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  1. Chrysma wore a backpack that held all of their belongings. "Here's my records." They said, and set down a piece of paper that had a picture of their face, as well as a fake name. "Janus Forswith. Female. Five foot seven. Black hair, blue eyes." It read, and Chrysma's features all looked exactly like the photo. This was a result from the illusion ritual that they performed to get into the place. To everyone, Chrysma looked exactly like Janus. Mannered, polite, civil, perfect. Of course, no-one knew the chaos that erupted from behind that patient smile. The devilish horrors that they had seen, the devilish horrors that they had inflicted. They were a horrid creature, one could call them a sadist, but they didn't enjoy inflicting it for pleasure. They enjoyed it because they believed it was for the cause. The cause, of course, was evil. What other cause could possibly create such a monstrous person? Chrysma felt a sense of dread as they crossed through the village full of those pesky White Hand paladins. Those corrupted husks, looking to destroy the very things that made this land perfect. What they called corruption, that was beauty. It was nature, it was all and it was everything. Chrysma knew, everyone in The Hands knew. Of course, they wouldn't ever try to negotiate with the with the White Hand, not willingly anyway. They had done too much disruption. They had to be stopped. But, they couldn't think about that now. Now they just had to get across without being caught.
  2. 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.
  3. At about 11am that day, Ariana arrived at the Katana no Ie. She got off her horse and completed the security procedures at the gate before entering. Once inside, she requested a meeting with Philip. Ordinarily, she’d have to wait a long time before getting her chance, but just saying it was about Dauner, was enough to make her get her meeting immediately. As it was, the Black Blade was affected by the disappearance of its Commander just as much as Hasturia was affected by the disappearance of its king. Once in Philip’s office, Ariana saluted him as one would salute their superior in the military. After all, Philip was a member of the Royal Circle of Hasturia. “Please take a seat. I understand you have something to tell me about Dauner’s whereabouts?” Philip inquired as soon as Ariana was seated. “Not really sir. I’m here to request that you lend me some manpower so I can effectively search for King Dauner” Philip was quite surprised by the request. “And would I want to grant you your request?” he asked looking at her skeptically. “As far as I know, you are the captain of the Royal Guard. Why can’t you take your men?” “My men are n sort supply and are needed to keep the palace safe”. Even though she sounded quite convincing, Philip saw through her.
  4. 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.
  5. 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.”
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. 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.
  10. 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.
  11. Raptor


    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.
  12. 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?
  13. 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
  14. (Lock this thread please I am no longer interest in this.)
  15. “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.
  16. 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:
  17. These plots are not set in stone, and are meant for open discussion and collaborating across the board. If you're interested and you're not in this club, get in here! These will be updated over time with more information so stay tuned
  18. sweet as cherry wine ; The wedding ceremony is one to be remembered for all who attend. It comes from the old traditions of the royal house, one taken from their roots as a family forged from war, and even from those distant ancestors beyond the shimmering seas. The vows were taken from a time when they had to raise warriors, and so marriage is to be a union that shares all. Marriage is to be celebrated through three aspects: mind, body, and soul. Here is the joining; here is where two become one. The soul speaks, bringing forth life and death in equal measure. Love is nothing without the capacity to share what is within. They speak promises, first. The Queen takes her husband’s hands in her own, clasped together as they declare their ties to one another, what the inner core within has to say for everyone around to hear. He tells her he adores her in all the languages he knows, some foreign even to her own cultured ears, and that vulnerable heart in her chest clutches tight, hard enough to squeeze the air out of her lungs. She repays in kind, in full, in counterpart. She may not be able to speak all the words heard around the world, but she can tell him she loves him. Even something as simple as that. It is no hardship. The mind deliberates, solving all problems it encounters. Love is nothing without the wits to understand and to adapt. Here, the couple presents each other a conundrum of their own making, one for the other to solve in their own time. It has been prepared long before the ceremony, these puzzles borne as products of their own thinking and devising, and the moment is merely a formality to be shown to the rest of the world. The Queen cannot help her smile when her husband reveals he has solved hers from the moment she had given it to him; she has long conceded that he is a more worldly soul than she will ever be. They are of one mind, of one will, of one judgment now. Where one’s thoughts go, the other follows; there can be no misgivings where there is an all-encompassing virtue of understanding. The body overcomes, thriving