1. Home
  2. Apex Sunburn

Apex Sunburn Member

Justified text enjoyer

STATUS: @Zeroth I have the same issue. DO NOT try to uninstall and reinstall because you'd be blocked from downloading the app at all from the site as well. 1 yr ago
Avatar of Apex Sunburn

Status

Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current @Zeroth I have the same issue. DO NOT try to uninstall and reinstall because you'd be blocked from downloading the app at all from the site as well.
1 like
2 yrs ago
My back, my back, and my back. They're all in pain.

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




Time: Evening
Interactions: Kalliope @Tae
Mentions:
Attire:


The darkening sky spread over Sorian harbour, and with it came a scattering of ships seeking safer waters for the night within the city’s breakwaters. In the diminishing light, even weather-beaten and tarnished sails appeared to be wavering slivers of luminescent white. They fluttered furiously against the nightly seaward winds, but still flagged more than they billowed. Pushing their hulls towards the docks at a torpid pace was all they could do.

From the waterfront, Sjan-dehk watched with crossed arms and in amusement. Beneath the lopsided grin, the occasional snicker – particularly when a ship found itself in irons – and the less-occasional thoughts of how his Sada Kurau would be the superior vessel in similar conditions, he felt some sympathy for the crew aboard those ships. Really, he did; to spend a day of toil at sea, only to be delayed by something the fickle winds so close to home was frustrating, to say the very least.

Granted, that wasn’t something Sjan-dehk had ever personally experienced – the sea was both his closest companion and second home – but he had observed his crew enough to understand it, somewhat.

“That’s not good,” he murmured and drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. A sizeable ship – a freighter, judging by its size and heft – had lurched into a lumbering turn, only to have her sails immediately deflated and pressed flat against her masts by the headwind. She lost what scant speed she had in an instant, and drifted slowly and aimlessly to a complete stop. There was little her crew could do aside from trimming her sails every which way in vain hopes of catching some form of wind. Such a position was unenviable; even Sada Kurau would be hard-pressed to get out of such a situation – she could sail much closer to the wind than most, but she could not sail directly into it. No ship could.

Or rather, no sailing ship could. A steamer wouldn’t have cared which way the winds blew.

Sjan-dehk grunted and leaned forwards, resting his forearms on the salt-pitted guardrail stretching across the length of the waterfront. It felt surreal – wrong, almost – how quickly those machines of iron and steam took to the seas. When the War began just over half-a-decade ago, they were mere theories dreamt up by shipwrights and engineers. Two years into the fighting, and the first wooden frigates to be fitted with steam engines were put into service. The following year, those very same ships were coated in thin plates of iron and sent to the front. And by War’s end, there were ships leaving the slipways that looked completely alien to Sjan-dehk.

He recalled seeing one such vessel, the Sadhakan Ai-kai. It had been during the final days of the War, and Sada Kurau had happened to pass her whilst underway to the Viserjantan capital, Mersawas. Her hull had gleamed in the sunlight, and she had sailed into the wind with naked masts and funnels belching clouds of dark smoke and white vapour. It had been a strange sight, and to this day Sjan-dehk was still uncertain as to what he thought of it. On the one hand, being able to sail without paying heed to the wind was a dream of every captain. And yet on the other, that very same dream made real sapped the magic from sailing. As if it turned something that called for talent and imagination into something colder, and more clinical.

Well, he supposed it didn’t quite matter what he thought. If it ever came to a day when he would be forced to leave his Sada Kurau to take command of one of those newer ships, then he could either simply accept the decision without fuss, or fight tooth-and-nail to remain aboard the ship that had taken him to countless victories. And he already knew which option he would choose.

A familiar voice from behind quickly dispelled whatever daydreams he had of a probable future, and pulled him back to his senses. “Captain, I hope you don't mind a siren's company for the night's festivities.”

“You know, sirens–” Sjan-dehk began with a chuckle as he turned around. And as soon as he laid eyes on Kalliope, whatever words he had left to say vanished from his tongue. Without thinking – or even knowing, for that matter – he swept his gaze over her form before resting it on her face. Her verdant eyes gleamed with mischief, but also shone with the waning twilight.

"Shall we dance in the realm of arrogance and pompous asses?"

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat, coughing into a fist, and nodded in response to her question. “When you put it that way, it almost sounds like it’d be fun,” he said with a quiet laugh.

Once again, he couldn’t help but take in the sight of her. The gown she wore was the exact one which she had bought days ago, so it wasn’t as if he was looking at anything new. And yet, he was captivated all the same. Blue fabric, soft and fine, flowed from her like the rolling waves of the gentle sea, and pooled at her feet in ruffles reminiscent of swirling eddies. And just like the sea, it was broken up by golden accents that reminded him of the vibrant hues painted by a setting sun. Intricately woven to look like scales, they made her look like a merrowfolk from ancient legends.

And it was around that time when Sjan-dehk realised that if she hadn’t noticed him ogling her before, she certainly must have, now. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, and carefully considered his words. A not-so-small part of him just wanted to call her ‘beautiful’ and be done with it, but knowing what he now knew about her relationship with Cassius, he knew he had to establish and maintain a respectful distance. He may as well get started – and get used to it – sooner rather than later.

“You look…Wonderful.” That was the most neutral word he could think of while still retaining some form of honesty. “It’s a beautiful dress, and it suits you well.” He should have stopped there. That would have been the wise thing to do, but he couldn’t stop himself from continuing with, “I mean, the rest of you is…Well, it’s easy on the eyes as well.” He paused, and tapped his finger on a scabbard. “You dressed up well, is what I’m trying to say. Almost makes me feel a little underdressed.”

Sjan-dehk spoke the last sentence as a half-joke. Compared to Kalliope, he looked remarkably plain. That wasn’t the seamstress’ fault, however, but rather his own. The poor woman had tried to convince him to at least try some of the more fanciful and eye-catching clothes she had to offer. Consummate soldier that he was, Sjan-dehk naturally refused. He eventually settled on something that was as close to his usual attire as possible, albeit with some flair in the form of elaborate patterns embroidered with golden thread. Even that was something the seamstress had to talk him into accepting. She had pointed out – and rightfully so, in hindsight – that without them, he may as well wear his own uniform. And that was hardly fitting for what seemed to be an elegant and grand event.

“Anyway,” he said, taking a step back from her and tilting his head to one side. Whether that was the right way to go was unknown to him. “Shall we go? I don’t know where this count makes his home, so I’m afraid you have to lead. Not unless you don’t mind us ending up some place where we shouldn’t.”
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




Time: Late Morning
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Sjan-dehk didn’t linger at the beach. After Kalliope told him where they were to meet – and after he agreed to her suggestion – he bade her a short, but still polite, farewell before taking his leave. This morning had been eventful enough on its own, and he wasn’t too keen on making it more so. Between meeting a bevy of new faces – as well as learning the names which came with them – and the small debacle courtesy of the Alidashti princess, he felt he had seen and heard enough for one day, let alone just a part of it. There was already plenty for him to think over as things were.

And yet, as the crunching of sand beneath his boots gave way to the tapping of leather against stone, his thoughts were of neither new acquaintances nor of capricious royalty.

Rather, they were of Kalliope and Cassius, the man who had accompanied her to the beach. Specifically, he pondered over the nature of their relationship for the umpteenth time. He wasn’t sure what vexed him greater: that he didn’t know, or that he was devoting so much thought to a trivial matter. What did it matter to him? Both were little more than strangers to him. Kalliope less so, granted, but he still only knew her for all of two days, at best. And Cassius? The man may as well be a giant question mark. Sjan-dehk couldn’t think of a reason for him to be so concerned with how the two were linked. They could be friends, or even lovers, for all he cared.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Though he couldn’t say for why, that last thought – of Kalliope and Cassius being lovers – made his chest feel ever-so-slightly tighter, and brought a twitch of a furrow to his brow. He willed both away with a shake of his head and a growl that wasn’t quite as muted as he had intended. This was all just a result of having too much time on his hands, he was sure of it. Spending a bit of time aboard Sada Kurau and busying himself with the tasks of the day would fix that in short order. Mending sails and polishing yardarms for hours on end would numb anyone’s mind to whatever it was that plagued them.

