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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 From first glance, the building appeared outdated and out of touch; nestled into a corner pocket of the universe, this old-fashion establishment was the resting place from travelers around creation.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. Csl

    The Tavern

    ◀ Return to ToL Index The Tavern The Tavern is both everywhere and nowhere. Those who come upon it find it through different ways; through doors and holes, or even as simple as stepping from one world into another. You may have happened upon the tavern on a nondescript journey, traveling through nothingness until you happened upon a quiet little hamlet out in the middle of nowhere. Eventually, your journey leads you down a dimly lit path, finding that night has come upon you faster than you first expected. You come to a location said to be the corner of all existence, the point between the world of Valucre and all other possibilities. There sits a quaint structure, small and unassuming. It is only one story, hardly more than a shack, and certainly nothing like what was promised by those claiming to have once stayed within its walls. The paint is peeling, the sign is careworn and faded. Perhaps you feel cheated, having come all this way just to find some hole in the wall that gives only a welcome home to drunks too far into their cups to notice the difference. Still, there is an inviting smell coming from inside, a welcome change from the smell of death you left behind. Perhaps you should enter then, and stay for a drink or two. Even if this tavern is not what was promised, a drink and a hot meal would do you some good. And there you find that the Tavern is all that was promised you - and more. It reaches high, the ceiling reaching hundreds of feet above. Layers upon layers of rafters fill in the gaps, where some patrons sit, served by a young man who traverses them with ease. Down below, the sprawling layout reveals a tavern with more than a dozen corners (each with its own table), despite the improbability. At the center of establishment is a large stage, where bands of bards play and leave- their lineup and styles as random as anything could be. Along what could be called the back, a long bar stretches out, ending at a doorway leading to the kitchens. Also in the back is a door that leads down to the storage basement. Weapons can be checked at the door or brought to the weapons counter, where the character will be relieved of their weapon and given a chip when they're ready to reclaim it. Locations Weapons counter - located on the right of the door. All entering the Tavern can either check their weapons at the door or bring them here. Characters will be relieved of their weapon and given a chip when they're ready to reclaim it. Kitchens - Off the back of the bar are the kitchens, where you can speak directly with the cook. On the other side of the bar is the office where you will often find the head of waitstaff, if she is not out on the floors herself. Bath House - A neat row of clean outhouse facilities are in the lot out back of the tavern. A bit beyond that is a building about a quarter of the size of the tavern itself, and houses three large bathing tubs. Staff Some of the staff are transient, coming and going every few days. The only constants in this ever-shifting tapestry of are the core staff members who manage the tavern itself, each serving their own special function. The Cook: Ghallen Berwater – Gaian Priest A former Gaian priest who has retired from the cloth to take up his second greatest passion: food! He supervises kitchen operations, gladly takes any compliments to the chef direct, and is liable to give tours of his facilities to the curious passerby. Ghallen is bearded, broad-shouldered and swarthy, carrying a warrior’s build. This fearsome figure is softened somewhat by the sky-blue apron (embroidered with the Terran Empire flag) he’s always wearing. The Bartender: Vaddok Fantore – Former Alterion Merchant An alchemist businessman who never tires of trying to sell you another drink or some fine plate of food. Vaddok is a devoutly religious man full of information of Renovatio as a whole. He loves to talk, and will craft you any drink while spinning yarns about legends pertaining to Valucre. Vaddok is rather average-looking, with thinning brown hair and green eyes. Has a cowlick on the back of his head that stands up rather prominently. The Bouncer: Lonely Night's Hand – Former Genesarian Edgemaster and Arcantian A stern and quiet man with little patience for rulebreakers. His real name is unknown; most just call him ‘'Night'. As a former Edgemaster and a manipulator of darkness, his powers are great and his skills with short swords deadly. Night is taller than most, with a large build and piercing gaze. Carved on his left arm are intricate runes. He keeps his dark blond hair in a braid. He tends to keep himself at a respectful distance from most people, patrolling the tavern clad in brigandine armor. Head of Waitstaff: Levhea Morytol – Former Elendaron adventurer A former adventurer from Elendaron seeking some stability in her older years, Levhea is a middle aged woman with patience for any sort of shenanigans or tomfoolery. Although her exterior is cold, she is happy to regale you with tales of her homeland and her travels. Levhea is well-built, with fiery red hair that’s greying at the edges. She still wears splintmail armor much of the time, and has a great sword big enough to cleave a giant's head off in one clean stroke. Head of Entertainment: Cadriel Douma -- Bard from parts unknown A bard who likes to keep the majority of his personal details close to his chest. He is a marvelous performer, playing dozens of instruments, singing with a sweetness sure to move an angel who has been graced by the muses themselves, and he also has other talents, including juggling, knife throwing, magician's tricks, and comedy routines. Cadriel is a friendly, sociable guy who loves to make people happy and can drink with the best of them. He appears to be approaching middle aged now, but damn if that man is still not one of the prettiest to have ever been formed. He has angular features, jet black hair and piercing blue eyes that just melt your soul. He has a smile that reaches ear to ear and a musical laugh. He only carries daggers on his person, but prefers to resolve conflicts by tapping into his musical talents, which have a flare for magic. Recurring Staff
  3. @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
  4. ¥ 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..."
