the Lord to entertain his Lady....or other guests. A separate sleeping quarters was built into the structure for servants and attendants to sleep a short distance away from their Master. Ready to answer his call at any time of day or night. The castle hosted a myriad of other rooms, apartments built into the mountain as the residence grew. No windows graced these rooms, but the glow of candles kept it forever illuminated. These rooms were decorated and intended to hold guests rather than residents. Permanent residents were granted other small apartments or rooms based on their status and rank within the Coven. Each one a unique blend of its inhabitant and the history of the residence itself. All dominated by the dark oak that flanked the walls and ceilings in an attempt to support the structure. The Solar A private sitting room for the Lord and Master's family. Its intended audience the Lady of the caslte, a private and quiet getaway for her to hide from the noise of the day should she feel the need to. It is decorated with tapestries and paintings of various types, many pastoral scenes and landscapes. A fireplace not too large and not too small, decorated in a similar fashion to the great hall, hosted ornately carved oak. Upon it's mantle sat a grandfather clock and a vase full of black, thorny roses. It was a secluded spot, away from the great hall, located in the back tower of the outer Chateau, not built into the mountainside. Kitchen Located on the east side of the estate, away from the castle, covered by an arcade. Its location strategic in keeping the smells of smoke, and noise of the bustling kitchen staff away from sight and earshot of guests. Frying pans, pots, kettles, waffle irons, and utensils hang over adjustable cranes that could be easily swung away from the fires to keep them from burning or boiling over. Utensils were often held directly over the fire or placed into embers on tripods. The kitchen staff numbered in the hundreds, including: pantlers, bakers, waferers, sauciers, larderers, butchers, carvers, page boys, milkmaids, butlers and scullions. The kitchen was fully built and equip to handle to the stress of preparing two meals daily for several hundred people. A large woodshed located outside the kitchens held at minimum 1,000 cartloads of wood and a small barn held coal for burning. A pantry room kept the food, dishes and provisions stored and served. Sometimes it served as an isolation chamber for a naughty maid or disobedient page boy. The kitchen also boasted a larder and buttery located within its walls. Chapel Built with three levels, two intended for worship. Its plain decor and focus on worship pressing in upon its prayerful visitors the weight of their religion. The bottom most layer, located beneath the castle, was intended for the catacombs of the Lord and Master's family. The second level, a place of worship for the residents. The third, an ornately decorated level, complete with balcony and chairs that overlooked the second level, designed only for the Lord and Master himself. Off of it a small chapel, perhaps containing a relic, ornately decorated with gold. Cabinet / Library The Library, tucked within the folds of the mountain, was a testament to books gathered, well cared for and stashed away for centuries. Shelves lined the walls, their dark oak free of dust at all times. Comfortable furniture dominated the center of the cool room, the flickering lights from candles in hanging cast iron chandeliers lighting the room adequately enough to read. Hidden away behind a bookcase door, that only the Lord and Master would know about, lay a private chamber with the most valuable books. A place him to do his work undisturbed by guests. A gleaming desk made of mahogany was centered in the small room, a large wing backed chair situated behind it. Dungeon Located in the deepest darkest bowels of the castle, the dungeons hosted prisoners. Its dank walls leaked limestone water coming from inside the mountain, always damp and the air cold. Walls thickened and enchanted to block out the sound of screaming, agony and utter despair of those locked within. It featured no windows and no candles save the torches the jailers used to see as they navigated its narrow hallways. Prisoners were crammed into small cells with no place to sit, often dropped down into them from a trap door located above it. There they struggled in fear, forgotten, until their mortal souls passed from the world and left behind their rotting corpses and eventually nothing but bones and dust. A single torture chamber was situated in the far corner of the dungeons, filled to the brim with various tools of torture, they lined the walls. A long wooden beam that was situated over a stone basin was used to string up prisoners, the basin to catch their blood. Feeding Sanctum / Bloody Mary Tavern A sanctum of sin, located deep within the mountain, a "dungeon" of sorts, used for feeding. A series of prison cells hosted volunteers or varying races and types, all there for indulgence. Dimly lit for ambiance, the light from the cast iron chandeliers flicked across the plaster walls. In exchange for their services they are greatly compensated by the Lord and Master. On a wall opposite the cells lies massive double doors brimming with chatter and activity was the quaint Bloody Mary tavern. There, others residing in the Glen can come and partake in sins of a different kind. Injecting, snorting or inhaling their drug of choice, reveling in the ecstasy that is rush of chemicals. Aged alcoholic beverages of all sorts are available to the public hosted by two sister vampresses that have a knack for luring in susceptibile customers and seducing them, then drain the blood from their prey after they have been fulfilled in desire. Here too one can find and have the popular and invaluable Elixir of Life, for a cost. Customers are hosted in clean cells after their ingestion of the concoction and held 24hrs until after their change. Courtyard Walk through a set of large double glass doors located off the great hall and you will find yourself in a courtyard, whose rival knows no others. Hosting a variety