However, the sight that greeted him as he stepped onto the dock put a quick end to those plans.

Standing near the end of the boardwalk, and right by the foot of the gangplank leading up to his ship, were two familiar faces. Or to be accurate, it was one familiar face – Iyen – and one somewhat-familiar head of flaxen hair. With how raised their voices were and how wildly they gestured to each other, Sjan-dehk didn’t know if he was witnessing a particularly animated conversation or the start of a fight, and so he proceeded cautiously, as if he were sneaking up on a skittish animal.

Iyen’s eyes found him as he drew closer, and the barely-hidden exasperation on her face melted away to a look of relief. “Sjan-dehk!” She called out over the shoulder of the other person, who revealed herself to be Aislin – the fishergirl he had met just days before – as she spun around. “Praise the Mountain and the Shadowed Green that you’re here. It’s about time, too.” Iyen rested her hands on his hips. “Any longer and I would’ve had to go out looking for you.”

“Well, are you going to tell me what’s so important, then?” Sjan-dehk asked.

Iyen shrugged. “Not a clue.” She cocked her head towards the shorter Caesonian girl. “I found her running up to every one of our people near the beach, asking about you and your ship. Couldn’t understand much more than that, so I brought her here. I was hoping that you’d know what she’s going on about.” Her eyes shined with mischief, and a smirk tugged on her lips as she leaned in closer to him. “My, Wasun Sjan-dehk of Jafi, you haven’t done anything to her that you shouldn’t have, have you?”

Sjan-dehk ignored her and addressed Aislin directly. “Iyen says you looked for me. Why?”

Worry was written plainly upon the fishergirl’s visage. She had clearly left her work in a hurry – her simple, over-patched dress and bodice were streaked with stains of red-and-brown, and there was a strong scent of the ocean – laced with that of fish guts – that clung to her hastily-tied hair and clothes. “Sorry Cap’n, but I need your help.” Fretful eyes flitted between Sjan-dehk’s face and Iyen’s from beneath knitted brows, and she wrung her hands over her chest as she spoke. “A few boats went out fishin’ early in the mornin’. They should all be back by now, aye they should, an’ most of ‘em are, but we’re still missin’ one wi’ crew an’ all, an’ I ‘eard frae the rest that they went farther out, but ‘tis pirate waters o’er yonder, ‘tis so.” She paused to take in a heaving breath. “Pa said tae tell the city guard, but if anythin’s really ‘appened tae ‘em, it’ll be too late by the time those bastards do anythin’, an’ I cannae think o’ anyone else who can ‘elp, so I came tae you, Cap’n–”

Sjan-dehk stopped her torrent of words with a gentle pat on her shoulder. He offered her a small smile and said, “It is…It will be okay. We will go find them. If there are pirates, we can fight. Will be okay.” He glanced at Iyen and nodded. “Missing ship,” he translated for her. “Sounds like there might be pirate trouble too, or not. I’ll take Sada Kurau out and see what I find. It’ll do the crew some good, either way. Nothing like a surprise journey every now and then to keep them sharp and on their toes.”

“And any excuse to step away from shore, eh, Captain?” Iyen teased with a grin. “Just as well that I’ve got nothing planned for the rest of the day. I’d hate to miss out on the fun. It’ll be just like old times.”

“Don’t you have duties?” Sjan-dehk asked. “Like looking after our Lady Adiyan?”

“She told me to take the day.” By the sourness in her voice and the brief twisting of her lips, it was clear to Sjan-dehk that Iyen was too pleased about that. Then, she shrugged. “But I guess it’s better that I take it today, when she’s safe aboard the Sudah, than when she’s able to come ashore.” She let out a breath that was halfway between frustrated and resigned. With a shake of her head, she brought a cheeky smile back to her face and playful mirth to her voice. “Anyway, there’s nothing for me to do other than to go wandering around a city I don’t know, and you know that means I’ll pay you a visit sooner or later. Might as well make things easier for us both and let me join you now, eh?”

Sjan-dehk took a moment to consider her offer. It didn’t take long for him to nod his assent – Iyen wasn’t a stranger to his ship, and her skills would be more than welcome if it came to a fight. “Alright. An extra pair of eyes is always helpful.” Then, he shifted his attention to Aislin. “You know where….You know where it is the boat can…Might? Yes, might be?”

She nodded. “Aye, I’ve got a pretty decent idea. She canne ‘ave gone far frae our usual waters, otherwise the others would’nae ‘ave let ‘er sail away, nae they would’ve.”

“Okay. You come with us. Take us there.”

“You got it, Cap’n.” Aislin smiled, but Sjan-dehk looked away. He would have preferred to leave the young fishergirl behind. Bringing her – someone unused to battle – to a potential skirmish was a risk to everyone involved, most of all the Aislin herself. But when the alternative was to wander aimlessly across unfamiliar waters for Mother-knows-how-long, what choice did he really have?

Sjan-dehk led the two of them up the gangplank and onto Sada Kurau. Her crew milled about on her main deck. Most were in the midst of returning to their duties – descending steps into her bowels, clambering up shrouds ratlines to her tops, or scuttling across the deck to their stations – and some were either sitting or laying by her gunwales, catching some hard-earned rest while they could. It almost made Sjan-dehk feel a little guilty about what he was going to do.

Almost. Sada Kurau was a warship. The crew knew what they were getting into when they joined her.

The first of Sjan-dehk’s barked orders shocked those closest to the gangplank awake. Those who heard it clearly immediately sprang into action, and with his subsequent commands, he pushed more and more of his crew to action. Before long, Azwan’s voice – along with those of the other officers – joined his in urging every sailor to their station. There was little time to waste; if there were pirates about, Sjan-dehk wanted to catch them as soon as possible. Every delay, every slight moment wasted, was simply another chance for them to slip away. Nevermind that there was only the possibility of pirates; Sjan-dehk acted as if it was all but confirmed that they were involved.

And it was that attitude of his which he spread to his crew. Like a well-maintained machine, they prepared Sada Kurau for a speedy departure. The gangplank was pulled up, and her mooring lines cut and allowed to drop into the harbour. Teams of sailors called out their cadence in unison as they hoisted her long yards into position. Crimson sails, once free from their lashings, fell in waves from them, bellowing and stiffening almost immediately as they caught the wind. With a deft hand on the wheel, Sjan-dehk guided her away from the pier.

And soon enough, her svelte hull was slicing through the water like a shark’s fin.




Time: Late morning to Early Afternoon
Interactions:
Mentions: Kalliope @Tae
Attire:

As Sada Kurau quietly slipped into Sorian harbour, so too did thoughts of the masquerade drift to the very top of Sjan-dehk’s mind once more.

The setting sun, a blazing disc of orange hovering just above the horizon, splashed calm waters with hues of vibrant pinks and fiery reds, even as the skies above were cooling to shades of soft blues and enigmatic purples. From shore, a breeze swept across the harbour and washed over Sjan-dehk, its chill a welcome contrast to the gentle heat warming his back. Quiet murmurs of conversation, the occasional ruffling of his ship’s sails, and the slow rush of waves graced his ears. They were all that accompanied Sada Kurau as she returned to her berth.

It was a fine evening by any account, and a finer way of ending a day of sailing.

But it wasn’t one Sjan-dehk found himself enjoying very much. Not when the prospect of having to mingle with other nobles – and the observation of niceties that came with it – loomed over his head like a gloomy shadow. Such events rarely sat well with him. They called for someone with finesse, decorum, and at least the airs of nobility. Sjan-dehk possessed none of those. He might have the rank, but he was a sailor and a soldier through-and-through. The events of the day only made that all the more apparent; he had been so comfortable, so in his element, in leading Sada Kurau out to hunt pirates, rescue the fisherfolk, and mete out justice. But now? He felt like a lamb awaiting slaughter.

“My, you’re a cheerful one, aren’t you?” Iyen’s voice freed Sjan-dehk from his thoughts, and he turned just in time to see her join him at the starboard gunwale. The slight slurring of her words, the pale flush tinting her cheeks, and the fact that she was wearing a sleeveless tunic rather than her usual attire told him that she had been part of the victory celebrations going on below decks.

“You’d be the same too, if you’re going where I’m going later,” Sjan-dehk replied drily.

