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  1. From first glance, the building appeared outdated and out of touch; nestled into a corner pocket of the universe, this old-fashion establishment was the resting place from travelers around creation. Quaint wooden doors recessed into the wall roughly reaching 8 feet high with each door containing stained glass artwork depicting angels and demons lying on a bed of clouds, symbolizing a haven for saints and miscreants alike. The doors swung open to an extravagant ballroom sized lounge with materials from worlds of the imagination; a broad bar with seats planted against the far left wall, to the right and rear were other offshoots of rooms, but the main focus was in the center of this room; tables and chairs for patrons to lounge about. The furniture littered the room in an organized fashion. An assortment of tables and chairs neatly scattered about the room gave occupants various choices to try; tables made of woods from around the cosmos, leather chairs, sofas large enough to seat a horde of goblins, chairs in all shapes and sizes, and swings that whimsically hung from the heavens. The main lounging area had all the offerings of modern-day bistros with hints of taverns; tables with books containing the history of the worlds sprawled among magazines showing today’s hottest elven men and women, and board games piled as high as the tallest giant. As far as one could imagine, everything one needed to enjoy a cup of the world’s finest coffee and chat over topics was here. A delicate glass sign floated in the air as soon as walking through the threshold. This sign was the first object all who entered came upon, always legible to those who read it no matter the language and telepathically spoken to those without sight. Today, the board read: WELCOME CLUB MEMBERS This Week: Snacks and Beverages Discussion – Room 105 Today’s Special: Coffee – Made by Wish for Death – Breakfast Blend Once past the sign and down a few steps, the main area opened to the wonders of the building. A comprehensive bar took over a section of the lounge, table-top seats neatly placed in front of the exquisite mahogany bar that stretched for what felt like eons. The bar was meticulosity organized; glassware hung from specific locations on the bar, placed so that the barkeeps could grab but not hinder the view of others, taps with odd symbols gave proof to ale and beer, and a large array of spirits rested on glass shelving. In one section behind the bar were makers for coffee, expresso, and storage containers packed with tea. A spherical, glass globe was mechanically turning colored ice inside for those needing a cooler treat and drink at once. The bar was the heart of the operations, it was where food could be ordered, drinks were made, and occupants sat discussing news of the world. A behemoth chalk board was hung center stage behind the bar. In ogre-sized print read: No ordering ‘The Strongest Drink’ centered above the lists below. The chalk board listed every cocktail, ale, wine, spirit, coffee, and other various drinks available on the upper level bar. Following a roundabout path on the outer parameters of the lounge, the rear of the room gave birth to smaller, more intimate dwellings. On the top of each doorway was a room number as well as a pedestal to match the corresponding club for that room. Occasionally all rooms were open, but time schedules generally kept one topic for a week to allow beings to join in whenever possible. The furthest hallways behind the discussion rooms zigged like a labyrinth trying to confuse those who wandered down the halls. These hallways lead to the kitchen and business offices. Paintings plastered each side of the hallways. Eyes of ancient warriors uniquely watched anyone as they roamed through. Artwork depicting wars, scenes of love, violence, and peace were only a snippet of the meaning behind the paintings. Inside the kitchen you would find cooks creating dishes from ingredients, rotating every week. A head chief watched over them as a prison warden would watch his inmates. Everything was made to be perfect. The business area consisted of 24/7 staff who kept the machine oiled day to day. These workers paid bills, ordered supplies, and other clerical necessities. Very little interest was back here. A special access point within the business area allowed only those with administrative access to reach the second level. The second level office took up the ceiling space above the main lounge, allowing those in the tinted windows to oversee the operations below. Few have access to this area, and fewer know the innerworkings of this office. Taking an immediate left after the welcome sign would navigate occupants to a stairwell leading to the lower levels where other amenities lay dormant; a lavish wine cellar, a smoker’s lounge, bowling alley, these were just a sample of activities located there. Unlike the above level, these areas were more private and quieter, allowing for deeper conversations creating an atmosphere where one could grow stronger bonds. The wine cellar contained rarer wines than the first floor, but the selections were limited. A scruffy old man whose kyphosis had continually crept up on him throughout the years stood outside as rain poured down soaking his black and white attire. “Welcome! Please, grab something to drink, very cheap I say, and make yourself comfortable. Those who are here for The Citadel’s weekly discussion forum, the topic is on all things edible as well as drinkable.” He spoke elegantly, more so than his appearance eluded to. A toothy smile manifested on the cryptic face of the man, one lateral incisor was all that was left, the rest of the cavity that was his mouth was darkness and gums.
  2. Luna glanced quickly behind her, before focusing her attention back on the path in front of her. Dappled light shone through the trees, onto her face which was now freckled from the recent harsh sun. Even her long black hair seemed lighter, almost brown, though tied up as it was the color wasn’t so obvious. Her boots were scuffed and worn, it was obvious that she had been walking for a long time, but the physical endurance that was her power allowed her to do so without many signs of weariness. However, it was now almost fifteen hours straight of walking that she had been doing, and she needed to stop. It was obvious she wouldn’t reach the city today, but for now she had to find a place to stay. Luna had expected an inn around, but she now realised the area she had found herself in was almost desolate. With a groan, she turned around, scanning the area for any building, when she heard the familiar crunch of boots on the dirt path, and it wasn’t her. Steeling herself for the encounter, she walked forward.
  3. I had moved to union city, for a change of scenery, besides who wouldn't want to live in the capital city? I had been staying at the traven till I found a shop and house just like the image I had in my mind. I had finally settled in the place after lengthy process of haggling with the magistrate. But finally everything was as it should be. And I hung a wooden sign outside of the shop with the name I had come to call my shop elysian etched in shimmering effect on the wood to draw everyone's eye. My shop was a two part shop the smithy that dealt with weapons armor and other such things was in the back and the apcotharcy I had was in the actual shop I had bought. I had every thing set up, everything you could need lined the shelves or was in drawers. Also if you were really sick I had beds in the a room off to the side. I guess it was strange to most being both a doctor and a smithy, but the way I looked at it they went hand in hand. But of course I also had other such things like reguarl tea leaves and such. And my most valuable items were behind the counter and if you were magically sensitive you could probably see or feel or maybe both all the wards and runes I had running all over the shop. But of course you can never be to careful espically when you created things as I did. Gosh I was so bone tried I never knew how hard moving was til I did or just how much stuff I had til I unpacked my shop and sorted It all out. I felt like I could sleep forever after putting up all the wards and everything. It had taken a month to finally get every thing in place and now it was opening day. I took a deep breath and unlocked the door for the first time and stood behind the counter waiting for the bell above the door to ring , or for the other bell to ring for the smithy. I was eager to see how the city would embrace me. But I was cautiously optimistic.
  4. Nessuno