  5. 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.
  6. 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.
  7. Artist: ned-rogers Note: open to members of the military only Purpose Inspired by Daniel Sage's Base #33, the purpose of this military base is to serve as a central meeting hub for members of the military that want to interact with other soldiers outside of missions. Examples of the kind of activity that make the best use of this hub are: Rest / idle time going into, or coming out of, an active mission Practicing skills and maneuvers relevant to your unit Making use of specialized tournament and training fields for those wishing to spar, practice combat, work in teams, and so on. Practicing coursework in the library or with members from other departments to shift from one branch of service to another or to collaborate on mission intelligence Layout Bali's Bistro: A 10 mile march away from the base is Bali's Bistro. If the food in the mess hall is too bland or not alcoholic enough, visit Bali's Bistro for food whose "not free" price tag reflects an uptick in quality and alcohol. Barracks: Where the soldiers go to sleep! Communications Depot: Where soldiers can send and receive communications in any media, ranging from paper letters to holo-array projections, and can range from plaintext public communications to encrypted private and secret communications - basically players can send messages to one another through here Library: Since the advent of the Crook and its connections to TSM, this base offers public access terminals to TSM stored data. A smaller number of military terminals can be used for encrypted communications and access to confidential data. Mess hall: An attached edifice where a soldier can go to get their three square meals a day and chat it up with other soldiers. Food served only at 8AM, at 12PM, and at 4PM. Potemkin village: A small dummy village has been setup nearby for saboteurs to destroy and engineers to rebuild. Training fields: Specialized rings and fields for those wishing to spar or practice combat in simulated environments, both one on one and in small teams. Security It's a military base. Not interested in making this a combat zone but yeah, it's got defenses
  8. ((Imagine as taking place southwest of Kethlerin)) _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A week had passed after the war in Nu Martyr, with the Watchers had decided it was time they forged a new destiny amidst the ruins of the old. On their airship, they had absconded with a number of refugees from that land with a promise of safe havens in their homeland. Their number consisted mostly of families with a few soldiers, but it was the speed at which they fled across the Great Northern Ocean that provided the most protection, as did the anonymity with which they traveled. When the ship had disembarked in Port Kyros, it was a nightmare for the Watchers to go through the problem of customs with the locals, as did the question of what to do with so many people. Very few questioned that life was going to be hard, especially for those that came from Landonia - where the proud, knightly traditions held strong. After a day or so of arguing with the customs officers, the Watchers had simply packed everyone who did not wish to remain and headed further east. A select few did leave, but most stayed and waited - huddled together amidst the ship's cavernous interior while they waited. It took another day of flight, but they reached the coast of the western edge of the Great North. To the more cautious minded, this was the ideal spot to set up, but Arthur Morn, the Watcher's second (and interim leader in Nathan's absence) thought it better to head further inland, away from prying eyes. Furthermore, he argued, the ship was borrowed from the Nu Martyr Defense Forces. It would need to be refueled, refitted and then returned once this business was concluded. It was a matter of honor. "Honor is not what keeps these people fed and happy, Arthur." Gale, the Watcher's strategist had said that evening over some of the last bottles of water and bits of bread. "We need to find someplace to drop soon or they'll start eating each other." With that, Gale and Elias volunteered to head further southeast - scouting for a different spot. It took a day, but eventually, they found it. Far to the southwest of the city of Kethlerin, on the banks of the Kethlerin's river tributary were the ruins of an old keep and some unnamed town. It was probably one of the places destroyed in the cataclysm from a previous Whispernight when the dead had risen from their graves and laid waste to much of Genesaris. Though nature had come to reclaim much of what was lost, the town's buildings remained largely intact, including a blacksmith's forge and fully stocked larders. Even better, the few clusters of the still-living dead were easy to dispatch. It took a skirmish, but the Watchers and their forces had secured and scoured away the area. Near the keep, the four members of the Watchers discussed what was to come. Four men fresh from a war they had fought and nearly died in, all for these people who were to them as complete strangers - now people under their protection. Nearly a thousand of them, just looking for someplace to go. "Much will have to be done." Gale said as the first wave of people began to arrive. Most of them women, children and the elderly. "We'll