Iyen laughed, hiccuped, and slapped him on the back. “I heard from the others,” she said with a grin. “But I think I would’ve guessed anyway. The way you’re dressed, you’re either going for something fancy or your burial, and I think I would’ve noticed if it’s the burial. You look pretty good, by the way.”

Sjan-dehk tugged on the collar of his shirt. It was strange; the other day, when he had bought these exact clothes with Kalliope, everything had been well. The fit was perfect, the soft-yet-hardy fabric gentle against his skin, and the design elegant yet simple enough for his tastes. Now, however, with the masquerade less of something far away to merely think about, and more of a real thing that was happening soon, Sjan-dehk felt ill at ease. His clothes felt restrictive, as if it were a prison tight around his body.

“Think I’d prefer the burial,” he said wryly. He glanced sideways at Iyen with a little smile. “But thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Iyen replied as she tied her hair into a messy tail. “I heard that you’re going with quite a lady, as well.”

“Is that what they’re saying?” Sjan-dehk asked and chuckled bitterly. Although where exactly the bitterness came from, he wasn’t quite sure. “It’s nothing like that,” he continued with a wave of his hand. “I’m just her escort and nothing more. She's probably already got someone in her life, anyway.”

“Huh.” Iyen’s lips twisted into a lopsided frown. “Why would she invite you, if that’s the case?”

To that, Sjan-dehk could only respond with a shrug. He had been pondering over that same question, and found no good answers. Perhaps Cassius wasn’t available? Or perhaps he was seeing things that weren’t there, and this was nothing but an invitation of politeness or friendliness. “Right place, right time, if you ask me,” he said with uncertainty clear in his words. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. I gave her my word, and I’ve to keep it. The Count hosting the damn thing invited me again at the beach this morning, too. Can’t back out of something like that even if I want to, now.”

“A Count?” Iyen’s surprise was palpable, as was her concern. “Not sure I like the sound of that, Shanya.”

Sjan-dehk turned to her and patted her shoulder. “I’ll try to be careful.” He smiled, though perhaps it wasn’t as reassuring as he had hoped. “Don’t worry, Yen-yi. If there’s a way to get out of dealing with nobles and their gullshit, I’ll find it. Been doing that for a damn long time, now.” The deck beneath them shuddered as Sada Kurau pulled up alongside the same pier it had left earlier that morning. Shouts went up the masts to furl all sails and to prepare her yards for lowering. “I should probably get–”

“Iyen!” A shout from Aislin came from behind the two of them. They looked back over their shoulders, and saw the fishergirl poking her head through a hatch. By the tone of her voice, she had clearly been drinking whatever it was Iyen had drunk. “The lads want tae start another round! Are you joinin’ in?” Then, she saw Sjan-dehk and waved. “Good evenin’, Captain! An’ thank you again!”

Sjan-dehk waved back with a nod. “Look after her,” he said quietly to Iyen. “And do not let her drink Avek’s brew. In fact, you shouldn’t drink it either. Nobody should. Mursi drank it once and we found him the next morning half-naked and in the shrouds. Removes stains like nothing else, though, so I don’t want to think about what it does to your insides.”

“Aye, comin’!” Iyen shouted back to Aislin. To Sjan-dehk, she said, “Don’t worry, my dear Shanya. Azwan’s making sure nothing bad happens, and I’m keeping an eye on Ai-shi-lehn. I don’t think anyone would do a thing to her, though. She’s getting into everyone’s good graces by teaching us bits of her language.” Then, she smirked. “And in return, I’m teaching her how to fleece coin from some of your boys. And that’s where I’ll leave you, Captain. My game awaits.”

The two of them parted ways – Iyen returning below decks with Aislin, and Sjan-dehk leaving Sada Kurau for the pier. It was a strange feeling for him. All his life, he had never worn anything that wasn’t Jafin or just Viserjantan in general, and now here he was, doing just that in a foreign city. He pulled his hat a little lower over his eyes as he walked towards the waterfront, and brushed his hands against the swords and pistols at his belt. At least there were those pieces of his normalcy still with him.

He stopped at the edge of the passing crowd, and looked for a familiar face. Kalliope had agreed to meet him at his ship, but seeing as how he had only just returned, he wondered if perhaps she might have gone elsewhere upon seeing Sada Kurau’s absence. He hoped not. It would be a poor start to what he was already expecting to be a difficult night.
In Avalia → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time: Early Afternoon
Time: Early Afternoon
Location: The Nest; Roshmi
Interactions:
Mentions: @ShiningSector Five; @FunnyGuy Thraash; @princess Mari; @Alivefalling Aerilyn
Equipment:



Scathael’s plan did not work.

Granted, he supposed that it had more to do with the fact that everyone was far too occupied with trying to get out of The Den than anything intrinsically wrong with his idea itself. Not every window had been thrown open to their fullest extent, and not every ceiling fan spun at their best possible speed. But, there was one saving grace: In their rush to vacate the building, nobody had the mind to shut the doors behind them. Dirt and detritus from the street outside drifted past thresholds, caught in the swirls of a weak breeze.

Such a paltry wind did little to dispel the Warforged’s miasma, and its effects were already starting to make themselves known. It wasn't the individuals on the peripheries of the cloud who suddenly collapsed that caught Scathael’s attention – more likely than not, they were simply struck by panic and hysteria – but the Dragonborn engaging the automaton in combat. As far as Scathael knew, the Dragonborn were a resilient and tough people. They could take enough punishment to kill any other species thrice over and still remain on their feet and raring to fight.

And so, to see one slowed and muddled by the gas was concerning, to say the least.

“Paralytic agent,” the dark elf muttered beneath his breath. Be it as gas or liquid, it was a common enough thing used by bounty hunters across the world. Scathael would never claim to be a chemist, but he spent enough time around such people to know a thing or two about such concoctions. Chief of which was that depending on the ingredients used, the gas could either be effective only in a dense cloud, or it could put a person on the ground with just the barest of whiffs.

Scathael wasn’t keen on finding out firsthand. Clicking his tongue, he grabbed his equipment and slipped around the sides of the building towards the kitchen. Between the rushing crowd making their exit, and the cacophony of the fight, it wasn’t difficult for him to pass unnoticed.

The kitchen’s air was thick and soupy, heated by at least a half-dozen idling stoves. Half-cooked food and discarded pots and pans sat on their tops. Scathael ignored them all and focused on searching for the one thing he cared about. It had to be in here somewhere; every kitchen had one, lest the owners of the place be of the sort to not mind one or two kitchen staff suffocating to death every so often. And even so, there had to be something similar, or at least something Scathael could bend to his purpose with some tinkering.

The ventilation fans sat partially embedded in a wall far to the back of the kitchen. Scathael made his way towards them with haste, pulling out his tools even as he moved. By the time he reached the scuffed panel he knew was covering the gearbox, he had his screwdriver out and ready to remove the rusted and pitted screws holding it in place. The hammered piece of copper was dropped onto the floor along with its ruined fasteners. Scathael had no need of them anymore. His true aim was what laid within.

“Alright, let’s see here,” he murmured as he looked at the collection of gears before him. Each was linked with another, and all were heavily scarred with rust. It didn’t seem as if anyone had ever given them even a customary oiling before. Scathael chewed on his lower lip. That could potentially prove hazardous to his plan, but it wasn’t as if there was anything else he could do at this point. He flipped the switch to stop them from turning. One-by-one, he carefully plucked them from their axles and laid them on the floor by his feet, arranged according to their size.

Scathael had repaired enough such mechanisms to pay for food and lodging to know how a large majority of them worked. Connecting the fans directly to The Den’s power plant would cause them to spin much too fast to be of any practical use. It was thus the job of the gearbox to essentially reduce and limit the power given to the fans. With a little creativity and intentional malpractice, however, Scathael could just as easily reverse the process and instead feed the fans as much power as The Den could provide. It was, at best, a wild idea and at worst, a stupid one, but it was all Scathael had. He didn’t even care about the fight at this point; no matter who won, the gas would still linger and stay, and cause problems for everyone involved, himself included.

He hammered the last gear into position just in time to hear someone’s muffled attempts to parley with the Warforged. A brave attempt, but not one Scathael was confident would succeed. “Lady Fate, don’t piss on me now,” he said drily beneath his breath, then pulled the switch.