    Renewal

    Alone on a traipsing path through Lagrimosa, a tattered brown-robed figure journeyed far south from its origin. Arms wrapped in faded yellow linen, from fingertip to clavicle, swayed along in step to its sides. It avoided settled places for no particular reason, enjoying the peaceful surroundings offered by the wildlands away from roads. It had been a long, long time since It saw the world like this. Dream-soaked sleep was vapid and unfulfilling in comparison, even if it was less... restrictive. It kept its hood up always, though it was shallow enough to reveal a softly-smiling visage when the wind whipped at the cloth. Few payed the figure any mind as it traveled, as strange monastics were common the world over; but even fewer caught sight of its face. Compelled by something other, they fled with composure, seeking respite away from its presence without realizing. This served only to amuse It. Further south It trod until civilization began to fall away, eaten up by the eerie fogs and silences of old Yh'mi. Where most would turn back, or turn a sour expression at the very least, It merely widened its smile- for there were few Nails to bind It here, and they were far too decrepit to force It beneath the bubbling tide of common consciousness again. But, It did not come to revel in waking freedom. Binds broken by power unseen, brought back into the world by two child-like pawns in the greater game without. This is what had woken It. This is what It sought. It was hungry, and It would feast.
  5. ¥ With a lengthy yawn,Celestia adjusted her cloak of scarlet hue.checking all supplies,which she chose to bring alongside.For the adventure,Tree's,cobblestone roads.And the tavern still live with cries of joy and laughter behind her,filled every senses,of scent and beauty,while resting herself against it's wall.Glancing skyward,to be graced with a starry sky of midnight blue,clouds with light grey hue.Dotted across it's surface.While faint Ray's of light,from the crescent moon interwoven and scattered throughout it's area.¥"hmmn~ Breath tak'n beauty tonight...hehe not much could beat this sight..."
  6. The Lightning spirit Maelstrom had enough energy to travel back to his old armor back in the castle of rose keep. His old "body" started to move erratically at first, and as it became more synchronized his pieces started to piece back together one plate at a time. It took him no more than 5 minutes to return to his old hulking piece of moving armor. Wandering around the small town he saw the contrast of it, the streets and alley, the market, the castle and the wall. He wandered around aimlessly until he sense and heard something like a woman being robbed of her possession by a bandit, like lightning he sprinted across the town, through the crowds and in between buildings he finally caught up in a stand-off as the bandit decided to took a hostage when he were surrounded by the local authorities "One step closer and this child gets it!" The bandit held a knife to the neck of a small child, quite repulsive seen through the eye of a Maelstrom, but here is no place to be rash as the guard's captain said the following "Let go of the child he has nothing to do with this, are you a man or a coward?" The bandit held his ground, holding the knife ever closer to the Jugular vein of the child, preparing to sever it. Amidst the tense atmosphere Maelstrom decided to took action. He quickly launched the tip of his fingers to the bandit's hand with enough force so that the knife drops from his hand and to the ground and as that happened Maelstrom sprang forward and grabbed the bandit by the neck and held him up "Such repulsive action.... What do you have to explain yourself? The bandit simply replied "My sister..... She needs....money... For... Medicine....forgive...me" Don't want to be involved in the law he tossed the bandit over to the authority and merrily walks away. Puzzled by what the hell is a sister he begins to thought about human relationships as a whole... Rethinking that it's all not just friend and foe he looked back to the castle and asks the only person he know that is currently here as he walked back to his original location
  7. 4, August 1678AY Azura-Dawn Temple Fahrenheit-Abalone, Lyonesse Tuesday 12:00P.M Rin closed the big leather bound book as she placed her hands into her lap, Azura-Dawn looking at her. The ties these two held went back to the days of the Athentha-Yral War. But the half-breed had come here seeking a Cloverheart item, as she knew that Azura-Dusk was growing restless in her prison. Azura-Dawn had sought out the half-breed princess as a last resort, last option. Rin looked up with her crimson black orb of an eye at Azura-Dawn. They were in her temple, something that surpassed any of Athentha's temples in size and stature--stature that outweighed any city in the east and west of Athentha. And though Fahrenheit-Abalone was in Lyonesse territory, the half-breed knew this was more important than petty squabbles between both lands. The half-breed was more annoyed by the fact Azura-Dusk was more of a threat than her. That was not even right. Azura-Dawn cleared her throat, breaking the growing silence finally after an hour or two. Well, I will tell you this, what we are about to do might get one of us killed. Rin said as she stood up, her bones creaking and cracking due to her age. I rather it be me than you. But the Rising Ambition Bow and Arrow rests in the Fahrenheit-Abyssal cavern. And it's filled to the brim with demons. Great. Azura-Dawn said with a sigh. The item we need is in a cave infested with demons. What could be worse than that? I mean, I can handle demons, but these I feel aren't normal demons. Well, there's one more thing. Azura-Dusk's general, Azura-Fahrenheit will be there before reaching the cave. Rin replied. Azura-Dawn shook her head with a groan as she stood up and eyed the half-breed princess. She asked her if she could trust Rin. The half-breed said she could. Rin didn't want someone upstaging her, nor doing what she did best. Walking out of the temple, Azura-Dawn followed her quickly as she felt things were umanswered and it bothered her. Rin, are you really going to help me keep my sister sealed or are you going to betray me? I know about what you did before, so I can't fully trust you. That's something you're going to have to decide for yourself. I cannot tell you how to feel about me. But know this, I plan to do the best I can to keep Azura-Dusk sealed. Unless, she found someone stupid enough to become her host.
  8. "And you're certain you've mapped all of them?" He spoke a bit slow and drawn out, in what could only be considered an insulting nature. Could they blame him though? Without him, they wouldn't be where they are, without him, this plan couldn't work. The old ways were so ingrained in some that they saw it as dishonorable to disrespect the traditions. Not him. Fuck those traditions, for together, they would build new one's. Just as man had outgrown and usurped the gods, he was determined to overcome the old establishment to implement his newer version. The age he was raised at the end of was only a waste if he allowed it to be. Shinobi were not obsolete if they could still serve a designated purpose. "Alright, take a long way home. Once you're certain you're not being followed, bring the map to me. Start circulating the word to the rest of the Garden, I'll get in touch with the girls." Immediately after giving the order, he abruptly hung up his thumb swiped over end call on his touch screen. Pulling up his contacts, he selected one in particular despite describing communicating with more than one person. "Tell your girls to doll they shit up. Tonight's the night. 👺" Message sent >. Pocketing his device, he returned his removed leather glove to his hand. Pulling it snug from the wrist, he smirked to himself. He could feel his heartbeat suddenly increase, his blood pumping just a bit faster. He was shaking! Was he that excited? His fist clenched in failed protest as he realized that some of it was fear. 'Fear keeps you alive, one cannot be brave without fear.' He thought to himself, hearing it in his mind in the voice of the man that told him those words. Though tonight's intended events were not inspired by a bout of vengeance, he would be lying if he said that he wasn't happy to get to be the one to do it. It was a mistake to have ever trusted or worked with them to any degree in the first place. If the islanders truly wanted to have a chance, then they had to get rid of the ones profiting from their island without giving back to it. The Gokudo Gang. Word was that the income they'd been hoarding was intended to build a new casino in the center of their district; That it was nearly complete. Thanks to their efforts thus far, the Oniwabanshu has now managed to map all the underground tunnel systems allow access to the Gokudo's docks with limited to no response. As far as they knew, they were the first to be brave enough to map or use anything considered Imperial without the blessing of the Heika himself. The girls were running distraction by way of entertainment, the boys were prepared to swiftly dispatch any whom go in their path as quietly as possible. The only display of strength Hu craved was that of success.
  9. @Froggychum @L E V I A T H A N Chrysma smiled a devilish smile as they stepped through the forest, and saw the entrance into Yh'mi, where you were SUPPOSED to drop your records. Chrysma wore an indigo robe, but they had cast an illusion spell on themself and Skar. They had a backpack strapped to their back which they rifled through to find their false ID, an ID that followed Yh'mi's standards as closely as possible. The illusion spell definitely helped. They handed Skar his ID. "Be careful, say as little as possible. The spell only goes so far." They said, their words cautionary. They carefully touched up their illusion, and narrowed their eyes. "Act like a civilian. Unsuspicious, inconspicuous, you know. Then we can have some fun after that." They continued, and took note of where the guards were. They had been planning this for a while, but they'd never been this close. "Are you ready?" OOC thread
  10. [Note: This RP is an open thread candidate for the Become Somebody quest for Port Kyros.]