of moon surviving plants, vivid and dark blues, pinks, purples, reds and greens dominate the landscape. Pathways weave through batches of poisonous and deadly plants. Here is the gathering place of men and women, all in an attempt to catch the attention of another. Whether their intentions good or bad, all gather here to try. In an abandoned corner of the courtyard lays a peculiar patch of carefully tilled and cultivated herbs. Out of place in such a deadly and beautifully dark courtyard, it is filled with bright greens, purples, reds, and browns. An enchanted, fake sun hovering over them to encourages them to grow in the perpetual night. Wooden stakes with strings tied to between them outline the perimeter of the herb garden, cautioning all not to step on the delicate plants. Similarly small wooden labels stick out of the ground next to clusters of herbs like fresh little grave markers. "Medical" Clinic Located off the courtyard, not far from the small patch of herbs, built into the remains of a garden house, lies the Medical Clinic. Its two front windows shaded over with lacy curtains, obscuring the scene within. Through a narrow wooden door with dirty and warped four square window at the top. Above the door, a white washed sign reading "Medical Clinic," leaves no mystery as to the structures purpose. Once inside, the large room is divided by a paper screen. The front of the room dedicated to treating the living, chairs, shelves, and a table are used to heal. Behind the paper screen, lurks a laboratory of haunting proportions. The shelves are stacked and lined with jars filled with various and strange objects, empty vials and needles neatly organized. A line of counters frames half the room, upon it sits a towering plant. Black in nature, with red leaves, if one were to look closely they would see the outline of razor sharp teeth within the beast. In the center of the room, a sterile examination table lay with a large light above it. Beneath it various tubes, syringes, scalpels and other tools. In the far corner of the room a large clear tube looms nearly up to the high raftered ceiling, currently empty. Looking up at the wood beam supported rafters one would see herbs of varying degrees of dryness. A rickety ladder tucked off to the side used to climb to its heights. The air smelled of basil, lemon and preservatives. The underground escape tunnels Beneath the castle weaves miles and miles of tunnels, all with the purpose of providing an escape for those within should the worst happen. The entrance and exit to them is only known to the Lord and Master.
  17. The forest was quiet, the wind soft against the trees causing only the most subtle of stir and wave of branches. Sitting in a large clearing Rabbit let the cool air fill his lungs in one deep breath, the winter air was only just turning into spring and the harsh chill of frigid air still lingered heavy in the Moonwood alongside the blossoming of the forest's rebirth. Rabbit's ears rotated on top of his head in response to the soft sounds of his long time home, but in those sounds was also a painful silence - the Dryads were gone. They had already taken the gate to the spirit realm, choosing what the fairies before them had chosen; to abandon the mortal realm and all it's growing changes. Rabbit could not follow them and though he had struggled with it, he knew today was the last day he could delay; today would be the last day he remained in the Moonwood, the only place he had ever known. Standing up quickly Rabbit's garish attire stood out like a sore thumb in the subtle green and browns, the patterns and colors blending into a bizarre but fitting appearance for the unusual creature that Rabbit was. His 'name' told the story of what he was in many ways, standing five foot nine inches Rabbit was a bipedal white hare, his large pointed ears making his height appear even larger and adding to a sense of unease he exuded to those who weren't used to seeing him. In ways he felt wrong, but in others he was very inviting - to peer at Rabbit was like peering at nature itself, beautiful but also dreadful. Turning on his 'heels' Rabbit stalked toward a game path he knew lead beyond the borders of his home, his twin swords dangling at his side filling the forest with the soft jingle of loose metal in motion. As he went creatures big and small offered their goodbyes, the normally elusive denizens of the Moonwood saying a silent farewell to their constant protector - they too felt the melancholy of his departure and the loss of the Dryads, and while the animals lacked the means to truly express it they felt compelled to see Rabbit one last time. Deer stood beside wolf, hunger and territorial disputes left aside for the loss of their Knight. "The Moonwood won't fall without me, I am but one." Rabbit reminded them as he walked, his somber expression not hiding his regret for leaving them unguarded. A part of him, the largest, considered simply staying in his home and fighting to protect it as he always did; but he knew he could not. His mothers would never forgive him for remaining when told to leave, and he had a feeling the Moonwood would function fine without him as it always had before his birth. As quickly as the woodland creatures had arrived they also vanished, returning to their constant struggle against the Moonwood itself and each other in turn. With each soft step he grew closer to the edge of the Moonwood, his mind focusing with clarity in turn. The world was vast, and the Moonwood would be just one place he would remember fondly in his lifetime - a lesson his mothers hoped to pass to him, to experience what the world had to offer and decide for himself if it was a place he wanted to be. The trees cleared all at once, and Rabbit for the first time viewed the wide plains and sights of Terrenus and felt the weight of the journey on his shoulders. A whole new world lay just beyond, and the excitement had Rabbit's nose twitching with anticipation and excitement! Adventure awaited! Location: Western Edge, Moonwood, Terrenus Destination: ??? OOC: (This is an Open RP, feel free to take part and bring your own stories!)