The gears crunched once, then twice, and then spun with such intensity that they visibly shivered on their axles. The fans spun until they made a loud whine, and a gust almost knocked Scathael back. The strong wind tore through the kitchen, rattling utensils and sending loose parchments flying. The dark elf gathered his things and made a quick exit. It was unlikely that the gears or even fans themselves could keep this up for long before, quite literally, shattering themselves. He wanted to be away when that happened. It didn’t feel like the sort of thing he could repay with just his labour.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




Time: Late Morning
Interactions: @Tae Kalliope; @princess Calbert
Mentions:
Attire:

The appearance of the Count came as a surprise, but a welcome one. If nothing else, it served as a much needed distraction for Sjan-dehk from his troublesome thoughts. Although if he had to be honest, it wasn’t the Count himself that drew his attention as much as it was his herald. Or perhaps that other man was just an attendant? Either way, Sjan-dehk found the manner in which he introduced the Count to be as puzzling as it was intriguing. Any Viserjantan Count who had themselves introduced in such a manner would have been swiftly chastised for being presumptuous and acting beyond their rank. Sjan-dehk had been present for enough such scoldings – unwilling of a participant as he had been – to know that such a mistake would be at best, an embarrassment, and at worst, an insult to someone of a higher rank.

Sjan-dehk stowed this observation away. The old books and journals that had brought him to these shores did mention that Caesonia had a different method of ranking their nobles. Unfortunately, Sjan-dehk hadn’t paid enough attention to them to find out if anyone had actually written down how the ranks worked. A visit to the Sudah and the Royal Tutor later seemed to be in order, and he groaned inwardly as the prospect of a lecture from the wizened, old man.

The Count approached Kalliope after his greetings. Immaculate in his dress and bearings, his words were spoken with the airs of a learned man, or at least someone who absorbed books like a dried sponge. It felt like a refreshing breath after the whole debacle with Layla. The tension emanating from his brief exchange with Kalliope thus came as yet another puzzle. There was nothing in their words, but Sjan-dehk could feel it in her tone, and see it from the shallow smile on the Count’s face. Clearly, there was something here that he was missing.

He caught Kalliope’s gaze just as the Count addressed him. Sjan-dehk’s brows arched, and his lips curled into a grin, as he heard the familiar greeting. “Fair weather to you,” he gave the typical Jafin response, but quickly added, “No need for that. It is too…Important? No, formal. Only used for important things. For this, can just say normal greetings. Also, it is old. Not used by most people. Only by bigger nobles.” It had been a long time since Viserjantans visited this part of the world in any significant numbers, so it made sense for the Count to use an archaic greeting. All the same, however, it greatly tickled and amused Sjan-dehk.

“I am Wasun Sjan-dehk, fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi.” Sjan-dehk introduced himself quickly with a bow of his head as he took the offered invitation. “No need for anything now, but thank you. We rest on our ships and we buy what we need. But if we need help, then I will…Remember you.” The Count stepped away to speak with the rest, leaving Sjan-dehk to examine the small slip of paper in his hand. With everything that had happened, he had almost forgotten about the masquerade were it not for this little reminder. A sinking feeling plunged into his gut as he wondered if he should still attend.

Kalliope’s warning about the Count was only half-heard by him, and he responded with a simple nod. The Count seemed like a decent person, and Sjan-dehk was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he would still treat him like any other noble of a higher rank: carefully, cautiously, and with only the necessary norms and respects.

“He seems nice enough, but thank you,” he said with a slow nod. Far more important to him at the moment than the possible intrigues a Count might be up to, was the question of the masquerade. Despite himself, Sjan-dehk couldn’t help but wonder if he was the right person to accompany Kalliope. Surely, given their relationship, Cassius would be a better choice? Or maybe Sjan-dehk was reading far too much into things, and this was, as she had said the other day, her doing him a favour. The more he thought about it, the more that seemed likely, and really, it wasn’t him to pull out of an agreement just because of a bit of discomfort. A word given had to be a word kept, as his father liked to say.

And so, Sjan-dehk gave her a smile and held up the invitation. “It’d be rude not to show up after getting an invite from the Count himself, I think.” There was a touch of playfulness lacing his words. “I’m still willing to accompany you, if you’re still willing to have me. I have to ask, though, how are we meeting? At the estate itself or elsewhere?”
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@princess Sure. Ignoring the strait for convenience's sake, how long would it take to walk, say, from Kolonivka to Montauppe? What kind of a land scale are we looking at here? I was thinking of placing the prison where it would be cold, alienated, and inaccessible (ie. near Kolonivka); but not if it'll take me three months IC to hit the scene lol

Is there an established, canonical lore I should be reading up on and strictly adhering to on when I'm invited to the Discord, or are we free to worldbuild?

In the same vein as the previous question, when was the last time this setting was embroiled in total war, or any conflict large enough to upheave power structures, borders, etc.? Anything you can tell me about that conflict, such as numbers, factions, results, famous battles, etc.?

Here in the OOC tab, one GM post says this is a pre-industrial society, while another GM post declares this universe has developed steam ships, dirigibles, trains, etc. Which of these is accurate? If we were to look at firearms as a microcosm of the technological epoch, are people using flintlocks? Percussion caps? Matchlocks? Earlier, or even no firearms at all?

That's what I've got for now.


We've got a Wiki that might answer your question.

And if you're looking at firearms specifically, it's still the era of flintlocks.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




Time: Late Morning
Interactions: @Tae Kalliope
Mentions: @PapaOso Cassius; @princess Charlotte; @Potter Layla
Attire:

A faint shade of pink crept over Sjan-dehk’s face – just as a flutter tripped through his heart – as Kalliope’s soft lips brushed against his cheek. The kiss had come as a surprise, but it would be an egregious lie if he claimed it to be unwelcome. Without thinking, he reached across to touch the spot where she had kissed him, and upon realising what he was doing, swiftly changed the action to a scratch against an imaginary itch before wiping his hand across the lower half of his face. His eyes turned to the sea, the sky, the trees, and even the crowd. To anywhere and anything but the pretty lady beside him.

“I-It was nothing,” he managed to stammer out and pulled his hat lower over his eyes. “Nothing you should thank me for, I mean. Anyone else would’ve done the same. If not to defend you, then to put an end to the shit spewing from her mouth.” He snuck a sidelong glance at Kalliope. With an awkward shrug, he cleared his throat and added, “And besides, I couldn’t just stand there and let her get away with all the abuse she threw at you. That’s not the Way. Not the Jafin Way, or any Viserjantan Way.”

He cast his eyes over his shoulder at the group as he led Kalliope away, but it wasn’t the venom-tongued princess he looked at. Rather, his eyes lingered around the man who had initially accompanied Kalliope to the beach. Cassius, if Sjan-dehk wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t really matter. What did, was that Sjan-dehk was almost certain that the two of them were in an intimate relationship, if Kalliope’s words were anything to go by. Part of Sjan-dehk didn’t want to believe it – for whatever reason – but the larger part of him was occupied by a more immediate concern. He was currently dragging Kalliope away, and she had just given him a peck on the cheek. It didn’t take much imagination to see how Cassius might interpret things poorly, and that was a barrel of troubles Sjan-dehk could go without opening.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem as if he noticed. The man was far more occupied with Charlotte, and that brought Sjan-dehk even more confusion. Was he so brazen that he would court another lady whilst his partner was within sight? Or was this how things simply worked here? Either way, Sjan-dehk didn’t like the look of him, and this was yet another feeling for which he had no explanation. The man looked normal enough, and he seemed polite enough as well. And yet, just looking at him brought Sjan-dehk great unease.

Sjan-dehk pushed those thoughts away – as best he could, at least – and continued leading Kalliope away and further up the beach. There was definitely something wrong with him, and the sooner he could return to his Sada Kurau, the sooner he could figure out what it was, exactly.