 -------------------- Dead wood beholds an aging lamp post, standing tall at the top of the incline from the pier. The cage shifts back and forth, as much as heavy iron could in the sea wind. Facing against the sea, six legs crawl eagerly, a copper-red body seeking out its future nest. The wharf borer, a tiny critter known to burrow itself into old docks and ships, prods the tall pole with its antennae, tasting the wood as it climbed higher. Near to the metal ring that beheld the lantern, seeing the bits of crevices underneath, it begins tearing at the fibers of the wood grain.
 A sudden blow cracks its exoskeleton. Its front legs barely holding on before its torn from its grip, its body crushed under beak. ... The black bird, having watched from the end of the lanterns arm, leaps with wings spread to grasp the top of the pole, and proceeds to devour the borer in a swift motion. Its meal eaten, it takes flight from the pole, soaring over the docks

. -------------------- The heavy thunks of boot steps resound along the ramp coming down from the now docked trading ship, as sailors and mercers with crates and marked barrels shuffled to and from the vessel. Blackjack's feet land on the pier. His eyes caught the flight of a black swift floating high above the port. Its wings glided on the breeze, as if to make its presence known. Gavin figured avians couldn't give a shit-covered feather over the thought two-legged ground dwellers, but Gavin would take a symbol of fortune any day. May it be known by the lady of luck that today was a special occasion. It was a new land; a new morning. Against the gleam of the sun, a city lied before him, it's towering spires and rolling sea of baroque dwellings, some fine, others ramshackle, laid thick on his curiosity. 

 "I wouldn't be walkin' too far from the ship before the bill has been paid, Mr. Nobb." the bosun called from the ship. Gavin turns and looks up to the red-bearded man in uniform.
 "Aye. Could have sworn that barrel the crew finished off the other night was payment enough." Gavin shouted back. The bosun chuckled at him, his voice taking a reproachful tone.
 "Now now, Mr. Nobb." he said. "Whiskey's always welcome aboard my ship, but travelers pay the toll. Last we spoke, I only got half of the lot from you. If every land-hopper paid me in barrels, this ship would be liverless as a floatin' cadaver under the gulls." Gavin grinned, pulling the strap of his pack For how snake-tongued Gavin was in his trade, the wit of experienced sailors was disarming even to him. For a moment, he was tempted to play at the mans patience, but decided against it. 

 "Sounds like you got bit by the barrel yourself. You don't remember? I gave you the other half!" ... Before the bosun could protest, Gavin took his hand and pointed to his vest, midway up the left side. The bosun blinked, interpreting the gesture to open his jacket. His eyes lit up in confusion upon realizing a pouch of coins was sitting in his inside pocket; the pouch that Gavin slipped into his jacket just before he had stepped off the ship. ... "Safe voyage!"

 Sometimes, you have to use your roguery for entertainment. Can't risk the setting in of rust, now can we?

 Without a look back, Gavin turned and made long strides towards the interior of the pier, casual and careless as the wind.

 ------------ 

The people were donned in various degrees of dress, from couples with finely tailored frock coats and dresses with corsets wearing gleaming jewelry, to dull grey rags with one too many tears. An eclectic sort, while present altogether, not intermingling. A city of open doors, with a class divide. Seems like a town where a man like him can find some opportunity. A swindle here, a pick-pocket there,... and then perhaps move on to some serious sell-sword work! 
 First, one needs to know the place of operation.
 Get the lay of the land. Know the locals. Know who to make friends with, who to avoid, and... if you're feeling like a complete charlatan,... who your marks are. 

 Months it had been since he left the old coast, a withered heap of war-torn landscape, worn out welcomes, and more than coins worth of regret. Sometimes, Gavin figured, if you found yourself hanging from a ledge with too much baggage strapped to you, your best off cutting the rope and going elsewhere.

 His first few hours in the city composed of short conversations with mercers, tavern keepers and the like. A few drinks and some "manually" acquired funds later, the most important details of the city were established, which placed Gavin on course towards the Old City, to an inn that was mentioned to be a distance from the Nova Citadel, but within sight of it, an old tavern known as the Wretched Worm.

 ------------- 

As the fine brick turned to old stones, and color began to gray, the older parts of the city exposed themselves. Nestled amongst the more ancient stonework and winding, narrowing roads, the Wretched Worm sneered across the way, its overly gothic decor spilling a sort of alluring yet novel atmosphere. The wood panel, iron-banded sign hung from a dragon-shaped arm, its letters drawn in an extravagant serif calligraphy.