  18. A small side story began by @ianthine and myself, Anyone is welcomed to pop in It had been atleast two nights since her fateful meeting with the priest. It was an uneasy feeling to the demi-gorgon having lingered so long in one place. She was used to constantly moving, --always escaping from imagined hunters she anticipated could be after her any day now. --but things were different now, --felt different now. Things had changed inside of her and thoughts of a deity that could watch over and protect her soothed her anxiousness. Still her wandering feet, scarred with miles of dirt road, had taken her to the outstretches of the farmland just at the base of the hill. Her mind and body were at odds, muscle memory compelling her down the long stretch of dirt road. --but she wasn't leaving... she just needed to stretch her legs, didn't she? It was a lie she was telling herself. A sore feeling panged in her chest. She was a coward-- Halting in her mindless walking, her grey eyes caught a speckling of blue in the lush green fields that flanked the road. She crouched near the edge, looking at the tiny cornflower colored buds. Five healthy green sepals held eye fetching blue petals aloft, --bright yellow nestled at the center of each flower like a precious jewel. Slender fingers outstretched to graze the soft foliage. It was simple things in nature that made her feel at home. The rural town she had been staying in was loud with life. People going about their days, hustling and bustling. Xildara felt out of place here, and not only for her startling appearance that overcame her at night. Daytime held some respite for the woman, luckily her features remained humanistic during the day, but there was still an odd animalistic air about her that seemed to draw attention. A soft chiming caught on the breeze drew her attention from the tiny flora. Xildara glanced down the road, intrigued by the soft tingle of metal upon metal. --what she saw made the woman blink in disbelief. Familiar bronzed features and long burgundy hair that fell in dark waves shivered memories to the forefront of Xildara's mind. "Teha...?" The name fell from her lips in a whisper. Down the road, coming towards her sauntered a figure she had seen once before in her life; when things had become their darkest. Golden eyes punctuated a stern yet stunningly beautiful face, which was supported by a strong and graceful frame. Her eyes held the same luster as the golden trinkets decorating the woman's wrists, neck, ears and bottom lip. The woman regarded Xildara with cold eyes and nodded her head in Xildara's direction politely but continued on without an ounce of recognition in her features. Xildara's eyes welled up, hurt at first, but she suddenly realized why Mateja had acted as a stranger. Mateja had never seen Xildara in her human form. --of course she wouldn't recognize her at first glance. Mateja seemed to be headed for the village of Coth, leaving Xildara with an uneasy decision. Staring back at the long lonely road and then towards Mateja's slowly shrinking form; Xildara decided this was a sign and turned to follow after the woman. She wasn't sure what she'd say to Mateja, or even if she should tell the nomadic woman the truth, but Xildara knew she had to meet her again, in some way--
  19. Talia, the large island that sat under Athentha and Lyonesse remained silent, looming. They never got involved with the affairs of either island. But in the current wake of the demons, more and more appearing, the land couldn't sit quiet. Not any longer could it remain neutral to its sister islands waging war and killing innocents. In it's heart Talia needed to stand with what was right. The destruction of the Sakimura's last remaining child. She was the danger now, and not because the elders said so. Talia witnessed the horrors that came out of Athentha. Demons awoke and arose throughout Talia's cities destroying the peace they had enjoyed. They had no saviour, no demon hunter. They only had themselves and their knights. It was time to act, to reclaim their home. And it began with cleansing the demons from the island. The people would run through with weapons, taking down any demon they saw, even at theown cost of their lives. The land would burn. Saved from the darkness. If only that was true.