“I guess we’ve just got poor luck, then,” he quipped in response to Kalliope’s answer to his question about the princesses of the region. Casting a sidelong glance at her, he continued, “That it’s the mean cunt that we have to deal with, and not any of her nicer siblings.” He paused for a moment, his mind chiding him for being overly-judgmental of a person whom he had only just met. An unpleasant person, to be sure, but still a stranger, nonetheless. “But I was serious about my pity,” he said a little awkwardly. “The Way teaches us that there are very few people that are inherently bad. As much as I think she’s a little shit, I hope she isn’t one of them, and that she’s just the product of a troubled life.” Even as he uttered those words, he realised just how silly they sounded. A noble’s life could be hard, he knew, but all the same he wondered just how troubled a princess’ life could get.

Well, that was really none of his concern. He could only react to what he heard and saw, and what he saw and heard was a princess being unnecessarily mean and cruel.

He stopped a fair distance away – close enough to keep an eye on the group, but still far enough away to stay out of any altercations that might arise. “Don’t listen to her nonsense,” he said with a sigh and turned to face Kalliope. She did tell him that she was fine, but concern still lingered in his mind. How could he feel otherwise? Layla’s words hadn’t been directed towards him, and yet even he felt their sting. He imagined that they must have left some sort of a mark on their intended target, Kalliope. “All she did was make a lot of assumptions and attack your character. None of it was worth the spit she spent on them, and definitely not worth the effort of even reaction. Though I guess I failed on that one.”

“And maybe I’m making my own assumptions here,” he continued, giving Kalliope’s arm a gentle squeeze and offering her a little smile. “But you’re not what she makes you out to be, if you ask me. If you were that sort of person, you wouldn’t have paid your respects to Izahn. That you did makes you better than most in my books. The little princess can say whatever she likes. It doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t change that she’s acting like a cunt, and you’re not.” He leaned in a little closer. “Besides, I doubt she contributes to society as much as she thinks she does. Not as much as you, in any case. You work for a living. I find it hard to imagine someone like her doing the same.”

Then, he stood back, and quickly took his hand away from Kalliope’s arm. “Probably should’ve done that a little sooner,” he said apologetically with a bow of his head. Discomforting as it may be, he had to remind himself that Cassius and she had some form of involvement with one another. He had to take a little more care with his words and actions, at least until he became more familiar with local norms. “I, uh, I should let you carry on with your day, I suppose.”
In Avalia → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time: Late Morning
Location: The Nest; Roshmi
Interactions:
Mentions: @ShiningSector Five; @FunnyGuy Thraash; @princess Mari; @Alivefalling Aerilyn
Equipment:



Of course, it had to be today. Scathael hadn’t expected otherwise.

Well, most of him hadn’t, at least. It would be a lie if he said that there hadn’t been a small part of him that had wished for the rest of his time in the Nest to go quietly and smoothly. And so, he didn’t. That part was a fool, anyway; the place was practically a font of chaos. Neither did peace follow him whenever he left the open road for a town or city. With those two incontrovertible truths in mind, it would have been a far bigger surprise had his visit to the Next gone off without any further trouble.

Granted, he hadn’t quite expected trouble to manifest itself as a hulking Warforged launching itself through the doors. Flimsy wood burst into a shower of tiny splinters. Shouts and yells of surprise echoed up, down, and across the inn’s floors. One tore itself from Scathael’s lips as he almost fell from his seat. He kept his balance, however, and managed to catch a glimpse of the machine as it went straight for the dragonborn, his elf friend, and the demi-human. A fight erupted immediately, and the rest of the inn went into a riotous uproar, although all had sense and none joined in. “Bloody typical,” Scathael muttered beneath his breath as he settled into his chair once more and did his best to ignore the noise. Really, what had he expected to happen, coming here?

At least the Warforged didn’t seem interested in anyone else. Scathael just had to wait long enough for it to capture its quarry, or for said quarry to make a clever and daring getaway, and he could continue going about his business and on with his day.

Said business was a feline demi-human seated across the table from him. Her tail swished excitedly, as if it had a mind of its own, as she twisted around to watch the altercation with rapt attention. Scathael sighed and folded his arms over his chest. Up until just now, she had been haggling with him over a good quantity of excess musket balls he had cast back in the village. They had almost agreed on a good price, even. But Fate, as it was wont to do, just had to intervene.

Scathael exhaled slowly though his nose. Things could be worse, he supposed. He could be one of those that were fighting the vicious-looking Warforged, for one.

The demi-human furtively slid a hand towards the pistol on her thigh, and Scathael immediately gave her chair a hard kick. She let out a yelp, and snapped back around to glare at him with annoyance and a touch of embarrassment in her wide, brownish-green eyes. Scathael didn’t look apologetic in the least. He didn’t even sound sheepish when he said, “Are you an idiot? If you want to do that, do it from the other side.”

“Oh.” The demi-human’s irritation seeped away from her visage. “D’you think it’s got a sore spot around its back or somethin’?”

“No,” Scathael replied, managing to pack the dryness of a desert into that one syllable. “But I won't be turned into a stain on the wall with you if you're over there and I'm here.”

The demi-human scowled, but returned her hand to the table nonetheless. “I take it you’ve dealt with one of those before?” She jerked her head towards the Warforged.

“Yes.”

“What was it like?”

Scathael shrugged. “I fixed the broken ones and left the able ones alone. That’s all. I never stayed around long enough to get to know them.” He never stayed around long enough to know if those in particularly dire straits ever survived long enough to get proper repairs, either, but he kept that part to himself. He recalled meeting some that had – quite literally – been on their last legs. Scathael could keep the mechanical parts running, but their magical components? That was well-beyond his expertise. He could only hope that they managed to find their way to someone who could properly fix them before expiring.

“Really? You weren’t curious at all?”

Scathael fixed the demi-human with an unamused look. “Yes, yes, you exposed me. I made friends with a few and we had tea parties.” The demi-human rolled her eyes, but chuckled and smirked anyway. Before she could reply, however, Scathael noticed the Warforged doing something strange. An unfamiliar tension gripped his heart as he eyes narrowed. Then, they widened as he saw sickly, yellow smoke billow from the machine’s mouth. He had seen something similar before, and on a Warforged as well. Granted, the smoke then had emerged from somewhere else, and had looked different, but Scathael wasn’t about to take any chances. It had been terrible then. He would bet that it would be terrible now if nothing was done.

“Windows,” he exclaimed and shot to his feet. The smoke was still thickest around the machine, but it was spreading quickly. Though the cloud itself was unlikely to reach him, diffusion would ensure that everyone in the inn would breathe some of the stuff in, even if they could detect neither scent nor colour. He looked at the demi-human, still seated. “Get the windows, get the fans, cut a hole in the walls if you have to.” His words came out in a torrent. “That thing is going to suffocate us all if we don’t do something quick!”

He didn’t bother waiting for a response, but the patter of feet against wood told him that she was at least doing something. One of the windows on the wall behind him was already ajar, and its old hinges squeaked painfully as he pushed it open to its greatest extent before moving on the the next. “Every window, every door has to be opened! Get the fans going as fast as they can as well!” He yelled at anyone in earshot, which wasn’t much thanks to the din of the fight. “Unless you want bad things to happen to you, do it quickly!”
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




Time: Late Morning
Interactions: @Tae Kalliope; @Potter Layla
Mentions:
Attire:


The sincerity in Kalliope’s words loosened the tension coiled within Sjan-dehk. Somewhat, in any case. He still wished to be elsewhere; he still felt unease roiling in him, and he still didn’t understand why he had felt what he had felt. But the urge to excuse himself and return to his Sada Kurau had lessened, at least. And truth be told, he felt more silly than anything else. There was no reason for all this internal turmoil. None at all. Whatever relationship Kalliope had with Cassius had nothing to do with him. All of this was just his own heart and mind being fools and tormenting themselves – and him, in the process – for no reason.

“No, it’s alright.” Tried as he might, his smile wouldn’t appear naturally, and so he forced it out. Likewise for the levity in his words. The strange pangs pricking his chest whenever he looked at Kalliope probably had something to do with that. Once again, their origins were utterly unknown to him. “I was probably being too careful. Because of all the nonsense that happened, you know?”

Part of him wondered if he should thank her, in fact. At least now he had a vague idea as to how he should act around her. Such rules of decorum grated on his nerves and sat poorly with him, but he couldn’t avoid the fact that they kept him out of trouble and stopped trouble from finding him. The Mother of the Waves alone knew how much he needed both. All the moreso, now that he was in a strange city far from home.