 Stepping into the establishment, he eyes its interior. If one could imagine a collection of features which a normal person would call rich, but a noble turned down due to the lack of detail or the number of imperfections, it may go on to describe what the inside of this tavern and inn looked like. A fireplace with a chipped mantle. Fine chairs with worn coverings. Onamented wood panel with plenty of cracks and pieces missing. A long, polished bar with mahogany stools, all scratched or stained. The room seemed to suggest honest attempts at luxury, without being anything luxurous. Hand-me-downs from some uncertain donor. Perhaps several, over multiple hands. There were few patrons within the place, being mid-day. The true alcoholics, as it were. "Merry morning, sir!" a dark skinned woman in a simple, short-sleeved, black corset dress spoke in a courteous and song-like tone from behind the bar, having finished sorting bottles in the cabinet behind her. A pinch of proper accent for addressing guests, over a genuine city-dweller voice, and busy undertone as not to draw out the courtesy too far. "Are you looking for a drink? Our drinks are distilled right here in the Old City. Or perhaps is it a room you're looking for?" Blackjack stepped to the bar, declining a stool, with his palms on the bartop, eyes rolling across the top of his gaze as if pondering to himself, before flashing a clever smirk. "All of the above, lass." ...
  11. Sagittarius-Archipelgo, Azura-Dawn 8, September 1678AY Tuesday, 12:00P.M Vex tilted his head as he read the map. It was a big map of Azura-Dawn, and he was a foreigner to the city along with its massive hubs. He noticed a few streets that were unmarked, unfounded that it could hide a relic of the Cloverheart house. An oar made from the leaves of the Cloverheart tree, tye Fahrenheit Varuna leaves and bark. The demon man had an idea of where to look first, the hub of Sagittarius-Archipelgo. And so here he was, standing in front of a large building. A castle to be precise. He shook his head as he rolled up the map. Impressive Athentha didn't steal all the relics of the islands. Vex thought as he walked down the dirt cobblestone path, his hands behind his head as he let his thoughts go. Rebirth was a strange thing to the man, but he was thankful Sayndar finally figured it out. Well, sort of. Vex whistled as he walked. He was sad not a lot of people used an oar to battle with anymore. He missed those old days but they were long gone. He didn't remain in the past but he did like to reminisce.
  12. Now armed with what was hopefully the proper tools, Shanna felt it was time to take on Valinde once more. She knew that her chances against the banshee prior had been slim, but risk was part of the greater reward. As it were, her gaze was settled on the prize far in the future. For now, she was combing through the ruins of Valinde, her curiosity having been sated the last time she was present. Though this time, there was no companion to pull her out of the fire should things arise to be troublesome. The absence of her long time familiar was a heavy burden, but it was for the greater good as well. As quietly as possible she picks through the rubble in a path most familiar as the one used to enter and exit the city the last time – she rummages through the pull out a parchment paper with scribbles upon it that make no sense to anyone but herself. A map of sorts, Shanna pauses to mull over it’s contents as she addresses her current situation. She is near the house she had previously taken residence in, but she hopes to move further into the city while there is still plenty of daylight to afford her an advantage in avoiding the spookies that prowl the streets. She has no desire to become lunch, afterall. Determination settles on her visage as she settles atop of a rather large mount of rubble and peers through the nature-reclaimed city. There are movements in the distance that slide at the edges of her vision, and Shanna frowns. Surely the dastardly creatures aren’t up and about just yet, or perhaps they never rest. Either way, she knows she will have to avoid them in the future. Her head turns in time to catch one of the creatures scuttling back to a hole that it has burrowed in the rubble and makes a note to ensure she doesn’t happen upon on in her travels. Glissading down from the pile, Shanna turns inward to the city and begins her trek once more.
  13. DISCLAIMER _______________________________________________________________________________________________ Lands of House Tachelot Larsport Oathshield Farius Halmadi Kostul Tachelot Vaan Tachelot Ambient Music OOC The Savant The boy was spellbound by the movements of the bow; the way the arrow nocked to the string before both were pulled back, the limb of the osage wood flexing beneath the sun as the limb of the archer lined his anchor point to the corner of his eye—silent, steady, slow, yet somehow swift; how he took a breath to the breeze and then the arrow was loosed like a bird from a cage. -Thwuck!- The head thudded against the straw target almost an instant after the bowstring was released. The arrow joined its brethren around the black dot in the middle of a white square, the three shafts forming a rough triangle. The archer smiled as his gaze did not waver from the target, but his audience knew that an audience is what he had. From the balconies above, a couple of girls and their caretaker were smiling down into the castle courtyard, and sitting there within it was the Savant of the Order of the Iron Lance and the boy who clearly wished that he was the archer. “Vaan.” -Thwack!- Farius rapped his stick against the table to make sure he received his student's full attention. Kostul will make a fine bowman someday, and one day a lord. He will need a brain like yours to support him every step of the way. In a moment, the young boy reluctantly dropped his gaze from his older brother and returned to his lessons, eyes now on the map. “Noviria. Sigil: Wreath and gladius. Words: Blood and glory.” No words more fitting for so fierce a family. The boy was bright, but his mind still too young to comprehend the darkness that gathered across the water even as student and master held study. “Lords?” “The Arcoses.” With that, Vaan returned to scratching the tabletop with his anchor-brooch, etching into the wood letters that might soon lead to words. “Famed for their poetry, construction and wine-making.” The archer turned his grin toward the table. Farius sighed as he studied the older lad. But no less a boy. The islands face a flood that could drown out those who inhabit them, but all he sees is the romance that is not there. “And bloody rebellions,” the Savant responded. Kostul dropped his grin and gaze and returned to practicing with his bow. The stick tapped at a spot on the map blanketed in green. Vaan barely looked up as he continued scraping, though his answer brought a smile to his tutor’s face. “Sigil: A chalice. A crowned chalice now that Varda’s queen.” “Good,” Farius commended. -Tap- “Words: For peace and plenty. Lords: The Hildebrands.” “Mhm.” -Tap-Tap- “Skyfall. Sigil: A lion, a sword and two wolves. Words: Quality or quantity.” “No,” the tutor corrected. “A common saying but not their official motto.” Vaan studied the map as though in thought before looking away. “Lords: The Kholins.” “We’re still on their words,” Farius insisted. “I don’t know them.” The boy’s brooch continued cutting into the wood. His teacher made out an “S” and what looked like the beginning of a “W”. “You do know them. Think.” “May the dred wolf take you.” Farius sighed. “That’s House Mythal.” The royal house and a royally deliberate mistake. “Wealth is power.” “House Karradeen.” Not the most fitting motto these days. “Sworn word, sworn sword.” “Those are Tachelot words. Your father’s.” Farius watched the boy carefully but the latter would not meet his gaze. What goes on in that little head of yours, little one? “Are we playing a game?” “Sworn word, sworn sword.” Vaan repeated in the distinct tone that a child takes when upset over something far more important than not being able to loose an arrow. “Is that the right order?” “You know it is.” “Word comes first. Father gave me his. He promised that he would practice the bow and saddle with me, such as on this very day.” Farius looked away for as long as he could afford his thoughts. Kostul had just released his fingers from the bowstring, oblivious to the events transpiring at his back. Servants paced across the courtyard, some to attend to their duties, others to make way for a trotting horse. A hawk flew overhead. Or is it a falcon? His eyes were failing him more and more. He gave them back to the map, a burning look at a western land, before offering his student as great a consoling gaze as his old eyes could muster. “Your father had to leave Oathshield—to protect the family.” “How can he protect the family if he’s not with his family?” Would that I could answer that. Nonetheless, Vaan knew how his father was with him even now. “Your father sat by your bed for three hours while you slept." “And then he left!” Farius frowned and so did his heart. If the child only knew. “Your father would have loved for nothing more than to stay, Vaan. He did give you his word, and he will keep his word, but he gave his word to his king as well, long before you were born, and his king needs him now.” “Why did he have to leave?” “I still can’t tell, but he will be home soon.” “Do you know where he is now? Today?” Vaan inflected. “No, I don’t.” Farius prepared for what came next as the boy finally met his tutor's eyes. “Then how can you promise me he’ll be home soon?” From the mouths of children. Instead of digging himself a deeper hole, Farius smiled. “Sometimes I worry you’re too smart for your own good.” -Thwuck!- They both looked up at the straw target as another arrow landed. Vaan, as mesmerized as ever, saw more or less than ten arrows sticking out from the bed. Farius saw ten thousand, sticking out of shields and bodies, littering the fields like wooden grass, much of which was painted red. He sighed an old man’s sigh, withered and weary, and the master wondered where his own master was exactly. “Care to best me?” Kostul turned to his younger brother. Vaan was hesitant at first, but the faces of his elders convinced him to smile and step forward. Farius looked between both boys, observing the ease in which they talked and teased and trained with one another. He looked then at a bed of flowers where the Hold's floral emblem, white portulaca, was growing strong. So are Tachelot’s scions. “Sworn word, sworn sword,” Farius echoed to himself as he picked up the brooch Vaan had left behind, turning the small anchor in his hand. “Lord Tachelot has sworn indeed. His word...” Trailing off, the Savant gave the brooch a gentle squeeze as he watched the skies, hoping to catch another hawk or a falcon, whichever might fly, but what he saw were dark wings and what he heard were dark words. A crow, then another and another—a murder of crows, cawing their hungry call, searching for a feast. “...And his sword.” Farius sighed. “Thousands of them.”
  14. 4, August 1680AY Azura-Dusk , hub of Val Cruxis North of the Athentha-Lyonesse border Tuesday, 11:00A.M Things had settled down since the last time war had been announced. In fact, things had changed a lot among the islands since last we told a tale about Athentha and its sister islands. New elders, descendants of the old ones, now took over rule for the islands, save for Lyonesse. As rumors whispered Grant Lyon had returned in a rebirthed state. And for the half-breed princess, she vanished. Some say she vanished, others say she abandoned Athentha. No-one truly knew. Vanilla sat on the bench, as she had been thinking about her next move for a while now. Garnet holed himself up in Talia, Esben--well, he was the same. But she had no purpose now that the Red Blood Moon Organization was no more. Shame really. Standing beside her, was the odd ball Platinum. He wondered if they could obtain the powerful third house while the others slacked off. The Cloverheart Malachite house. Of course, they would require help, as two seeds couldn't just go up to them and ask politely to bend to their organization. Vanilla sighed. The second seed knew that she'd have to start over again, rebuild to a new path. You know Claude would be a great assest to create the organization. Platinum said as he looked at her, worried about the second seed. Though, his house being obtained, won't be so easy to take. The Cloverheart house isn't a pushover either. I know Platinum. But we are just two seeds trying to regain our fallen ground. Vanilla said as she stood up. I guess we should go pay Claude a visit then. Then we can go from there I suppose. Platinum placed his hand on her shoulder, as he tried to comfort her. He did care for the second seed even if he didn't show it. But if she was going to start an organization and start over, she'd need allies. Walking down the cobblestone streets, they headed west to the inner city of Azura-Dusk. --- Claude shook his head as he removed the helmet. His shaggy platinum hair messed up from said helmet. As he smoothed it over, he looked towards the guard captain. The city had grown quiet and he had grown quite bored of the non action. I don't see the point of keeping knights when there's nothing for us to do. Claude whined as the guard captain raised a brow at him. Athentha is calm, the monsters and beasts aren't around and the townspeople are in peace. We're just standing-- Do not be so annoying Claude. Malachite replied as he appeared, leaning against the wall. We continue to keep the Cloverheart Knights around in-case something does happen. Esben still roams around, causing chaos. And more beasts can appear due to the seeds around. "Malachite is right Claude." Gullius replied. He rubbed his temples as they stood there talking. "And it's Atlas' rule. As high elder, we follow his rules absolute. Now, there are rumors that two seeds have returned to Val Cruxis to rebuild the organization from the house of Cloverheart." Claude's orange-yellow eyes widened at Gullius' words. His house in danger? How could it be? No-one spoke much of his house since their tongues wagged most about the Valentina house or the Gilchrist house. Malachite didn't like this either, as another house was targeted. Come Claude, we must prepare your house for battle. We--I, Malachite Valentina, shall aid you to help keep it intact. He said as the young elf nodded. Good. G'day, Gullius. They departed towards the inner city of Azura-Dusk to the Cloverheart house. Thimgs would become interesting indeed.
  15. Zigzag

