Blackfridayrule

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne watched the man go and relaxed a little, dropping her haughty demeanor. "The Council are generally decent people. A couple of them are particular, and hard to please, but they're dedicated to their roles and care deeply about their people. Most of them are a little...philosophical for my tastes, but," she shrugged, "what can I say? I'm a fisherman's daughter, not a scholar. The council of the Seven Winds is not all that different than the Court of Sols...I mean they're structured a little differently. I know you don't have the best impression of them, and I understand why," she said with a dry laugh. "But really, they aren't as awful as Khaltira was. Stern, and not so personable and friendly as the Council, but generally good. Just."

Darin explained she'd like to meet the rest of them, and Ridahne sincerely hoped she could. She should know the nobility of Astra, the leaders as well as the common folk. "If you make yourself known to them, you'll most certainly get the chance. If none of them have Seen you, you might go unnoticed otherwise in a place like this. I'll leave that up to you though. I wouldn't suggest shouting it from the tree tops, but if you wanted to drop in on them and tell them who you were, I'm sure they'd be keen to see you."

Ridahne tilted her head back up and towards the direction of the markets. "Sounds good to me. I'm hungry anyway. Just ah, next time you've got an itch to go wandering, tell me first eh?" Ridahne wasn't mad. Not only was there a lot to get distracted by in Lihaelen, Darin had the Seed that would pull her in different directions too. And it was relatively safe here, too. "We can go up this way and cut through most of the bridges and things to get to the market."

The pair made their way back up into the network of platforms and bridges and branches, up to where people clustered and crowded and there was shouting everywhere of people calling out their wares. Ridahne tried to point out various street foods and give Darin a brief description of them, and noted things that were especially popular or iconic. The elf indulged in something wrapped in a large flat leaf; the inside was a sticky mixture of rice and a few other grains, some ground meat, and shredded carrots and cabbage with plenty of spices. But she also purchased a few supplies for the road, and some things that were a little luxurious for travel food, but would still keep well, like some good cheeses and dried fruits.

At one point, Ridahne all but dragged Darin over to a tiny stall with a few tall stools in front of a bar counter. "Come!" She said, excited. "You must try coffee! It's very strong flavored, a little bitter. But it can be nicely sharp and acidic too." Ridahne ordered a small cup for each of them. The scent wafting from the stall was warm and inviting. It was hard to imagine, looking at the eager elf warrior setting a steaming little cup in front of Darin, that this was the same former-assassin who had fought with Darin so often in their first several days on the road. She was not quite so sulky and ashamed now, and she was generally more open and comfortable with Darin. Ridahne sipped the hot liquid with relish. "What do you think?"

Of Blood and Bastards

"From one professional to another, are you proud of that number? The individuals meant little to you, obviously. I'm no saint, I understand that much. But you sound quite pleased with the amount of blood on your hands. Can't say I expect much better of your sort though." He held absolutely no respect for nobility of any variety whether they held much power or not. They were antithetical to everything he knew, everything he understood about the world. Not to mention they always caused him a lot of irritating trouble. Perhaps that was among the reasons why he targeted high profile people when he wanted to do a job, or to outright humiliate someone.

Rohaan had become increasingly aware of a shift in Valdemar's expression, a growing smugness. Interesting. He had a few guesses as to what he could be so pleased about, but one theory needed a little more testing. With an even, unrevealing face, Rohaan looked into Valdemar's eyes as he picked up his cup again and drank from it. "I do want it in writing. I didn't make it this far in life by trusting murderers and scoundrels at their words. The trap you set doesn't help your case, either. We're not friends, Valdemar. Verbal agreements are for deciding who pays the bar tab next, not the liberation of my people. And if some lucky bastard actually manages to assassinate you before I'm through, I want some vague proof we ever made this deal."