He cleared his throat. “I should–”

That was all he managed to say before the dark-skinned lady returned. Sjan-dehk groaned inwardly – she hadn’t exactly made the best impression on him earlier – and hoped for no trouble. It proved to be a fool’s hope as the lady made herself known. Very, very known, and in an exceedingly venomous manner. There was no one that was spared from her cutting and biting words. First was her cousin, then it was Kalliope, and then Charlotte after that – because of course, the poor girl simply couldn’t be allowed any respite, and then it was Kalliope again. Sjan-dehk resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Perhaps it was judgemental of him, but she reminded him of nobles who had been allowed to get away with one too many things. Or perhaps those whose grudge against the world became a touch too personal. It was either of the two, and neither were pleasant to deal with, as far as Sjan-dehk was concerned.

He looked away towards the horizon as the lady – Layla, as he soon gathered – continued. Gazing out at the glittering sea and gently rolling waves was a far better use of his time than listening to the venomous words of a spiteful lady. Sjan-dehk had to admit, however, that the amount of spite and venom Layla held within her was very impressive. He thought she would have run out of steam by now – the way his father had dealt with such people in the past was to simply let them talk themselves into tiredness – but she just kept going with no end in sight. Had her words been nicer and more learned, Sjan-dehk didn’t doubt that she could give even the best scholars a hard time in a debate.

An amused smirk crept onto Sjan-dehk’s face, and he did his best to keep it hidden from Layla. It probably wasn’t going to help with how things were, but he couldn’t help it. She sounded as if she was going out of her way to be mean, as if she was really trying to get a rise out of everyone, that it was almost cute. Like a child believing that whoever lost the run of themselves first in an argument was the loser. Or a noble who mocked and offended in an attempt to agitate another. The latter wasn’t unfamiliar to Sjan-dehk. Though it had taken him plenty of pain and trouble to learn his lesson, he knew better than to react.

His odd mirth, however, slowly dissipated as Layla continued to tear into Kalliope. Her words sounded less amusing and more offensive – even to him – as she went on and on. Well, if he had to be fair, it wasn’t as if Kalliope had been polite either, but at least she didn’t disparage Layla in such a degrading manner. Even Sjan-dehk, who had nothing to do with anything, began to feel indignation on Kalliope’s behalf. He turned back around just in time to see Layla blow him a kiss, and he only replied with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. It did get a chuckle out of him, albeit an incredulous one.

“Doubt either of them would get that way over a skank like you.”

She sounded so sure of herself. Sjan-dehk breathed in sharply, and felt a tinge of excitement bubble within him. Proving her wrong was going to be so much fun.

Of course, that didn’t mean he interrupted her. Even with such things, one had to be polite and observe all proper forms. That was the Way. Sjan-dehk waited until Layla was done before sidling over to both ladies, standing beside them. “Are you done?” He asked, an ominous smile on his face. It was the same as what he used with unruly crew members awaiting sentencing. Partially assuring, mostly foreboding. “You speak very well. Good words. It is a shame, yes? That what you say is so…” He paused for a moment to think of a proper phrase. ‘Full of shit’ and ‘a verbal atrocity’ came to mind, but he doubted either would do anything to smooth things over.

“...So evil.”

There. That should do.

Sjan-dehk carefully inserted himself between Kalliope and Layla. Though his stance was casual with arms loose, he still made sure to cover the former with his body in an almost protective manner. Though it was up to debate as to who it was exactly that needed protection. Both women seemed ready to turn this fight of words into a physical one at a moment’s notice. If Sjan-dehk wasn’t careful, he was going to be the one who needed help most. “Kali said things to you, I know. But she did not start this. You are the one who first came here, first started scolding and being such a…A bitch to everyone.”

The expletive had slipped out of Sjan-dehk’s mouth, but surprised as he was, he didn’t seem apologetic. If anything, he appeared almost relieved. He had already gone that far – even if by accident – so he may as well go all the way. “You come here, you attack Charlotte. You expect no…No punishment? If we went too far, we say something that make you upset, then fine. I apologise. But why must you be so mean?” There was no anger in Sjan-dehk’s voice. Rather, he sounded curious. “You say you are a princess, yes? Is that how it is in your land? A princess can be a fucking bitch to everyone, can be so impolite, and nothing can happen to her? Hope not. But if it is, then I pity your people.”

He took a step back with a shake of his head. “But you, I pity the most. Whatever it is that happened that make you like this, it was terrible, yes? Unless you came out like this. Then I pity your family.” He placed a hand on Kalliope’s arm, holding it in a gentle, yet firm, grip. "Maybe I speak too much. Guess too much. I apologise. But you must understand, yes? That the im...Impression you give is fucking bad. Hard to keep quiet. Feel like I must say something." He gave Kalliope a surreptitious tug.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said in his native tongue. “No point talking to people like her. One doesn’t chastise nightshade in hopes of it becoming a rose. She won’t change. Not now, at least, and we’re only going to end up poisoned for our troubles.” He glanced at Kalliope, then at Layla. “And beating sense into her likely isn’t going to end up well for any of us. As much as I would like to.”

With a smile that was likely as aggravating as it was amicable, he looked back to Layla. “Ah, sorry for my language. I am a sailor. We speak freely. Sometimes I forget, you know?” He gave Kalliope a little tug and began to lead her further up the beach and away from everyone else. Some time away might help cool her head. Before he left, however, he tipped his hat towards Layla.

“Oh. Apologies Forgot to answer.” A smirk played across his lips. He even found the mischief in him to return her gesture from earlier, and blow her a mocking kiss. “Yes, I think you are pretty. It is a shame. Great shame that the inside does not match the outside. And my ‘fucking name’, princess, is Wasun Sjan-dehk. Next time you want to fight, pretty one, come find me, yes? Will be interesting. Might learn from each other. Now excuse us. We leave. Have a good day.”

He hurriedly led Kalliope away before anything more could happen. “What a bitch. Are princesses around these parts all like that?” He grumbled beneath his breath before casting a glance over his shoulder, then at her. “I didn’t catch everything, but I know she said some very nasty things. Are you alright?”
In Avalia → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time: Early Afternoon
Location: A village outside Roshimi


It wasn’t everyday that Scathael allowed himself a midday nap. Or any sort of rest outside of sleep, for that matter. Industrious dark elf that he was, he usually did all he could to stay busy, even if that meant crafting arrows and casting musket balls until his mind went numb.

But today was different.

Although the late-morning sun still bathed all in its radiance – as it was wont to do – the heat of its rays wasn’t as stifling as their intensity suggested. Thatched roofs and leafy branches rustled softly in the wake of a cooling breeze whispering through the village’s only street. Overhead, bulbous clumps of cotton-white clouds drifted across a sky of clear azure. The long shadows they casted as they floated beneath the disc of iridescent-white provided even more respite – however temporarily – from its rays.

As loath as Scathael was to use the word, he could only describe the weather as perfect. Coupled with the lilting birdsong and vague murmurs of village life filling his ears, it felt as if the world itself was inviting him to rest. And who was he, mere dark elf that he was, to decline such an invitation?

A contented sigh quietly left his lips, barely moving the dirty rag he had draped over his face. Seated on a wooden chair in the front yard of the village smith – the same man from whom he rented a room – he was surrounded by tools and materials of the familiar trade. Leaning back, he rested his legs on a scuffed and battered anvil, and his head against the cold face of an unfired furnace. Bundles of freshly-whittled arrows, all neatly tied with strips of cloth or leather, laid strewn across the table beside him.

He drew in a deep breath, filling his nose with the comforting scent of metals and charcoal. Gentle winds washed over his body and tousled his wiry, pale locks. Memories of better times surfaced in his mind, and a wistful smile came over his face. A twist of pain pinched his heart, but it could neither stay, nor did it last in the face of the soothing calm which completely filled and enveloped him.

Such peacefulness was addictive. Much more than the greatest vice. And so of course, it couldn’t last.

The crunch of approaching footsteps tapped on his eardrums. “Smith’s not in.” Muffled by the rag, his gruff words came out as a barely comprehensible mumble. He crossed his legs on the anvil, and his arms over his chest. Quiet, strained creaks ticked from the chair’s suffering joints. “If you’re here for a delivery, leave it by the door. Otherwise, come back later.”