    By My Hand

    Bells rung in the towering heights of the Cathedral, signalling the dawning of a new day. The people went out into the fields, ready to work the crops for their livelihoods. For House Harrkonen, their day begins with a walk through the town they have sworn to protect. "What do you hope for when you look at these streets?" Darien asked his beloved. Lady Liadrin looked upon the various faces that greeted them in the morning light. "I hope for something better than what we have today. Something that will give the people a life of greater decency and contentment." She smiled at him, and he smiled back. "I think I would like that very much as well." He replied, taking her hand in his while they went towards the local marketplace.
  16. Mumble lurched forward as her feet slammed into hard ground. She pressed a hand to her pounding head, resisting the urge to puke. After taking a moment to recuperate, she slowly opened her eye, venturing a glance at her companion. Teleportation was certainly not as pleasant an experience as she had been led to believe. Lady Aine appeared to be completely unaffected by the nausea that had so harshly struck Mumble. Figures. Mumble diverted her attention to the surrounding city, and her heart froze in her chest. Sunlight poured onto the golden exteriors of countless gothic-style buildings, and it seemed almost as if the city produced the shimmering glow all on its own. People of various races passed by her in an endless stream of bodies, and to her right a woman was selling a rainbow of fruits, many of which Mumble didn't even know the names of. It was such a stark contrast to the gloomy, desolate Inns'th that Mumble could hardly suppress a squeal of delight, and grabbing Aine's hand, she all but dragged the poor woman to a storefront that was displaying various tokens and trinkets. Mumble pressed her face against the glass like a child, and as the two made their way down the street, she would stop every few feet to tug on her companion's sleeve and point out some mundane thing that fascinated her to no end, like a moderately tall building or a sleeping stray cat. Finally, after doubling back to the same pastry shop three times and tripping over at least four unsupervised children, Mumble sat next to Aine on a park bench to plan their next move.
  17. Aleksei

    A Bloody Crown.