against all odds. Love is nothing without a vessel to have and to hold. The Queen places her hands on her husband’s shoulders, shivers when he drags his fingers up her arm to mirror her: slowly, teasingly. As practiced many times before, they kneel down on their knees, bowing before each other as lovers, as equals. They will share in all and may share of themselves to others, but in this aspect, the body can be devoted to only their other half, in this lifetime and whatever may be to come. Amidst the quiet murmurings of blessings and oaths spoken in their honor, they touch their foreheads together, and in the final echoes of the last words, they bind themselves with the final act of a kiss. They have shared many kisses before this moment, but here: here is a kiss that feels like a beginning, or the first rays of sunshine, or a brand new dawn. They are man and wife. Queen and her King Consort. Varda places the raven crown twin of her own coronet upon her husband’s brow and names him her right hand, her master and servant in equal measure. She looks on into the deafening crowd—and holds on to Quinton’s hand just a little bit tighter than before. BRIGHTSTONE MANOR > CAL ETERIS click to enlarge. map credits to @Csl a little night music ; Brightstone Manor is a stunning sight in the cool spring evening, glittering lanterns and elaborate glass chandeliers brightening up the night as a sea of visitors come to the shores of the wedding party grounds. It has only been newly opened to the public as a luxurious event center, its opulent space inaugurated by the extravagant banquet of the Queen herself, of all people, and so the staff of the castle are at their very best behavior. Every speck of dust is banished to the ether, every piece of silverware polished to shining glory, and the food and drink are served in a generous overflow. The dining room is full of tables laden with plates filled to the brim with delicious food: prime fare for any food lover’s tastes, both gourmet and gourmand alike. Sweet music fills the halls, an underlying backdrop to harmonize well with the constant bouts of conversation flitting in the air. The Queen and her husband are happily welcomed by the crowd upon their arrival to the castle, taking their place at the head of the Great Hall where they greet guests and thank them for attending. The siblings of House Hildebrand flit around the halls in scattered groups: Jasper and his family are in the study, Aspen and Esme are dancing joyously in the Great Hall, and Nairne and Merel are playing chess together in the game room. It has been an eventful long day, and yet, the clock has yet to strike seven in the evening. The night is young, and so there is more that remains to be seen in the hours to come. . . • • •
  19. (I am lifting the play write format for this project and I want to make another community effort here. ALL are welcome. I'm going to try to make most of my development projects be inclusive to everyone or as many people who wish to join. If the party gets big enough at some point I am going to follow a very loose turn order. Note upon thinking about things from a progression/personal lore stand point this thread takes place AFTER the one I just finished so I don't drive my head canon too batty. The thread that takes place before this current project is linked here: And yeah now we got a chronology going yo LOL.) Day 1- The house was run down at one point. Velindrel and Magdalene helped rebuild the house with their own hands, keeping busy, finding the parts and pieces they needed from the wild lands around Casper proper. Velindrel's blacksmith arts came into full use there. He made the various things with his own hands that were needed at his wife's guidance. They were both hard workers, most of Casper's citizens were. He looked at the house for a long moment, it had come a long way since Magdalene had returned to him that day. He nodded in approval. Velindrel: It has been a long time indeed. But it's nice to have some place to call home...our home. He rubbed his chin for a thoughtful moment. Magdalene, we've cleaned the place up really well. Our daughter would have liked living here. Magdalene: She looked up towards her taller husband, her companion. We have done well. She would have liked it here, I agree with you. I have also been working on my own studies. Velindrel: There is plenty to do here in Casper. I think you have found a good calling at the hospital especially with people arriving from Aspyn. Reminds me, I will like to explore the ruins someday. He found for a moment as he considered the possibility of looting the ruins. Would that make me any different than a common thief? He shook his head. No...that will be a journey for another time. Magdalene: Let us establish ourselves here in Casper first. We'll have other times to travel. Velindrel: He nodded towards her. Home. He said for no reason at all. Magdalene: You know that's the first time I have heard you call anywhere "Home" and mean it. Velindrel: It is the first time in a long time I have thought of as anywhere being home. The shadow passed across his face again. Magdalene: That's happening far more often now. She suddenly said. Velindrel: What do you mean? Magdalene: She touched his face calmly. There is a shadow in there my love, that was not there before. I am going to help you someday be rid of it...as long that takes to do so. I don't like to know that you are suffering especially if I can do something about it. He considered carefully what he was hearing. He had not been aware that it was affecting him that much...their daughter's murder. (This project is a primarily a social thread BUT we can take the change to use The Lancey Forge ESPECIALLY if I beat the odds here and it becomes canon. Thank you to all who decide to participate and help me out. You guys are a great bunch.)