need to figure out who gets what houses and to secure a source of drinkable water." "Not to mention the security situation." Elias said, folding his arms. "We'll need to make another sweep of the area and find out if there's any more undead, or worse." "And the fact that Nathan is still missing." Max pointed out. "It's been almost ten days now. We'll need to contact him to make sure he's okay." "Jameson can take care of himself." Arthur said. "He'll contact us when he's ready. Until then, we need to follow his orders and keep these people safe. And Elias is right - we have to cover our tracks and ensure the Cult of Power does not follow us." "If the cult found out where we are, their reach would have to be long indeed." Elias said, inwardly glad his brother was so quick to agree. "I can only imagine their wrath would be terrible. Nathan made a direct threat to their leader - and more, we snatched a whole group of people from right under their noses." "Even so, this little town is as good a place as any to start over." Arthur said. He turned to his brother and the Fairy Knight. "I'll see to it that makeshift defenses are set up. Elias, run a sweep from the north and east walls. Gale, give me south and west. I want to know what's coming this way before we're gagging on it." With that, he turned to the Angel Knight. "Max, you're with me. I'm going to start organizing a militia."
  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. 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.
  11. 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.
  12. There was a subtle change in the sound of the city, enough to interrupt Torie’s dreams. She woke up a little disorientated but quickly recognized her room at the inn. Sunlight streamed in through her south-facing window, the angle indicating just after noon. She stretched, and felt the floorboards shaking. “Strange,” she said. Then she noted a deeper vibration, a rumble, barely perceptible to her sensitive tiger ears, and equally faint screaming. Torie scrambled to her feet, which wasn’t easy, especially given the vast quantity of salamander meat she’d eaten the day before. With a swing of her plate-sized paw she opened the door and bolted down the stairs, flanks scraping the wall on either side. The inn was quiet, a few patrons dining for lunch. Torie headed straight for the door. Outside the sunlight was arrestingly bright, but even through squinting eyes, everything seemed normal. People, horses and carts moved up and down the cobblestone streets. Several adventures milled around a notice board further down the street. A queue had formed out the door of a discounted barber store. But the cobblestones beneath Torie’s enormous paws were ever-so-gently vibrating. She wandered north, uphill towards where she knew the castle sat on its cliffs above the coast. The buildings became taller, more ritzy, with little spires and porticos and balconies. The people were better dressed, flowing with silks and embroidery. But the ground was still vibrating, enough that she could see the windows on nearby buildings shaking. Then one of the windows shattered. People stopped in the street, looking about. Someone cried out earthquake, and more screams filled the air. If Torie didn’t have four legs she might have been worried she would fall, and turned to walk to the centre of the road, furthest from the looming stone buildings on either side. Then, one of the buildings near the centre of town vanished behind the skyline of roofs and spires, and another, and another, replaced instead by a plume of smoke and dust. “Ohh boy,” Torie said and, when the ground stopped shaking, started down the slope. *** Panicked crowds grew tighter the closer she got, though being an enormous tiger, the tide of people parted for her quickly enough. Soon she found herself standing on the edge of an enormous sinkhole, the collapsed remains of several buildings inside. And several people, covered in dust, among the rubble. “Rope, we need rope!” called a shield guard. “… foot’s trapped, need a crane or a dragon to move-“ “… ground could still give way. Get these crowds back!” Golden shields started dispersing among the crowd, hands up, shouting to the crowds to back away. One of them reached Torie, looking at her as if not sure she was a person or a wild animal. “You…” “I can help,” Torie said, slowly so she articulated well around her tiger throat. “I can pull or lift, or hold a rope.” “Wait here,” the guard said. He turned to address some people standing on the very edge, looking down at the mess of the sinkhole below, when the cobblestone road split and he and everyone near the edge disappeared into the abyss. Torie roared with surprise and terror, watching as the sinkhole grew even deeper, the square stones of buildings and people crawling over them churning as they sank deeper into the earth, as if there was a hole beneath them. Water gurgled from a broken aquiduct, washing over the rocks and people alike. Torie backed away from the edge, as if it could swallow her too, and headed back to the inn. *** She burst through the inn door. “Help! We need help,” she said around breaths gasping for air. “People, buildings… the ground’s collapsed. There are people trapped! We need rope and ladders, and healers. Please, come quickly!” She looked about at the patrons, eyeing off the most capable-looking, eyes pleading for help.