  20. “What do you suppose it means to be alive?” The words carry across the room with no destination in mind and drift past countless other people caught in their own conversations. Old wives’ tales would have him believe that conversing with himself is unhealthy, a practice whose practitioners are mentally unfit. He, of course, knows better. Anecdotally, he knows that conversing with himself helps him think and forces him to better weigh out the situation. Beyond that, though, he’s aware of the fact that in many fields people talk to inanimate objects in order to help them problem solve. People don’t need someone to listen to their problems, they need to hear their own problems… they need to admit that they have a problem. And so he sits in a café, conversing with no one between sips of coffee. “If all we feel are electrons repelling one another, and nothing truly touches, then my entire perception of touch is false. Likewise, my eyes only observe two-dimensions but my brain fabricates a three-dimensional image, I’m not actually seeing. So, what is real?” The cup is brought to his lips once more, only for him to realize it is empty. “That’s…. poetic.” He stares blankly at the empty husk, something barren and devoid of substance. A kindred item that parallels his feelings. Setting the cup on the table, he slouches down and then plops his head onto his forearm. Canting his head to the left aligns his face so that smalt irides encircle the ceramic flask that he longingly wishes to refill. “I’m unhappy.” Although in truth there is no difference between talking to no one and talking to a cup, it does make him feel a little less lonely. “Being alive, the fact that perception and reality are all fabricated. These are trivial things. Regardless of what the truth is, it changes nothing… and I know that. But it is a lot easier to worry about something that I can’t actually do anything about than to admit that I’m miserable. It’s easier to distract myself than deal with my problems.” “Problems like an empty cup?” Pulled from his musing, he glances up at the server, who looms… no she isn’t looming. Looming is ominous, she is anything but. Although there are hints of dark circles, partially concealed by makeup, beneath her eye, her eyes are bright and friendly. The upward pull of the corner of her lips and the arches of her eyebrow give the impression of a perfectly pleasant person. Although the pitch of her voice is elevated, it is within the range of what might be taken for friendly or maybe interest. His eyes slip from her face and back to the table. “Not interest, amusement.” “Pardon?” “Your eyes aren’t dilated and your cheeks don’t show any indication of flushing. You’re amused because I’m practically laying on the table. I suppose I do look a bit ridiculous right now.” “Well, just a little. Customers usually don’t lay on the table unless they’re drunk.” “I’m not.” “You’re not?” “I’m not drunk.” “Well Mister Not Drunk, can I get you anything else. Maybe a pillow and blanket?” “There is no situation to defuse, you don’t need to joke. I’m not embarrassed. Although, I could use another cup coffee, please and thank you.” She remains still, long enough for three or four blinks, before finally heading back toward the counter “What in the name of Gaia just happened?”
  21. Modern Illusion: Unusual World
  22. “Ah, you can’t find freedom like this anywhere,” Fawkes thought to herself. She was soaring over the windswept sands of the Badlands and the thermal updrafts were perfect this time of day. The wind rustled in the brown, black and white feathers of her 6-foot wingspan. Though the Badlands were extremely inhospitable to outsiders, it was home to Fawkes. She was one of the few Avians left in Valucre, as most of them thought that the world had become too populated with cities and settlements for them to be able to fly free. Her small tribe, consisting now of her brother and his family and a few of the other young Avians, moved to the Badlands after Odin Haze’s attack on Blaurg Mountain where they had been living for nearly four generations. But the move was not easy, they left Blaurg Mountain with 15 and now there were only 10. Some abandoned the group and flew back to the mountains and the flight out of Valucre and some were lost to the harshness of the Badlands. They created their own sort of nomadic tribe and even managed to befriend the Mahrjan tribe and setup a loose trade network with them. The Shai-leuth elders believed that the Avians were warriors of Gaia because their wings allowed them to be closer to the light of her glory. But today she was out enjoying one of the cooler parts of the day and seeing if she could spot anything worth trying to hunt. Fawkes was the best hunter in the flock, her keen Avian eyes were like those of a hawk and could pick out even the smallest prey, she almost always managed to bring something back for the flock even during the most extreme parts of the year. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something glint from the sand, she banked her wings and wiped the dust from her goggles. Beneath her she saw a sand-rat foraging through the sunbaked earth. Unlike normal rats, sand-rats were as big as wolves and had even worse tempers. Fawkes grabbed the Vakar spear from her back, flew up higher and then dove. She tucked her wings close to her back and felt the wind blow through her hair and sand sting her face. As she neared the ground, she snapped open her wings and threw her spear. The rat let out a long shriek and bared its teeth as the long double-sided blade buried itself in its side. She flew toward the sand-rat and pulled her spear from its side. In one swift motion she pirouetted in the air and slashed upward with her spear. The sand-rat let out a gargled scream and toppled over. “Not a bad catch. This will be great for tonight,” Fawkes said as she began cutting up her prize. The sun was beginning to set, and Fawkes knew that she would need to get back to the camp before even more rats came above ground. Stuffing the last of the meat and useful parts into her bag Fawkes took off and flew back to camp.