  20. "Quit fretting, Tora. They'll be fine. They're old enough to know not to dance in the streets or anything, right, Aliza?" Shimi looked down at his young children, Aliza and Katoro. "Yeah, Dad! We'll collect all the fish you asked for, just like you said," replied Aliza. "And remember, children, give them money! Don't steal the fish!" Shimi added as the children ran off into the hustle and bustle of the marketplace. "Shimi, do you not worry for them? They are young, are you sure you can let them-" Tora was cut off by Shimi shushing her. "No, Tora. Aliza is extremely agile, so along with Katoro's intelligence, they will be fine if they run into any strangers. Plus I gave Aliza a bow and arrow, and Katoro a knife. They're armed and ready, Tora." Tora sighed and looked up at the sky. "Alright. If you say so."
  21. Aliza chased the rabbit fiercely, her bow in hand, but she closed her eyes for a second, only to open them and see the rabbit gone and be tumbling head over heels from running too fast. She tutted. She hated herself, how could she be so clumsy? She froze at the sound of a horse's aggressive whinny. Royal guards were coming, she had to run. If she was going to steal the tiaras, she had to stay hidden. She couldn't let them be crowned official princesses, she just couldn't. The whinnies came closer, and Aliza could hear the clattering of running hooves. "Aah!" It came forward from her lips before she could stop it as a human form barreled into her. Not a royal guard, please not a royal guard, she prayed. "Hey, hey, girl, calm down. It's only me." She opened her eyes and looked up. "Don't say 'it's only me' like I know you. I don't trust anyone I don't know." Aliza's teeth were bared as she spoke, and a growl came from deep in her throat. "Girlie, don't growl at me like you're some rabid guard dog. I'm a rogue like you." The person who had tackled her was a teenage boy, about 17 at most. He had a bow and arrow, and a knapsack, as did Aliza, so she could only assume he spoke the truth. "So what's your plan, sneaking around the castle grounds like this?" the boy asked. "Well, I heard that the queen has just given birth to twin girls. I'm trying to get in and steal their crowns so they can't be crowned princesses," Aliza explained. "Oh, so you're a thief too? I never knew I'd find someone like me. I'm a rogue and a thief as well. Name's Zane. But isn't this kind of a sensitive topic to talk about when the royal guard is watching us?" Short note from @InhaleTheSmog, who plays Aliza: This will become a love story eventually. Aliza whipped around at Zane's words. Sure enough, the royal guard and their horses were watching them like a flock of hawks. "What are you rogues doing here?" said one guard with a deep, booming voice. "They're probably thieves as well. I heard them mention something..." said a second guard with a purring, weaselly voice, before being shushed by the first guard. There was a sound of metal scratching as the second guard slowly drew his sword out of his armor.