    "I hate this place," he said while gesturing towards the enormous throne room. Whatever memories he may have held for the place, they're long gone, tainted by his mother's last memory. He only wished it had been him who killed her, but the opportunity was taken from him by the woman's will to evade the preordained. The want for revenge was his liquor; every day, he reached for the bottle and took one searing sip from it. It kept him contemptuous. "Then why don't you remodel it to fit your tastes? We can close the curtains, litter the floor with filth, and lock all the doors." Romilly turned on his heel to face the only person who truly understands how he feels, even though her feelings contradicted his own. An accepting creature, Areille could see his side of the story and understand the feelings boiling beneath Romilly's generous facade. He is a towering figure, just like their father, and quickly commanded a room with his overly warm smile and friendly manner. Not many know that he's nothing but a snake. "Aren't you a little too rude?" Areille approached the throne, passing her brother, who looked at her with the same contempt he felt towards their mother. Unfortunately, she carries the same features as their deceased parent - tall, thin, red-haired, and opal eyed. If possible, he would see that his sister suffered the fate he wished to put on their mother. Somewhere in his hateful heart, he knew better; it disgusted him that he was willing to make his sister suffer for the faults of their mother, all because she looked like the damn woman. Why could she not look like their father? At least then, when looking upon her, he would not be reminded of his greatest failure. "Today isn't about you, Lilly," she turned to face him, and was met with a budding storm. Lilly, it was a pet name their mother had given him. It had not occurred to her that he would be so sensitive to it, for she figured her brother would have grown out of this behavior now that he has obtained the throne. "It's about putting our mother to rest and reassuring your people everything will get better." Turning away from the throne, she moves to stand before her sibling. He over-towered her, something he often used to intimidate her. Perhaps she should fear him, he is a man with enough power to squash her with just a thought, and her very livelihood was in his hands. Unfortunately for him, Romilly has shown his cards far too soon. Somewhere underneath his grief is a kind man who would never dare hurt his sibling. Yet. "Now, it's time you start acting like the man people believe you are," she said, adjusting his tie and fixing the wrinkle in his collar. "Outside these doors, you are a dependable royal who is mourning his mother. When the night is all over, you can return to being a coward." "You're too rude." Romilly reached up, his lips twisting into a casual smirk that made his opal eyes glitter. He grabbed her hand and turned it away from him, his disgust - towards her, towards himself - clearly painting his handsome features. Areille swallowed hard over the pain he caused her wrist. He won't risk abusing her in front of thousands of people, and later he will regret bruising her. That alone keeps her somewhat compliant. "It's time we speak with the people." She was correct on one thing: outside the doors of this soon-to-be temple, he is a ruler. His crowning was a rather quick affair. Going through all the gestures, he vowed to protect his people, to uphold the values carved from history long-past, and to act responsibly. He had imagined this moment to be different, and for a few seconds, he lost himself in his fantasies. If his mother had not betrayed him, she would be here, and so would his father, the rest of his siblings would also be celebrating. Areille would have been looking upon him like she used to: with love. This would be a celebration. Instead, his mother is dead, his father is somewhere, his other siblings have been banished from the land, and Areille is now crowned as his second-in-command and barely looks at him. It's all Primera's fault. Things would have been different if she had just stayed alive. Once he took his place as Grand Kommadant, the procession for his mother's burial began. It had been decided that she would rest peacefully in the home of Grand Kommadant's past. Primera Capitol is built around the great lake Estrella; within the middle of the lake, resides the castle the Cartyr brood has inhabited for years. Romilly has no intention of staying in his childhood home; he would rather die ten times over than step foot back into the castle. On Areille's suggestion, the castle will be turned into a temple where the people of Nehalen and beyond can visit Primera's final resting place. The Prayer Bridge connecting the temple and the edge of the city allows for people to come and go as they please, keeping the temple active. Romilly wanted to destroy the castle, along with the body of his mother. Even as Grand Kommadant, such a grand request would not be given to him, unless he wished to anger his people. He will allow Nehalen to mourn the loss of Primera. Standing in the middle of the bridge, he watched as throngs of people shuffle towards the temple to pay homage to the dead woman encased in crystal. Areille safely kept herself inside the temple, greeting people as they approached her mother's crystal coffin. Outside Romilly stewed in the various conflictions rolling through his feeble mind and heart. Each person who came forth to shake his hand and give condolences attached to their congratulations made him more resentful towards his mother. If he could leave, he would, but this has just begun. The people of Nehalen will mourn Primera the best to their abilities: with drink, dance, and song. It can't get any worse.
  18. Music OOC Saturday, 6 June, 599 Call me Tyra. Some time ago, having grown disenchanted with the lands of this planet, after crawling across fields and climbing atop mountains, navigating through deserts and negotiating with forests, I thought I would kiss the shore goodbye and dip my feet in the waters of the world. As left leg left land, crossing the space between solid and liquid, right leg bid farewell to pier and met boot upon deck—and like that, I was gone with the wind. I discovered, like an explorer braving the boundless horizon, how the sea can wash one’s soul of misery. When grey clouds loom overhead and darkness paints the sky; when not one drop is held back as the rains cascade with abandon; when a damp blanket coils around my body, cold and grim, and I shiver as I am submerged up to the brim of my nose—then, I remember that I am already floating on the ocean, it cradles me like a baby in a crib, and my woes and worries are lost like salt in a gust. What can one wonder when they savor such serenity? When the tranquility of the waves surrounds you like dancing grass in a rolling meadow, greeting one another in the breeze like rustling leaves of an eternal wood, it challenges the mind to think of anything else besides bliss. What, then, is one to do when that joy is suddenly robbed from you like a child from a mother’s womb? In the sweet kiss of summer, as the morning sun beckoned me awake, never would I have expected that day to be the darkest day of my voyage. Few things are so terrifying as to enter the maw of the ocean’s titan, watching the world soar above you as you sink into the abyss, with hollowed howls haunting your descent into doom. After being spat out by the frozen depths hiding beneath liquid sapphire, I breathed in a new clarity. I flew beyond sea and ship, my momentum a constant craft, like a bird whose wings could carry it across the sky for months on end. The sea, I had learned, was a world beside a world. I was now learning that the sky was the world above both. The wind that had once decided the fate of my sails was now little more than an ocean of air to conquer; the clouds would part before me like frothing waves around a prow. Airships, the gargantuan gems that glided above Genesaris, giving birth to glory in the old times and returning in the wake