  23. NARRATIVE - THE DRAGON AND ITS SHIP It was not the first undead dragon to make its way to Kaurilia nor will it be the last. The dead city perhaps has something that attracts these excessively large winged reptiles, these needlessly large winged reptiles even go so far as to make the city their humble home. What can this elegant yet necrotic scaled beast of death and destruction want with such a lifeless city? Perhaps no one can tell. However, that is not the point of this story. Going back a few hundred years, there was a ship. Not just any ship but the rumored Godhand. It was a thing of beauty but not even the most beautiful and majestic ship can be immune to the curses of Whispernight. And so, one fateful stormy night, as one such grandiose airship happen to pass upon the rumored dead city of Kaurilia when one of the rumored undead dragons seemed to have developed a fancy for such a glorious object. What can a winged reptile get from a flying airship? Not very much but that did not stop the scaly flying monstrosity from charging at the poor thing. Perhaps this was the last time the airship was seen, at least from Genisarian eyes. It plummeted down to a nearby mountainous region, one that was close to the dead city of Kaurilia. It laid there on that unknown ground, forever lost, forever forgotten. The ship is still in good shape all thanks to its incredibly durable build but with no one to pilot it, it is now just a waste of space and with that undead dragon guarding it, will it every take flight once again? @King
  24. ~*~ Ten miles outside of the boundaries of Tia ~*~ Kyra looked worse for wear as she walked into her tent only to find several people sitting with in the tent waiting for her. It looked like the whole Nichole Family were sitting in chairs and watching. Each of them looked rather tired as if they have not slept in days, which was partially true. Kyra recounted how they took a stand outside the gates of their school. They opened up the school and took a stand against the darkness that was plaguing the city of Tia. However it was overwhelming and more powerful than Kyra could ever imagine. On top of that, a deadly virus/infection was weaponized which caused the deaths of countless Tian brethren. Perhaps it was the goddesses watching over Kyra, but she knew it was time to leave, and thus the school fled through the underground tunnels of the school. They accepted as many refugees as they could before they sealed the entrance doors. The group composed of students and refugees fled for what seemed like hours, running at a quick pace. Behind them they heard hard thuds and shifting of the earth. Not knowing what it was, the adrenaline kicked in and the fleeing party ran faster fearing death. Once they reached the open air, the refugees did not stop, for Eleria, Daughter of Selena sprouted her wings and flew forward, becoming a beacon in which the group could follow through the darkness. It wasn’t until another ten miles that they finally stopped in order to catch their breath. Ironically as the massive group of people traveled it seemed as more people who were fleeing the city began to intertwine with the traveling party and nearly doubling their size. Kyra set up several medical stations and began running magical tests in order to clear new applicants to their groups. Those who were infected where frozen by magic and reinforced by protective spells until they can find a cure. The problem however was no longer the virus, but the logistics of the situation. Kyra did not have a way to feed this many people. Sure they had supplies that several hundred people carried, but it could not feed tens of thousands of refugees. They needed help. Kyra had ordered several dozen of search parties to travel out into the night to hunt wildlife for food and forage as much as they can. The students began utilizing their magic and created homemade shelters for people to sleep in to provide some protection from the outside weather. However their magic was limited and soon they grew tired as well. Something had to be done. “Kyra. If we don’t decide our next course of action, many people will die. We cannot allow this to happen. If what the reports say are true, it is possible that we are the last of Tian culture as we speak.” Natalie did not make eye contact as she leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes. Kyra could tell that Natalie, for a powerful as she was, clearly was spent. Her mana levels were extremely low