  22. After the fall of the Uldwars... Ingrid had come off of Mt. Ego a defeated Mage and even worse...unemployed. After the fall of the House of Uldwar, losing her student Luis and having no home to return to, Ingrid looked out to other areas far, far out of the way where she could study what had happened to the land once the Elemental had died. It felt like the whole of Ursa Madeum had been turned upside down, the magics uncontrolled seeming throughout this kingdom of Svanhild. Almost everything had been wiped from what was left of the Uldwars save for few who had memory of them. That and she had to evacuate and abandon the beautiful school she had left behind after becoming the HeadMaster, sending students to one of the safer branches far, far away. Left in a burning wasteland with magic out of control, Ingrid had fled. Without an Elemental in place, she would never be able to return to Misral...and with her ties to the old family that had ruled there and having fought the Oathsworn from trying to kill it...Ingrid had gained an unfavorable reputation. Her noble family had been wiped away, everything of her past employment now under ash and flames. The only choice she had was to run, get away and not look back. Her son Camille had started school already under Kalmuli's care...it left her more time to figure out what to do. Find an elemental? Find a new noble family to serve? Her travels had lead her to find about a city of Fae that lay behind the Fenwylds. It was a place where she could recover and give her some peace while she regained herself....get back to her roots. Being Fae herself, an elf, she wouldn't have much trouble getting through the Fenwylds...but she wasn't so sure about her sanity. Ingrid had made herself a base camp outside of the Fenwyld to give herself some time to ready herself. Gathering materials for potions, meditating and reading over old manuscripts...but it was just delaying the inevitable. She would have to go where the other Fae wandered and she wasn't sure if even just being an Elf would be enough. "Gods...What am I doing..."Ingrid said, bringing her hands up to her face after having been at a mortar and pestle grinding herbs for more potions. "What in the seven hells am I doing..." Ingrid brought her hands down away fro her face, sniffing and wiping at her face while she sat alone in her tent. "I can't keep just...putting it off..."She said to herself, looking through the gap in her tent that had a full view of the beginning of the Fenwyld. She could hear whispers...things checking her out, finding out what she was doing. What kind of creatures or Fae they were, she didn't know...but she hadn't slept in three days and ate very little from it. The last thing she wanted to do in this state was to have something approach her with the intent to do harm...least she lose herself again. "Tomorrow has to be it...Tomorrow...or I just...find somewhere else. Ilvor can't be the only Fae city in Svanhild..."
  23. (Continues sometime after: And is an on going project style series. This project will be open to all just like the other one. This is an ongoing attempt to continue to develop Casper and my own character; Velindrel any assistance at this project is more than welcome. One more note: My Star Forge I am going to attempt to make canon/lore. So I'm going for 60+ posts for this. You guys aint seen NOTHING yet) It was a Tuesday... Since his instructions with The Maester began, Velindrel found himself gradually opening up to the people of Casper. He initially had been rough around the edges, but he'd slowly grown used to the idea he was a Casper citizen at that point. Velindrel looked at his house for a moment. Shit...it really is a dump. He sighed, he was going to have to spruce up the place a little bit more. Especially if he was going to have guests at some point from the town and from other places...his thoughts wandered as they tended to do often when he noticed it. His eyes narrowed and he noticed his front door was already open ajar. The past had caught up with him. A part of him pondered running away, and simply not having to deal with any of it... But Velindrel was no coward...he would face her he would face all of it head on. He carried the groceries he got from the general goods shop earlier and entered the house. A small group of individuals were already waiting inside, but his eyes went right to her....right to Magdalene. He put his stuff down on the floor and stood his ground. "I knew this day would come." Velindrel said gruffly, he half expected a fight right from the get go. Magdalene waved her hand and dismissed her companions, this was a personal family matter they didn't need to hear what was going to happen next. "You covered your tracks fairly well. Operative." He nodded. "I learned from the best. Can you blame me?" Magdalene walked over towards him, there was still some semblance of mutual respect between the two of them it had not all gone to shit. "The others would have ensured your death." "I kind of figured. I wouldn't have fought back either." Given what happened...what they