  13. 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.
  14. [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." ...
  15. 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.
  16. A waver, some called it. The beautiful woman whipped upon one between larger vessels, throttling brakes and boosts along her canal like a Mario Kart character through Toad's Turnpike. Water sprayed from the centrifugal force of her scooteresque board over the decks of passenger vehicles who abided by Shrine City's traffic laws, splashing civilians in nice clothes with champagne glasses who expected the typical serene journey down Shrine's winding byways. Where was she headed? Why, none other than the least diviest dive bar near Lion's Square Garden. The beautiful woman walked into a bar and sat at the three-quarters-packed bar in the late afternoon. She got service real fast. "Pour me a double," she said huskily to the 30-some year old behind the counter gilded with taps. "Right away ma'am," he blushed, grabbing her drink. "Make it two," she said before he'd finished pouring the first. "Alright! Comin' right up!" exclaimed the young'un, catching the whiff that the lady could hold her own. Double-fisting and then downing both at the pace of about a gulp each, the beautiful woman's golden eyes flashed something between alcoholism and arousal. The bartender had other customers to tend to, but he would be back soon. Starting this kind of thing at a bar was fun, thought the beautiful woman.
  17. 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
  18. Nova sat on the boat as she tried to image what a new land would look like. She came from the small island of Rowan, far from here. Ansgar was her birth city. But the young vampire couldn't do a thing there. She was suffocating in a land that didn't understand her. And so she, a black bird of death, as they liked to associate her with, gathered her meager belongings and took a ship to Orisia. But she had never been on a ship before. The rocking of the ship made her sick the first day. But she managed to survive. Nova sighed as she walked upon the outer deck of the ship. She knew no one really, a loner type of girl seeing anyone who involved themselves with her died. Nova was a bad luck charm you didn't want. The vampire placed her arms on the railing as her yellow and orange speckled eyes casted themselves upon the reflection of the sea. She wondered if this land, Orisia it was called, would welcome her? Nova was one who loved getting into trouble. And who knew maybe she would find something worth fighting for? Something to keep from dying. Nova didn't know.
  19. 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. . . • • •
  20. When they told you this was the place to go, they really were not kidding. The inn itself is huge, both outside and on the inside. Four stories tall and as big around as some government places, this place looks like it could fit a small army if it had to, and knowing Genesaris, it probably has a time or two. The outside décor is simple but neat, with fresh paint and nice trim, and a bright cheery sign that proudly shows off its name. When you walk inside, mixed aromas of honey mead, ale, pipe tobacco, cherry tree logs burning in the hearth, and whatever the special of the day is, greet you. The bar itself is long and managed not by just the owner, but by two assistants as well, the bar occupying enough space to seat forty.   Opposite the bar is as stage, where bards play almost every night, and directly in front of that is an open floor with specialized wood flooring, designed to take a beating from those who have had enough to drink to go dancing without the fear of looking stupid. Surrounding that, literally dozens and dozens of tables, operated by a crew of anywhere from eight to twelve servers, depending on the day and the time of day. Beyond the bar you have the kitchens, where a full on team of folks work to keep food coming and everyone happy. This place is not just an inn; it’s a fine establishment for middle class people looking to have a good time, or passing adventurers to take a load off.   Though it is in one of the best neighborhoods of the city, they still take no chances and keep two very large bouncers on hand, these two twins in fact. Short, wider than a barn and ugly as sin, you find out that despite how fearsome they look, these two are downright hilarious and love to kid around with ya—but don’t piss them off, because they’ll also just as happily toss you out on your face, and they keep score with how many teeth fall out. It’s a brutal game, but such as it is for those two brothers- gentile until provoked.   Rooms are available on the third and fourth floor, the second reserved for meetings and other important functions, often used by politicos or other “important people” (often college professors). If you aren’t looking to stay the night but plan on getting work instead, feel free to look at their vast bulletin board, where you can find people in need of assistance. Or, if you are looking for help yourself, put up a notice.   Happy drinking!   [offtopic]This is a general RP area, where you can drop in to claim a quest or just come in to have characters meet up and BS for a while. All I ask is that you respect the lore and don’t trash the place without at least letting me know, so that way I can provide you with a realistic response- not saying the place could never go down in flames, but it shouldn’t be as easy as striking a match either, right? Anyway, I will not man this thread, feel free to NPC servers, the bartender, his assistant bartenders, the patrons, anyone and everyone. Have fun and wear the place out.[/offtopic]