and even her reserves were becoming scarce. “I understand that cousin. The people need to rest, and while they are doing so, we need to come to a decision. Where do we go? Who will take us in?” Kyra looked around and waited for some suggestions. “How about Last Chance? Sure it is a town of dangers but a town none the less.” Eleria said softly as her tired eyes focused on the task at hand. “We cannot go there.” A familiar voice spoke as a Drow entered the tent. Nim’Ruin was a mage of considerable talents, and was the only male to be recognized by the family. He however held an annoying personality but Selena found him to be as loyal as Drow can be. “The Black Witch is within Last Chance. With as tired as you all look, perhaps it isn’t the best thing to have to contend against her magick when we aren’t one hundred percent.” Nim’Ruin spoke in a rather direct tone. Eleria countered as she smiled at Nim’Ruin. “No one has seen the Black Witch in years. We cannot head to Hel’s Gate either for Shekinah is there hiding. Even if these women are family, I rather deal with the Black Witch over that Lich.” “Be respectful to your elders Eleria.” Nim’Ruin said softly as he waved his hand. A map of Terrenus laid upon the table. “Last Chance and Hell’s Gate are off the table. We cannot subject these people to the ways of Last Chance and we won’t be able to protect them against the powers lying dormant there. Yh’Mi is also off the table. The Matron is there as we speak, and there is some interference with her magic. She is weaker there, and thus the rest of us will be extremely weakened as well. I say we start looking to the west. There is Casper, Ignatz, Dougton, and Weland.” “All of those places are heavily guarded and we have no idea if they will even take our numbers? True, they are all Terrens but as we travel I am confident we will pick up more people. We need somewhere far from the center of politics and somewhere where it is safe. Perhaps Baizo Isle?” Kyra said curiously as she touched the top left portion of the map. “A town called Aspyn seems to be the further port from where Tia is.” Nim’Ruin nodded slightly. “Aspyn from what I heard is a newer city. That however is a long way to travel We will lose many people.” “We will lose many people with us standing idly by. We will announce our intent and those who wish to travel with us can stay. Those who wish to go to other cities are free to leave. I however think that people will opt to stay then to venture the wilderness alone. We can stop by Dougton on the way and rest, and then head to Weland and then proceed north. We can send emissaries ahead and inform them of the fate of Tia and ask for aid while we are passing through. Until then, Cam’Mia can travel to Biazo Isle with Nim’Ruin to inquire about if they will accept us.” Kyra turned around to look at everyone but it was Nim’Ruin who spoke up again. “Shall we offer them our school?” He said softly as he met eyes with Kyra. “If they will have all of us, then yes, we will offer to relocate our school and knowledge there. We cannot betray the trust of the people who are with us. We have to find them a home. Thousands of families depend on it.” Kyra said in finality as Nim’Ruin merely smiled. “I suppose our Matron was wise to leave you in charge Kyra. You are sometimes the best of us.” He said quickly as he bowed and stepped out of the tent with Cam’Mia following right behind him. “This is going to be dangerous and long.” Natalie said in passing as she stood up, stretching out. “We cannot leave these people to die.” Kyra said as she stared towards the tent’s exit. “No…No we can’t. Get some rest Kyra. You will need it tomorrow. I’ll head out to secure the perimeter. Hopefully the hunters come back soon. “Natalie breathed deeply as she left the tent, leaving Kyra behind to her own thoughts. Kyra, the woman in charge of the Nichole School of Magic sat by her cot and nearly placed her hands over her face. In all of her years alive, she had never felt so much burden upon her shoulders. She had been to wars upon wars but never was she in charge. She could help but wonder what will happen if she failed? What would happen to her students? Almost all of them held massive potential and if she led them to their deaths, it would be horrific. Kyra definitely needed help and soon. @amenities Summary of Past Events: The Nichole School of Magic fled Tia via underground tunnels after helping thousands of fleeing citizens. They are looking for a home.