did to us. "Why did you leave?" She asked. "I couldn't have stayed because of our child." Velindrel said. "Your Father made it clear that he would never accept a bastard halfbreed as family." "Velindrel...my Father was dealt with a few days after you left." She said, hoping that would spark...something in Velindrel. He looked down at his hands. "My hands are no longer clean enough to carry a child. I been running for so long." He looked sincerely sad about the entire event and what had transpired...all that had transpired between the two of them. The woman before him had been the single greatest love in the Elf's life only to have had her father shatter everything. "My hands are not any cleaner at this point." She told him. "Velindrel...I spoke with my colleagues and the guild we're from. I want to stay here in Casper...with you." Velindrel narrowed his eyes for a moment at what he was hearing. "You're serious...despite everything?" "Father killed our child and stole that from us but it made me realize what I had wanted this whole time was you." She sighed. "But if you don't want me back I can understand this." Velindrel walked over towards her. "So much had gone wrong since that happened to us, since our daughter was killed by him. I have been running for so long that I knew no other way of life...Casper is not a bad town by the way I think you will like it here." She nodded. "So that is a yes...?" He kissed her deeply. It is a yes... He thought to himself and sealed things in proper fashion...with a kiss. (This is going to be an ongoing crafting related thread, yall want stuff made LETS DO THIS!!! within reason of course Velly is not yet a Mastersmith but he can make most stuffs! Let's get this show on the road!)
  24. (I am able to commit full time to this sit eat this point. Especially since I have a new computer now, and yeah. If you are interested in joining this thread please MESSAGE me before joining. It's purely a trade/crafting style thread I'm trying to test a few ideas of inspiration I had.) "Again." The maester said calmly. The thousandth, strike, without a single pause for rest from the student. An old and forgotten soul, hungry for study of ancient arts crafts. The strike was perfected, damned near flawless. The furnace like work space was hot, almost like a blazing inferno. Since the elf had arrived, he'd never once complained and did every shit duty the old maester conjured for him. He was finally allowed to touch anvil and hammer a few weeks prior. He'd been there for the past fifty years of his life...time flowed different for his kind and he was gifted with old age. "Try it this way, instead of the way you're doing it." The maester said calmly. "Technique and balance comes with discipline don't try to think you have style yet. I took you on as an apprentice when you first arrived here, at Casper and you've never once bitched about anything. I like that about you. Most students bitch, you're a hard worker." He said with a gruff chuckle. The entire time, Velindrel struck with his hammer. Ten thousand, ten thousand 1...it didn't matter. He would do everything he was tasked to do because he desired knowledge, it was the way of his people to do so. The clanging sound of his hammer against the anvil, struck like thunder in the back of Velindrel's mind. He'd come to Casper running from his past and perhaps found something more...perhaps he'd found his purpose. "What time is it?" The maester suddenly asked and looked at an old clock. "Finish your studies for the day and you're free to go home." Velindrel finished well into the afternoon that day having completed the blade of the dagger he was working on. To say he was a hard worker would have underminded the entire truth of it...he was one who was obsessive about every detail, every aspect of the craft. He'd cleaned up and reorganized the work space as he'd done every time he left it for years now by that point...it was routine. He took a look at the old brass furnace...a reminder of past memories and past lives. "He likes you. I've never seen the maester take a liking to someone the way he has for you." She said calmly, bringing the elf out of his thoughts. "You've not said much since you arrived at Casper. Got some of the towns folks spooked." Velindrel nodded. "Silence has value too." He responded back. "I don't have much of interest to say anyway." He said to her. "Your kind has always fascinated me." The maid walked in close, Velindrel withdrew. She frowned. "...Why?" "You don't want to get involved with me, I'm just here to learn the blacksmith's trade beyond that I have no intentions of staying here. Have a nice day." He said that and sounded perhaps a little more harsh than he meant to. He hoped that drove the point home though, he was not here to build relationships he was there to learn...it was the way of his people to learn and desire knowledge. *** A short time later, he left the workshop to head home. (Enter here with Velly heading home for the day from the workshop. If I agree to have you join this thread thank you in advanced for helping out!)