of war—well, I had one of my own, and with it I went gallivanting across the welkin. When you stand on the deck of a ship at sea, you can feel the spray upon your skin, taste the salt on your lips, smell the sulfur and the brine, hear the murmur of the ebb and flow, see the royal blue of the aquatic kingdom. On the deck of a ship in the sky, things are a little different. The world is beneath you now, not beside you; the earthen lands that once held your feet before planks of wood ever did were no longer silhouettes whispering on the horizon. Those mountains were now mole hills, castles and their lords were naked behind their walls, cities were like mazes viewed from above, and those birds who once threatened to repurpose your poop deck now glided beside you as though to guide you along as a fellow flier. On the sea, I had fins that carried me. In the sky, I have wings. I want you to know something else. I was born upon the land—never mind who my parents were—but I never truly came to life until I stretched my arms from the bow above the water, and I never truly lived until I leaned over to watch the world from the stern beneath the clouds. Those moments, if they could be captured in a bottle, I would trade bottles of Orisian wine and Terran whiskey for each one of them. Those moments opened my heart and my lungs and kept me from dying slowly. Far from such a fate, I am alive. I am Tyra Delane, Captain of the Wildwind, and some would call me the same. Wild Tyra, Captain of the Wind, for I let it propel me across the sea and the sky in an endless journey that knows no bounds. Yet, a name is meaningless if there is no life behind it. As I write these words, watching ink seep onto paper, I am all too aware of the life that is seeping out of my soul, and the fear of what might become of my name is as real as hot sand beneath bare feet. It is thus that I return to the land that birthed me, that I might rest upon the soil that was my bed amid the trees that once stood tall as my sentries. It is a comforting thought, to lie down and close my weary eyes, watching my life unfold like a letter read only once. Alas, my sleep shall be short, for this is by no means the end of my journey but a new chapter to steer it forward. Where I go, there is another life that slumbers; a vessel yearning to awaken with vigor for the voyage. Oh, how I have lived on my ship! Sea ship, airship—but have I really lived? I have held a husband, never had a child—is that what it takes to really live? I do not know, but I may yet soon find out; in a manner, at least. The trees call me home, a forest awaits, for in the region of Chesterfield is a ship that stands as tall as a tree, and it is my life’s goal to set that ship free, like a bird from a cage or a fish from a tank. Freedom is not simply a state of being—it is a vessel to possess and a horizon to chase; an ongoing war where victory is decided with wheel and compass. This is my substitute for sword and pistol. With a groundbreaking boom, Uhltoria lifts a battle fleet into the air; I quietly take to my ship. This should not be surprising. If only they knew, almost everyone at one point or another shares my same sentiments of the sea and the sky. There is an explorer in each of us, a wild wind within all of us, a beating heart and breathing lungs that beckon the brain and the body to sail and to soar and to never look back but forward. Always forward. Land, water, air. Sea ship, airship—bioship. Forward, always. Chesterfield Use only as aesthetic reference Music OOC The Captain of the Wind The sun was a beating pulse that morning. Summer was creeping right around the corner, searching for a crack to break through, with golden rays glimmering upon the pastel-hued marble of Valucre with a sadistic smile of soon-to-be-baking-you. Some loved it, some loathed it—that budding breeze beside blossoming foliage, bright and warm and lively; that sweltering heat that parches the throat, gnaws at the skin and oozes sweat. With four seasons and four or more reasons to counter them amid such prevalences as genius loci, Lagrimosa was a bounty of climates. Not just physically, but socially, politically and economically. For instance, take Chesterfield. This morning, amid a river breeze that drifted mercy toward the throngs, the sun held sway over the steaming metal that the blacksmith dipped into the forge. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and bid his apprentice to acquire their purchase from the general store. That apprentice dipped further into dichotomy, departing the shade of a stifling shop into the open air to brave the sun and the masses beneath it. He passes by an artificer whose creation came from the blacksmith’s craft, now on his way to insure it with a Titansinger representative before selling it to a Genesaran buyer, courtesy of being ferried by the Casper Shipping Company. One of their representatives is already on site to represent the Law of Salvage in a legal dispute concerning the renovation of a Renovation ship that sunk in the Sea of Regrets. Sunken but surprisingly whole, hoped to be lifted from the depths and turned into a museum that the prowling tourist influx would dive toward and sink their money into. Or, at least, it seemed as much to one woman as she walked the streets of the city. Her eyes were on the passers-by, the denizens of the urban clutter pacing to and fro, or hollering out prices from stalls and leaning against buildings to smoke their pipes and trade sorrow with laughter. Pigeons pecked the crumbs off the spacious square, competing with daring ducks from the river, and children befriended one another as locals mixed with foreigners to feed the birds with food to spare. Kids laughed the same way, the woman thought as she watched them play. Adults were different; they had a unique laugh for every occasion, and some individuals had the kind of laugh that you learned not to trust. This duality of sameness and difference, it translated to the cityfolk and their habitat like water into wind. Streets led to streets that led to the same streets; people lined those streets who might have been glimpsed walking the other streets only moments ago, their footfalls a forgotten echo that all sounded the same; the goers of to and fro lining up like soulless soldiers to do the same work today as yesterday, go home at the same hour, wake up in the same spot, repeat the same task. As she watched them, her hands pocketed amid the crowds whose arms flailed, her lips a rigid line where others were smiling or frowning, Tyra pitied the people of this city. So many of them, all of them so bound to the same land, the same routine, day after day after day. She sighed as she walked on, savoring the solace of her own routine that was never quite so. She might lay in the same bed every night, but her ship was never in the same spot, and every day was a new day that called for a different adventure even on the same ship. As the captain paced onward throughout the streets of Chesterfield, her gaze finally graced her quarry. The Silver Screen advertised itself with one flashing bulb after the other, but it was the pub beside it that drew the elf’s eyes as she approached The Purple Pig with a grin. She might have forgotten, had somehow remembered, and was positively amused at an all too familiar sight. There, standing at the stepped entrance of the pub, was a burly fellow with a grey head and yellowed tusks, one hand gripping a tankard and the other a club that looked like a giant mallet. Jolliver? The name sprung to mind as Tyra looked the figure up and down. No...surely not. “Morning,” she spoke while ascending the steps. The wereboar said nothing, leaning lazily against his weapon as he guzzled from his tankard. He clearly was more decoration than defender. “Jolliver?” Tyra determined. The wereboar cocked a brow, looked her up and down, and snorted. “Never heard of him.” With that, Tyra shrugged and moved past, opening the doors to The Purple Pig, where a waking pub traded sounds with a metropolis, and the captain finally felt like she was home.
  19. Raptor