  25. NOTICE Hub in Use MTPD The Buffer MTPD Headquarters (Martial Town Police Department) Detective Parean Parean Music The Drain Detective It had taken a sloshing crater of a puddle to convince Parean to put his cigarette out beneath his umbrella. The latter had done enough to shield the flame but getting his shoe soaked had ruined his appetite to smoke. It was pouring out, the night cold, with the stars a hazy overhead amid the city’s smog and sure to remain that way these few hours past evening. Reaching the sidewalk after crossing the street, he checked his watch: just past nine o’clock. I’m on time. At least that’s something. On time, the first time, and the first night in Martial Town. It was every bit as vibrant and lethargic, dead and lively, as he had heard. A paradox. Just like me. The city’s suburbs had been quite a contrast to its central areas. All of Martial Town was walled on the outside, some parts in, while the outer wall was as much to protect the people inside as the people outside, though which one was more than the other Parean didn’t know. There was a lot to hear and a lot to say about this city, most of it not great. The settlement’s small handful of gates at the wall were guarded checkpoints. Tunnels in their own way, they posed a kind of duality between these access points into the city proper and the surrounding districts and neighborhoods that were clearly suffering the worst; neglected, abandoned, the residents left to ‘police’ themselves. As a visitor, Parean was still working out what to make of it all. Amid all of it, though, it was a night like tonight that the Neon City really shined. Lights of its nicknamesake were lit up everywhere, from the outer limits to the inner. A giant, flickering lightbulb. Those peripheral areas were simply and collectively referred to as the Peripherals. They led deeper into the city—a ring of blocks called the Buffer, an evident shorthand for “Buffer Zone”. It was a fitting name. This area was largely neutral, serving as a wedge between the Peripherals and the heart of Martial Town: the Core. The latter was its own walled district, militarized and policed by the city government’s own armed force. That left the majority policing of the Buffer to the Martial Town Police Department. There was much and more to learn about this city that never sleeps, but Parean only really needed to know that which pertained to his being here. Standing beneath the roof of the MTPD Headquarters, a complex of drenched buildings, he lowered his umbrella, content that the rest of his outfit, including his best friend of a brown trenchcoat, was hardly hit by a drop. Debating with himself whether to light up his cigarette then and there, Parean grumbled over his own refusal. A few hoodlums were looking his way as he pocketed the unlit cigarette between his lips, but they weren’t worth any effort either. On his way into town, he had learned that the crime rate of the Buffer rested somewhere in the middle between the high end of the Peripherals and the low end of the Core—it was certainly still there, a deal more so than in other settlements, but no idiot was going to start a fight outside of a police station. Of which I better waste no more time and head inside. Ambience Through the doors, Parean was greeted by the hustle and bustle of police hands just like one would be in any law enforcement station in a big city like Martial Town. Unintelligible conversations were strung together like split wires, phones were ringing like a symphony out of sync and keyboards were going tap-tap-tap amid the click-click-clack of unpolished shoes. If the lobby was this busy, the offices on all floors that exceeded ten were likely no different. “Hey, hey hey!” Parean’s brow perked at the voice of a man coming his way with rolled sleeves and a tie as loose as his own. “What’re you trying to do, drown the building!? Ezmo, get this guy a towel, will ya!?” Parean could only blink as a lobby hand, some twenty-year-old named Ezmo, chucked a towel at his face. He caught it before it hit his face but still felt confused. The speaker just stood there waiting, shaking his head, then nodding in the way that one wants to hurry someone else up. Finally, it all clicked. “Oh. Right. Sorry about that. Damn puddles.” With that, Parean went about drying off his left lower leg and the dress shoe at the base of it, though his sock would have to suffer. “Thanks. Here you go.” He chucked the wet towel back toward Ezmo. It hit his face. “SHIT! YA JERK!” Parean shrugged in apology. “All right, all right, knock it off!” The first man spoke, still standing there with his hands on his hips. Must be the bouncer around here. “Ezmo, go get those files I asked about twenty minutes ago! And make sure that pot is brewing, damn it!” He looked Parean’s way. “The hell you doing still standing there!? This is a police station. Either make a police case, or go station yourself back in the rain. I got work to do! Sheesh!” The man walked away and that was that. Parean just stood standing, his umbrella in one hand, his free hand slick with rainwater. Well, guess I better find the captain who decided that it was a smart idea to hire me as a private investigator. He had caught a job through his PI connections of a serial killer on the loose in the Buffer. It was a rainy season, and this particular animal liked to drown his victims, or so recent reports went. Parean would find out soon enough as he made his way throughout the lobby and headed toward the elevators, smelling coffee along the way. One cup. It won't hurt. No more than a wet sock.
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