The deal itself he thought about for a while in silence, pondering the counter offer over the ale in his hands. So, the man had a bastard daughter. Evidently he wanted her back desperately, or Rohaan wouldn't be here right now. He debated whether or not Valdemar wanted her so he could exterminate her, sweep that embarrassment under the rug before it got to be a wild rumor. But...no. He actually got the sense Karl cared about her, for as much as Rohaan guessed he cared about anyone but himself. Sure, there was a fortress involved apparently, but no one could infiltrate like Rohaan Ja'aisen. That's likely why he'd been chosen, though whether Karl considered it or not, Rohaan also had a better ability than most to protect the girl on the road. And he would too, regardless of whether Valdemar wanted her dead or alive. There was an opportunity there he'd be unwise not to exploit.

A flask was set on the table, and Karl finally played his hand, looking pointedly at Rohaan's cup. As one might expect him to, he spit out the ale in a sudden burst. Except Rohaan absolutely had his wits about him, and he very intentionally and with great accuracy aimed for Valdemar's face, spraying the Emperor. He took the flask (though decidedly with less urgency than a man in his position ought to be expected to) grumbling, "Jakhai!" The language was unfamiliar but it was evidently some kind of curse. Rohaan opened it and...sniffed it first. He locked eyes with Valdemar as a slow smile spread across his lips. Rohaan suddenly broke, bursting into a wheezing, wild, manic laughter. It was the vokurian's turn to shed a few tears of laughter as he outright howled, slapping the table with an open palm. It took a long time for him to master himself again, and even then, he was barely suppressing a chuckle still. He took a big swig of the whiskey in the flask. "I just had the distinct pleasure of spitting ale in the face of the Emperor of Man. Moon and stars, that was an opportunity I'm glad I didn't pass up. Hoo!" He wiped his eyes, then spread his arms wide. "That's it! My career has peaked! I can retire in peace!" he joked. "Ah, Tevira's Tits, I hope some bard makes that a song somewhere, I really do."

He took another sip of the whiskey, nodding appreciatively at the quality. "I had a notion you'd got some scheme or other. But to be honest, I really doubted you'd go through with poisoning. I mean, what, you're gonna drag me out here, give me this elaborate proposal just to poison me? I don't think so. And maybe you would, for whatever reason. I thought you might actually do it, and that was a risk I was willing to take. But then you set down the 'antidote' right in front of me. C'mon now, where's the risk in that? It might also be good to note for the future that Vokurians don't poison as easily as you frail folk. I might look human, but I assure you, I'm not. It takes different stuff to do the job proper, and most unlearned attempts just make us sick. Miserably so, yes, but not dead. Didn't think that would benefit you either. You need an elite for this job, not a vomiting wretch. But good show, Valdemar, you had me going for a moment there."

Rohaan leaned back, still holding the flask of whiskey. "Anyway, I was about to call your terms unreasonable until you specified that she can be brought back dead. I can't guarantee what happens on the road, and if she gets sick and keels over that ain't my fault. Gored by a boar, struck by lightning...But I don't want to haul a dead body all that way, so I'll at least try to keep her alive..." He was grinning, but his stare had a dangerous glint. "But before we finalize all this..." The scruffy blonde sitting before Valdemar changed his appearance as smoothly and quickly as if he'd cast off a jacket. The man looking back at the Emperor was no longer Rohaan Ja'aisen. It was a perfect copy of himself, with the one exception being his eyes and the small spots of crusted silver where he'd pulled especially violently at the ishun-tai. "I've got to wonder..." It was his voice too. "You don't strike me as much of an archer...so why the one glove?" He pinched a fold of the supple leather at the fingertip, giving it the faintest of tugs without actually removing it, taunting him. "Should I find out...?"

Of Blood and Bastards

Rohaan's face turned sour, but only for a moment. His expression turned to thoughtful as he studied Karl again. He spoke, and it was the first time his tone had been quieter and slow, like for once he was picking his words carefully. "Better off in slavery...? Either you know nothing of slavery, or you know nothing of me. I was raised by pirates. My needs were plenty well met, and I was and still am more free than you will ever be." He refilled his cup and in between sips, he tore at a heel of bread. Rohaan never went without food for any great length of time, but even he wasn't about to turn down a free meal.