Silence, broken by the shuffling of feet, was all that answered him. “O-Oh, I’m not looking for the smith,” a small and timid voice squeaked. It was that of a child, by the sound of it. “I-I um, I was hoping you c-could help me, mister Arash.”

That got Scathael’s attention. His eyes snapped open and he swung his legs off the anvil with a grunt. His rousing muscles ached, and drowsiness made his head a leaden weight. But he forced himself to sit up all the same. Idle hands were unbecoming of an artisan, and his had been idle for long enough. Granted, he wasn’t quite sure what sort of work a child would have for him, but it would certainly be better than lazing around and doing nothing. “You can drop the ‘mister’. Just call me Scathael.” A muted yawn left his mouth as he rubbed the lingering sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Anyway,” he said tersely, and spun around to look at the child. “What do you– Oh, it’s you.”

Large, upturned eyes looked back at him, their vertical irises dark against a sea of amber, and their brows knitted in worry. A pair of long, furry ears laid flat against her messy head of saffron-coloured hair, and she hugged a crossbow – which was almost as long as she was tall – close to her waifish frame. Over-patched and ragged, her simple dress hung loosely from her narrow shoulders. Just the thought of her lugging the cumbersome weapon all the way to the smith was enough to bring a snicker up Scathael’s throat, but that was as far as he allowed it to go.

“Yes, it’s me,” the vulpine demi-human girl said, eyes peering over the crossbow’s arms. “I-I’m–”

“Vallana. I know.” Scathael finished her sentence as he stood up. She looked at him in surprise, and so he continued, “You keep introducing yourself every time I pay your father a visit.” He pushed bundles of arrow shafts aside to clear a space on the table. “And I know that’s his arbalest that you’re holding. Hand it over and tell me what’s wrong with it.”

The girl’s arms trembled precariously as she lifted the heavy weapon towards him. Her lips were pressed together and her eyes squeezed shut in effort and strain. Scathael sighed and shook his head. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said drily and with both hands, carefully took it from her with a grunt.

Vallana shook away the soreness in her arms. “I-I was cleaning the house, and I-I was trying to get around it and I think I-I ac-accidentally knocked into it and it fell and I heard a crack and it didn’t look right and so I brought it t-to you as quickly as I could.” The panicked words tumbled from her mouth like water breaking through a dam. As she spoke, her voice cracked and tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. “Please fix it, mister Ara–Scathael! F-Father will kill me if he finds out I broke it!”

“No, he won’t,” Scathael said matter-of-factly as he hefted the arbalest, wincing as he felt the full weight of it pull on his arms. A cumbersome thing, it boasted two long and powerful steel arms that launched heavy bolts with both speed and accuracy. Great for a hunter prowling the woods not far from home, but not for a wanderer like Scathael. “He dotes plenty on you. Even I can see that, and I only talk to him when I have to buy hides or meat. So calm down and stop worrying. It’s distracting.”

The fox-girl stifled a sniff. “Really?”

“Yes. Now stop crying. If you have to, do it quietly.”

“O-Oh, sorry.”

“Thank you,” the dark elf mumbled. He shook his arms loose, drew in a deep breath, and with teeth gritted so hard that it felt as if he would grind them to dust, he lifted the arbalest and aimed it at the sky. Squinted eyes battled the sun’s glare, and sweat pooled on his brow. Within moments, his aching muscles begged for rest. Scathael ignored them all, and instead focused on aligning the sights of the arbalest. In no time at all, he identified the problem, but still he slowly brought the weapon down onto the table. There were steps to fixing such things – he had made them up himself. To not abide by them was to invite careless mistakes or missed defects, both of which were unforgivable errors as far as he was concerned.

Beside him, Vallana fidgeted. Curious eyes ran over everything in the yard at least twice.

He ran a hand over the stock. A solid piece of oak hewn into something vaguely resembling a stock, it was rough, it looked – and likely was – unfinished, but it could be braced against a shoulder and sat under an arm well enough. Then, he gripped the bowstring tightly and gave it a strong tug. The resistance, the pull against the meat of his fingers, those were all expected. What wasn’t, however, was the imbalance he felt in the string. With furrowed brows, he carefully released the string and pulled it again.

Yes, one side was certainly pulling harder than the other. That was all the confirmation he needed.

“Father says you’ve been to a lot of places,” Vallana piped up as she stood on the tips of her toes to peek over the table’s edge. As unwelcome as the interruption was, Scathael wasn’t as annoyed as he would be had she been just a few years older. It amazed him enough that the child had held her tongue for as long as she did.

“I have,” he replied simply and brushed Vallana away from the table.

“You must have seen amazing things.” The awe in her voice was palpable. “Being an adventurer must be a lot of fun! I want to be one too, when I get bigger.”

Aching legs. Cold Fear. A crack of thunder. Pouring rain lashing his cheeks. A thousand thoughts crashing through his mind. His boots slipping against soft mud. Hanging thorns cutting his face. The sight of a cave entrance through the vines. In his relief, a second wind. The scent of moss. The scent of blood. A body he recognised, trapped beneath rocks. Dead for days. A scrawled apology, red ink darkened to brown. Shock and pain. Anguish and despair. Crushing regret.

Scathael exhaled sharply and pushed those memories aside. “No, you don’t,” he said drily and beckoned for her to stand beside him. “And you have bigger things to worry about now. You’re right, your father’s arbalest is damaged.” He dragged the weapon over to the edge of the table and tipped it over just enough, and for just long enough, for her to see the hairline cracks on one of the arms. Terrified realisation came over the girl’s face, and her lips began to tremble. Sighing, Scathael pushed the arbalest back onto the table.

“Relax.” His tone was flat, and not reassuring at all. “It’s not entirely your fault. One fall wouldn’t have done this. Not unless it fell off a roof. Damage like this builds up over time. Your father must’ve knocked it about more than a few times.” A subtle bitterness crept into his words, and he swallowed whatever else he had to say about the matter before continuing. “Anyway, I’ll have to make new limbs for it. Not difficult work. All the materials are here already, so I should have it done by this evening.”

Vallana’s face was still scrunched up in anxiety. “But…But father will be home before then…”

Scathael shrugged. “It’s the best I can do.” His expression softened upon seeing the girl’s downcast eyes, and her ears lying so flat against her head that they disappeared into her hair. Sighing, he – albeit a touch reluctantly – added, “You’re welcome to stay and watch until I’m done, but only if you’re quiet and don’t touch anything. Cause trouble and I’ll throw you back home myself.”

Relief flooded over Vallana’s face, and she nodded enthusiastically. “I promise, I will! Thank you! Oh, and I can pay…” She pushed her hands into her dress’ pockets. Coins clinked together, the sound only slightly muffled by the thin fabric. “I-I’ve been saving. It should be enough–”

“Don’t bother,” Scathael cut her off. “I can already hear that you can’t afford this.” Neither was this a job so challenging that he felt he needed to ask for payment. Repairing a damaged crossbow limb was about as mundane as jobs went. It almost felt insulting to be rewarded for something he could do from start to finish in his sleep. “If you really have to pay me–” he grabbed a few bundles of arrow shafts and handed them to Vallana “–you can bring these to the bowyer and ask for a crossbow string for your father, and a bowstring for me. You know who’s the bowyer, right?”

“Mister Tesh? Yes, I know him.” Vallana nodded as she tried to balance bundles in her arms. Each was the length of her forearm and almost just as thick. “Krawin and I play together sometimes. That’s his daugh–”

“I don’t need to know that,” Scathael interrupted. “Just go to the bowyer and exchange the arrow shafts for the things I told you. One crossbow string, one bowstring. Tell him I sent you.”

“Okay!” Vallana sounded far too excited for the task, but it was endearing, in a way. With the arrow shafts tucked precariously under her arms, she hurried away from the yard. Scathael watched her leave, his face impassive even as she stumbled a few times on the rough and uneven ground. Soon enough, Vallana was consumed by the milling crowd, and he lost sight of the little girl. Only then did he bring his attention back to the weapon on the table before him.