  25. He didn't want to get some complacent in his Omnipotence that he forgot what it was to get his own hands dirty. How often do you hear of it? Someone going from the bottom to the top just to act as if they never called the bottom home? That wasn't Proteus. ALL the power, literally, at his disposal and he still found joys of the cold. The biting winter attempting to nip at his skin. The biting sub zero temperatures attempting to still his flow and his life, but alas he couldn't even FEEL these extremes let alone be bothered by them in the slightest. Even PRIOR to his ascension the cold was his element. He thrived in it. Hunted in it. Lived in it. It bred him and hardened him and deep, deep, deep in the frigid forests of Kharatunmi just a few miles north of the Temple/Gateway he had established here, Proteus stood perfectly still---one with the environment. He was covered head to toe in snow, crouched over in a 3 point stance---For so long, albeit it a blizzard going on it was enough to snow fall to enshroud the entirety of his hulking 15' frame in snow entirely and make him appear NO different then the mound of snow just a few meters to the right. Howling winds! Bending tree's! A veil of white blanketing the entirety of the would be green here were it absent.---All because he saw tracks here prior to the storm, and can sense and sell and though he downplays it, he see's the utterly unfathomable and remarkable creature that will make it's way back here. Some men, as boys, develop a favorite past time. Skipping rocks. A sport of sort involving a ball or oblong object. Horse back riding, archery, and things of that nature. Ol Proteus was different. His cloth was one hard to cut and different from the materials galore. Even as a child, Proteus has and always will be infatuated with hunting, stalking and assailing creatures many times his own size---even if ultimately they were no where near as powerful as he was. NOT to kill them, no, but the sport of startling them and giving them hell for a few moments. To make them aware that despite their size and stature there was something out there that was MORE then they were, and, the general thrill of bothering something---Big. And the Dragons of Kharatunmi were BIG. Big is an understatement really, considering the one he stalked after now was an ice dragon, white in coloration with an affinity for that element that was every bit of 1.5 miles from head to toe, and stood more then 600' from for limp to shoulder, with a wing span that was every bit of HALF it's overall length. By all intents in purposes, something this large simply BEGGED for his attention and quite honestly he got tired of surveying them from the isolation of his realm and instead pushed for a more hands on approach. And this big thing was gonna need some big hands... It's name was Mumramunatra----Proteus had taken to calling it "Muu Muu", if not for how convenient it was shortened, for how amusing it was to see the fairly intelligent extra large set of boots get equally pissed at it's name being butchered. Proteus had spent the better part of two days wounding this creatures pride. First posing as an easy meal and then flipping the script at the last moment and revealing he was anything but that. He had embarrassed this dragon. Ridiculed it. Tormented it and chased it across the lands for 2 days to the point where it had been pushed into a corner----where it's instincts have pushed it to stop flee'ing and start fighting. Proteus had absolutely NO intention on killing the creature. Infact-----He intended on breeding it. Requiring a blood sample, to do so. However, with his own level of power roaming around at a level, he had only just recently become accustomed to, he decided to wear it down---instead of exerting himself and possibly doing it lasting harm. So it had been a day or two of surprise tactics. Hiding and hitting. Trapping and discombobulating. The massive prey item had gotten fed up of it all and gone defensive, and during it's active search, Proteus had discovered long ago that it absolutely SUCKED at seeing, smelling, or sensing anything that could find symmetry with the environment around them. So proteus had covered himself heavily within the snow, slowed his bodily functions and suppressed even the non-physical aspects of himself that could be sensed, such as the magnitude of his presnece.----to Create comfort in the creature, enough for it to back track over it's territory. As it came up and over a low-Hill pass, back into the evergreens, it ultimately came closer to the waiting Proteus just 40 meters ahead of it. Unbothered by it's sheer size, magnitude and the intensity in which it presented itself. Allowing "Muu-Muu" to come closer and closer.....
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