  21. 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
  22. (OOC Thread) The sun was setting on an autumn Genesaris, casting long shadows from the trees and sinking the valleys and gulleys between the mountains in deep darkness. Torie’s coat and substantial layer of insulating blubber kept her warm, though her nose felt the cold keenly. It hadn’t started snowing yet. The sky was clear and pink above the hilltops. But it was cold enough to freeze the edges of the nearby creek, mixing ice and autumn leaves together in a multicoloured mosaic. With the setting of the sun it would only get colder, she knew, and what’s more, she could sense other travelers nearby. Torie was a druid who took the form of a tiger. She was quite likely to be the largest and fattest tiger in the world, easily standing over five feet tall and with a thick, ruffled neck, and a belly that almost dragged on the ground. Her coat was thick and hid most of her unsightly rolls of fat, but it couldn’t hide her bulk. In fact, it only increased her apparent size to something enormous, though perhaps less threatening than a regular tiger. Around her neck hung a chain of pouches filled with all manner of various herbs she had picked up in her latest foray into the wilderness, though she was looking forward to returning to nearby Vdara, and all the comforts (and foods) modern city living provided. But still, it would be easy for a traveler to mistake her for a wild beast. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d have to fight off someone keen on claiming her pelt. Talking was always an option, and she’d modified her natural tiger throat to enable her to speak, but it was still a deep grumble that could easily be mistaken for growls if someone wasn’t listening properly. So she’d have to make herself look less like an animal, and the only way she could think to do that out here was to build a campfire. She gathered some fuel together in her mouth and carried it to a clearing, where she sat on her haunches and used her dinnerplate-sized paws to rub one stick into the other. It was slow-going though, and not something she practiced very often. By the time the sun had set and only the light of the moon was left, she found herself hunched over her attempted fire with nothing but a pile of dry sticks and splinters in her paws to show for it. “Morku,” she said, cursing in her native tongue, but then her ears twisted between their fatty ruffles at the sound of movement nearby. She hadn’t been listening to the earth for a while. Had the other travelers found her? “Welcome,” she said slowly, grinning into the trees in the direction of the noise – and feeling equal parts stupid and scared. “Come, please sit with me. I don’t suppose you’re skilled at lighting a fire, are you?”
  23. "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.
  24. It was a long trip back home from what was now known as Taiyomichi. Prior to such a trip, he was not mentally matured or prepared enough to understand the gravity of his title; Of his position. During the several days at sea it took to return here on a fisherman's vessel at that, he had plenty of time to digest on the information and knowledge gained both directly and indirectly; From a wide variety of Human and Yokai sources that differed from those found here among the vast psionic populace. He had learned from his father that one had to make sacrifices to protect and ensure what was most precious to themselves. Sisu-sama had tought him that honor was tied to one's duty, one's fate; That one didn't always choose the life they were born into, and that responsibility had to be taken on anyone's account. Months before either however, he'd learned from his mother, and affirmed with his aforementioned guardians, that love seemed to be the one thing in the balance that disturbed such a thing. Love creates pain, and pain changes people. Though said change could not be predicted person to person, it had become a veritable truth in his mind that such a thing was too unpredictable to allow one's self to become overly attached to anyone or anything by choice. Though what he had been born in bondage to was already as much a part of himself as any other part in mind, body, and spirit. First and foremost he was born a son, his first duty being to those whom came before him; His parents and his Sisu. Then came the fact that he was born a Prince. The Bastard Prince as he was coming to be called, cared not for the illegitimate nature of his claim to the court. For he was the only child born of the Scarlet Queen. Once docked, the boy had done as he had his entire trip, masked his presence by way of bending the way minds perceived him. Where a boy and his cat stowed away on a ship, it appeared it was just two cats that went largely unperturbed. Together the duo traversed the roads of crushed stone beneath there feet, still warm to his senses as he remembered when he'd left. That was good, the Keep's defenses were still up and running, which meant that as he'd assumed, his Mother was in fact still alive where ever she was. He would find her one day, though in the