He chewed on his lip. Such peacefulness – such normality – was indeed addictive. A small, but noticeable part of him was already busy weaving fantasies of a simpler life. One where he wasn’t on the move all the time. One where he could rest his head on the same bed, under the same roof every night, and awake to the same sights, and same scents every morning. Such a fantasy wasn’t one that was strange to him, but it certainly was one he despised. He knew it was unattainable. Impossible, even. Yet, his mind refused to stop tormenting him with imaginations of a life he simply wasn’t fated for.

A wistful sigh left his lips. He gripped the arbalest firmly by the stock and carefully unhooked the bowstring from one of the limbs. Perhaps, in a way, it was good that he was reminded of that painful dream. It was a sign that he had stayed in the village for far too long – long enough for him to get comfortable, and for him to start getting ideas. Ideas that were poison to an elf like him.

It was time he left.

Time: Early Afternoon
Location: The Nest; Roshmi
Equipment:

A few days later, Scathael found himself in an environment that was the exact opposite of the village.

Cacophonic, musty, and filled to bursting with people who either drunk their inhibitions away, or had drunk themselves insensate, the Nest – to him, at least – truly encapsulated the nature of Roshmi’s slums. Wild, ever-changing, and unpredictable, it was the sort of place most people took pains to avoid. But it was also the sort of place where one could find things – or people – that weren’t easily found elsewhere. So long as one was also ready to have the thrill of danger excite their blood. Or have it spilled over the ground. It was a toss-up between the two, really.

Scathael was in search of neither. Whatever items he needed, he could craft. And unless there happened to be someone wandering the dark web of streets with a convenient mithril mine hidden in their pockets, it was highly unlikely that he would find anyone that interested him.

Rather, he was the person who was sought after. A semi-regular at the Nest – he made it a point to pop in at least once every time he was in Roshmi – those who recognised him knew him as someone who would fix and repair weapons, armour, and tools with no questions asked, and all for either just a token sum, or information about – of all things – rare minerals and materials. Those who didn’t recognise him, soon did for the arrows, bolts, and bullets he sold at such a low price that he may as well be giving it away.

“Tell me again, what did you do with this?” Scathael turned a pitted and heavily-scarred sword over in his hands multiple times. Shadows danced across its dull blade in the dim lantern light, but Scathael could still tell that none of the damage done came from battle. “Did you chop down a tree with this thing? Or did you oil it with butter?”

The light elf sitting opposite him squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, his turquoise eyes averted. That gave Scathael his answer, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at the youth in barely-disguised disgust, and also a modicum of surprise.

“It was a difficult time, okay? I had no choice!” The light elf suddenly blurted out.

“I understand cutting down a branch, but the butter?” Scathael shook his head and rested the sword upon the table. “Doing nothing would’ve been better. How long have you been adventuring?”

The light crossed his arms across his chest. “Long enough.”

“It’s going to become ‘short enough’, if you keep being an idiot,” Scathael said and pushed the sword over to the light elf. “Next time, use animal fat if you really have nothing else. Go buy yourself a new blade. It’ll cost you almost just as much if you want me to reforge the damn thing, and I’m not wasting my time doing that on a buttered blade.”

The light elf grumbled, but took the sword and walked away.

Scathael sighed and shook his head. That was the price of doing business in this part of the city. Most who came to him were criminals – or at least, they dealt in matters that made approaching a legitimate smith a problem – and for the most part, they weren’t the sort to be able to afford to take proper care of their tools of the trade. Granted, this was the first time Scathael had seen a sword oiled with butter, so perhaps it was that particular light elf who was special.

He leaned back in his seat and looked over the crowd. There was still plenty of time left in the day. He just had to be patient, and he would make enough to buy passage to–

"Who the fuck dared to pour water on me!?"

That shout, so full of rage, put a quick end to Scathael's planning. Casually leaning over to one side, he peered between shoulders and craned necks just in time to see a leporine demi-human turn a table into splinters with her hammer. Her body was soaked, and her hair matted wet. The culprits – Scathael assumed – a light elf woman and a green dragonborn, laid on the ground before her. For a moment, he tensed up, half-expecting a fight to break out. His eyes darted to the various exits and entrances of the Nest.

But it all proved to be unnecessary. For now, at least. The demi-human didn't seem too upset by her rude awakening, and she didn't seem to be in too violent a mood, the table aside. With a shrug, Scathael looked away from the scene and leaned back in his seat. Strange things happened everyday. In the Nest, moreso than other places.

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




Time: Late Morning
Interactions: @Tae Kalliope
Mentions: @princess Charlotte; @PapaOso Cassius
Attire:


The mysterious, discomforting feeling festering in Sjan-dehk’s heart diminished slightly as his conversation with Kalliope progressed. How could it have done otherwise, in the face of pretty eyes shining with playful mischief, and in the presence of her amicable warmth? Even the prying questions that had floated through his head earlier fell silent – as they should have been from the very start. Sjan-dehk felt himself genuinely relax, instead of having to pretend to be casual and at ease. He could scarcely remember why he had to in the first place. Not even Kalliope’s remark to the departing Cassius could rattle him, although that was more because he didn’t quite understand what she had meant.

A subtle flutter tickled his heart at Kalliope’s words. “My dashing Captain.” There was something about the way she had said those three words that made Sjan-dehk feel happy, yet at the same time, brought him a degree of bashfulness he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. He dipped his head ever-so-slightly, and hid more of his face within the shadow cast by his hat.

Nevertheless, he chuckled at Kalliope’s remarks regarding the stranger-with-the-guards. Sjan-dehk made a note of her name – she seemed to be an important Alidashti, and thus was likely someone he needed to be aware of, at the very least. “Let’s hope the repercussions never find you, then.” Sjan-dehk offered her a grin along with his words. “Makes what you did pretty damn admirable, if I do say so myself.”

And just as he was about to ask Kalliope about her history with Layla, she introduced Cassius to him.

There was nothing wrong with her words themselves, but there was something in her voice, some strange and vague thing underlying what she had said that brought the discomforting feeling back to the forefront of Sjan-dehk’s heart and mind. His brows furrowed slightly.

“...known for his ways with the ladies."

Suddenly, Sjan-dehk started to understand what Kalliope had meant by Cassius uttering the wrong name the previous night, and with it, an insight to their relationship he wished he never gained. Not that he knew why he felt what he felt, and that made things all the more uncomfortable for him. He was, however, very much aware that the unease he felt was etched upon his face, and so he quickly turned away from her. He looked towards Charlotte, but his eyes were, in fact, focused on the horizon far in the distance.

He cleared his throat and tried to sound as normal as he could when he answered Kalliope. “So that’s her name? Charlotte? Only just met her this morning. She seems nice enough so far. Reminds me of–” He cut himself short just before mentioning his sister. “Of people I know. Might be too early to tell for certain, but I can’t see any harm in getting to know her a little better.”

Then, he turned back to Kalliope, his face neutral but eyes reproachful. “But I do know that she’s had quite a rough morning as it is. Let’s not tease the poor girl and give her any more grief, aye?” He let out a muted sigh as he looked back towards the shore. This was all so very silly, and worse than that, immature. What did it matter to him, if Kalliope was in a relationship with Cassius? Nothing at all, surely; she was merely a friend, if even that. Acquaintance might be a more accurate way of putting it – Sjan-dehk had only known her for all of a day-and-a-half, at most. In a mutter, he added, "Just doesn't feel right, you know? To see a girl like her getting shat upon."

Yes, he was just being silly. That was what Sjan-dehk told himself.

And perhaps, that was why right at the very moment, he wanted to be anywhere else but here. The beach no longer felt even remotely familiar or comfortable. Every fibre of his being told him to leave, to return to the comforting surroundings of his Sada Kurau and lose himself to the monotony and drudgery of the daily routine of keeping a warship running smoothly.

But he couldn’t. To do such a juvenile thing was shameful.

Instead, he did something even sillier. “Looks like they’re having a good time,” he said and tilted his chin towards Charlotte and Cassius. As much as he could, he tried to keep the bite from seeping into his words, though he doubted he was overly-successful. “Your partner seems quite interested in her as well. Should we go join them? Going into the water sounds like a pretty damn good idea to me right about now.”
© 2007-2025
BBCode Cheatsheet