    Preparation.

    Shanna does her best to remain passive as she passes through the dimly lit corridor that has been carved out of the mountains and the cold ground leading towards Umbra. It is only when daylight and fresh air grace her that she releases a breath she had not realized she had been holding. Tugging cloak about her shoulders more tightly to keep out the mild chill in the air, her vermillion irises flicker to and fro, seeking comfort in known items as she erupts into daylight. It is a stark contrast to the dark that had previously enveloped her and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. She blinks blearily before grasping ahold of the straps to the bag tucked beneath her cloak. It is strapped over her shoulders to allow her to transport the items within with care. Her surprise is nearly palpable when she realizes that she has emerged near the middle cloister, making her task all the easier as she heads towards the comfort of the warm city walls. Umbra, in her opinion, was a beautiful city and it’s splendor never seemed to cease to amaze her. Shanna had once considered attempting to gain entrance into Bronte – a hope she has long extinguished. Her magic would not fair well within the walls of regulations and rules. Though they might find her specific type of aberration interesting, Shanna has no desire to be studied and prodded at like livestock. She sniffs at the air, weaving immediately to find the food stalls that are ever present. Eagerly, Shanna passes over a few coins in exchange for something that looks suspiciously like a hotdog. Within a few bites, it has disappeared from her grasp and one might wonder if the womans jaw unhinged to devour the thing whole. Stomach full and warm, the mage is pleased to find herself wandering around the Ivory Square. She does not enter, for she has no need of it, but it beautiful to gaze upon. It is while she meanders around the city that her thoughts turn to visiting the temple. Shanna is devout, and it is rare that she does not stop in the large cathedrals that are known to house depictions of their Lord God, Rafael, thus, it would make sense for her to visit the one in his very home as well. So she beelines for it, wasting little time. Shanna feels a sort of…security within the walls of the large temple, and she smiles truly for the first time in what seems weeks. Her gaze scans the pews, acknowledges the priests and their ilk, before she moves to anoint herself. She will do this, and restock her airship before heading out in an attempt to find something more fitting to present to a God than the meager presents she has been gathering so far. For now, Shanna anoints herself and closes her hands in prayer as she kneels before the dais before her. Head bowed, she murmurs her prayer, fit only for his ears before she rises to leave. Now she must secure provisions for her excursion.
  20. Looking for small group Genre-horror,fantasy,adventure So my old down the rabbit hole is...kinda dead. And i still feel like doing it so heres a fresh start for peeps to join! You appear in a strange Courtyard, the buildings looming over you. The fountain in front of you is made of a smooth white stone and spewed a scarlet liquid. There are six statues scattered about. Behind you is a long stairway leading down. To your left is a Clock tower. To your right is a butcher shop. In front of you is a huge cathedral. In between some of the statues is a worn path and a few far away buildings ....What will you do?
  21. The wheels squeaked, creaking and clacking. The groans of protest from the wagon echoed down the cavern halls in both directions. As he pushed it along, Scrap only had one thing on his mind as the object before him bounced along. He really, really hoped that Meddle was steering them away from walls and holes. "Are we outside yet?" He squawked in protest, his shrill tones drifting down the halls. "Not yet. I'm just trying to...get us around this...rock." Meddle replied slowly, thoughtfully. The side of the wagon screeched as it scraped against a stalagmite, causing both kobolds to wince. They froze in place, covering their ears, awaiting the inevitable explosion. However, despite it's name, the Great Exploder did not explode. Yet. Scrap's arms dropped in relief, and he gave the wagon a nudge away from the rocky outcropping. Meddle looked over the burlap-covered weapon, then pulled away again. "Looks good?" He asked. "Looks good!" She said, chipper as if nothing had happened. Scrap and Meddle moved the wagon, and the Exploder outside of the cave eventually, pushing through the heavy wooden doors that hid the cave, and into the sunlight. Immediately, both of them winced, and let go of the wagon, but it thankfully didn't roll anywhere. The duo were tasked with a job a bit more unorthodox than they were typically entrusted with. Scrap, being more of the smithing type, preferred to make things with his hand, and would have rather been in the workshop watching Wijit do her thing. Instead, he was out here, with Meddle, who preferred to dig and mess around in the mines with the other miners. Instead, they were moving Wijit's latest, greatest, perhaps most explody-est invention yet. The invention, currently covered in a large burlap tarp, was gingerly moved from the little wagon into the bigger covered wagon they'd left out here, with the help of one of the scouts that had to hang out in the trenches outside. It didn't explode--thankfully--and once it was loaded up both Scrap and Meddle found themselves at a loss for action. Sort of. Scrap climbed onto the wagon, and sat down. He kicked his legs idly, and checked his belongings. Broadsword: Check. Bits of plate mail, fastened to his body with leather straps: Check. He glanced behind him, and peered inside of the covered wagon. Big, explosive weapon, stored in an unsteady, rickety wagon: Check. "What are we doing, again?" He wanted to ask, but before he could, Meddle hushed him, waving her hands at him to quiet him down. "Shh!" She hissed, peering out down the road from the top of their wagon. "I hear something coming!" The road up to the kobold's lair, the Infinite Magmaworks, wasn't easy to find, necessarily. Due North from Vdara, just before the mountain range began, the mouth of their cave was tucked away up a hill surrounded by dense trees. Travelling up the path to visit the cave was difficult to do quietly, with little chimes and crafts made from bird bones, dangling from many branches along the path. Unseen to most visitors, a long, winding trench snaked down from the mouth of the cave down the path, and was hidden by dense undergrowth and partially buried in dirt. Somewhere, in one of the taller trees, another kobold was always watching from safety. None of them moved as they watched a pocketful of newcomers come up the road, towards the Magmaworks. @ReachForStars @Silent Sword
  22. (Lock this thread please I am no longer interest in this.)
  23. “We got news from our informant” Selene said right after walking into Ricardo’s office. “Mariana’s checked it and its legit”. “What’s it say?” Ricardo asked almost unconcerned. “We found their hideout!” Ricardo’s lips twisted upwards revealing a twisted smile. “Good. Get them, and make sure no rat leaves there… alive” They had spent several weeks on this case, trying to find the hideout of the rats what had been disturbing their supply routes. The search proved misleading on several occasions, but finally, they had actually found the real hideout they had been looking for. It was in a small town to the south of Nu Sicily by the name of Reaven. The town had always had a relatively small population, but this value dropped drastically after the invasion of Nu Martyr by CoP. Now, only a few hundreds above two thousand live there trying to meet their daily needs. With a glance, the twin sisters could see why the rats had chosen this place as a hideout. Selene and Mariana gazed over the town from a hill atop their horses. With them were about 20 men loyal to the Gualtiero family. Mariana turned her horse to face the men before issuing her final orders before the mission would officially begin. “Our mission is simple, investigate. I want you all to search the town through and through report any rat you can find. While doing this, you need to try as much as possible not to arouse suspicion, else they may get a hint that we’re here for them and make our jobs harder. You’ll split into teams of 4 for this. We have the town completely surrounded, so if any rat tries to escape they’ll get nabbed quickly. Remember, your orders are to search and report. If you find a rat you can capture, then do so and squeeze every bit of information you can out of him. When you’re done… kill him” marina said ending the last part in an emotion-void tone. “Move out” Selene chipped in after Mariana had finished her speech. She then turned to her sister, “Shall we?” Both rode on into town with a determination as strong as steel, and a bloodlust as sharp as a double edged sword.
  24. This is the walk way, in middle of forest, since Union Capital to Cold South. But the mark on map is Nak' spot, i mean. My character Atwood Nak made his campsite on there. Everyone can use this for rp in this part of the forest... So... The rp starts below this post:
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