mean time it had fallen upon his shoulders to pick up the reins where she'd prematurely left off. He had to restore stability within there lands, at least in the Keep itself, or he ran the risk of leaving his Mother's people more or less abandoned, as well as the risk of leaving his Mother with nothing to return to. As he made his way, Kairos took note of the environment overall. While the economy and it's people hadn't necessarily fallen or suffered great losses, it was apparent that excluding the recent feast hosted by the Order of Force, this region had grown rather stagnant. even to the point that adventurer's failed to lay claim to their outstanding Quests. This coupled with the silence of their sibling nations, save for the Taiyomichi, as well as with the empty council sitting in the Queen's place here, it was all just more evidence that he was right. Somebody had to do something, and soon. If only he'd realized sooner that he was just that somebody. Many would deny the claim a child made to a thrown, though his parents had provided him with the tools necessary to appear in whatever manner the people needed to see most in their minds. Creeping into the shadows of a nearby alleyway, the two cats vanished from sight for the briefest of moments. The Prince took a deep breath as he gathered himself, mentally preparing to put everything he'd learned to the test. For if he could not succeed here, now, then he'd have no hope to succeed in the future. While still incredibly young, he was wise well beyond his years; One of few consolations of being born to a Psion and a Cambion. He was a prodigy, gifted with advance Psionic capabilities that he still hadn't fully grasped an understanding on himself. Yet each day he understood more, each day he grew stronger and smarter...Each day, with every ounce of gained awareness, the boy gained confidence. Stepping from the shadows once more, the boy emerged in likeliness to how he appeared when seen in Taiyomichi, the day it was named such. Those that were present or aware of his appearance that day would undoubtedly recognize him now, giving some semblance of weight behind his words when he inevitably came to speak them. Stepping center-most into town, now with what was undoubtedly a lion, he cleared his throat and began by announcing himself and his claim before committing. Regardless of the apparent reception of his words here and now, he'd made up his mind on this matter. With or without the support of his nation, he would serve and protect them the way that he knew his Mother would, if not better. "Ladies, gentlemen, children of Predator's Keep; Lend me your ears, and your minds as well as your hearts!" He paused as he obviously gained quite a bit of attention from them all. A crowd began to gather as some ran to tell others to come and see before it was too late. Even one of the Order's Knight ran to tell the Master Knight himself that a spectacle was on the rise while other's remained around to observe the speech that was about to be delivered. "As most of you are aware, the budding Scarlet Empire ha taken quite a slide back in our Queen's absence. While the Keep itself has suffered the least, it is obviously thanks to the allowance of the Order of Force's presence within our lands. This Force however, is not a governing one, and with the realized loss of the Scarlet Council, it has become apparent that such responsibility falls upon myself; Your Prince!" Confusion became apparent among them, for the Prince was but a we lad. A far cry from a young man. Surely this man was an impostor? "It is true, I assure you all. While I left here mere weeks ago a boy, I return to you a man. While this may be difficult to accept as the truth, it does nothing to change the fact that it is. I am not lost to the fact that I am widely known among you all as The Bastard Prince. While I can do nothing to change the circumstance of my heritage, I can only assure you my Mother's blood runs through my veins, and that there is no alternative as far as genetic alternatives are concerned. As a result, I'm here this morn to tell you all that your Prince has returned, and that he, I, am going to absorb whats left of the Scarlet Council into my board of advisers...Without another to oppose my claim to the throne by right of birth or blood, I am issuing an open challenge to any and all whom would oppose me now. You have until sunset two moons from now to prove you are the more worthy to replace me on the throne. In the mean time, I'll begin by currently claiming it as it's interim monarch." As the crowds grew chaotic in their confusion and rejections, the Prince merely began to walk with purpose towards the Bastion; His Lion by his side. The crowds birthed a path for them to pass throw regardless of their acceptance to his speech. Formally, he'd placed himself out there to the public, and now it was time for him to appeal to perhaps the only person that truly could prove an issue for him moving forward. James Eredas. So far as Kairos was concerned, the OFM was nothing more than an over-glorified military force that specializes in Demon slaying. Curiously enough, it seemed to stand that his Father wasn't here, or else the man would've shown himself already. Not like his immediate attendance would've served a purpose in slowing the Khaliq down, let alone stopping him.
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