Rohaan listened to the Emperor go on, but not without noticing the twitch of his gloved hand. Interesting. He kept his face even, though his interest had peaked. Whatever it was the Emperor wanted, it wasn't for Rohaan to do his dirty laundry. No...there was something else at work here. He suspected that the little twitches in his hand were part of the reason he was here. It had to be. Though how it was connected, he wasn't yet sure.

The blonde laughed. "Associates is maybe a strong word. But yes, I'd imagine they would want some assurances of safety. A pity for them, they won't be so safe in the end. I'm not going to kill them, no, no. Nothing like that. But let's say they won't be able to give you much information again after I'm through with them." A thought occurred to him, and Rohaan chuckled a bit. "I've got to say though, I'm flattered. Just how many people's lives were you willing to destroy to get me? How many died for the cause? How many lives am I worth, Valdemar?" The answer didn't matter to him, Rohaan was merely taunting him. It was a subtle recognition of just how much leverage Rohaan had in this exchange, even though it might appear that he had little in comparison to the Emperor of Man. But it was also a rebuke. That kind of selfishness was deep rooted and rotten to the core.

The Emperor actually laughed at him, and for a moment he contemplated leaving the table. He didn't have time to be mocked. He'd be treated with respect or not treated with at all. But Karl explained it was more the nature of his request than the request itself. No wonder, the man likely didn't have anyone in his whole court who would speak to him so honestly. Rohaan figured that abolishing the slave trade entirely was too much to ask. It ran deep into the veins of the Empire and could not easily be excised. But Berlin taught him to negotiate, how to ask for something out of the question so the thing you really want seems more reasonable. Not that he didn't want to see the other races freed also; he truly did want an end to slavery as a practice. But he had little love for humans. The elves at least held the belief that all of nature had its place, even the things they found repugnant. Like himself. But his heart lay truly with his own people.

"Aha! So you actually know what we call ourselves! That's more than most. Most just call us silverbloods, and the other part, like your Ca-mm, just call us demons. So you're a learned murderer, at least. Can't decide if that's better or worse..." Rohaan leaned back in his chair, resisting the urge to put his feet on the table. If he did, he'd put his filthy boots right into a wheel of soft cheese. That would be a real crime. "Liberate the Vokurians. Compensate each of them in addition to land, which we will make into our own nation. We will pay no tribute to the Empire, and will not be part of it. Give us legal right of trade. All this goes into effect on my departure, not my return. Now, I'm a practical man and I of all people know just how flimsy laws can be. Especially unpopular ones." His lapis eyes narrowed and his tone held a sinister edge as he continued. "But you might want to inform your people that if I ever catch someone even attempting to enslave a Vokurian ever again, I, Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen, will personally eat them and have what's left of their head sent directly to your bedchambers."

Rohaan probably wouldn't eat them. He'd done that only twice in the heat of battle and in the form of a cyradan--a small nocturnal breed of dragon that was often seen in mountainous areas or remote coastal cliffsides--and it was something of a logistical nightmare. A dragon's stomach could hold the remains of a man, but his natural stomach was obviously far too small for such a thing. The first time, he had to stay in that form until it digested, and the second time he'd managed to actually vomit it back up. He never bothered after that. But he would remove the violator's head, he would send it to the Emperor, and he would make sure that the unfortunate soul was torn to shreds while very much alive.

"Do that, and barring any completely ridiculous request, you'll have me. Of course, I want all this in writing. Written in your hand, with your signature, and with your seal. I can't read, not well, but I'll pick one of your men at random to read it to me, so don't try and pull anything." Rohaan glanced back down to Karl's gloved hand, then back up to his face. "But I think it's about time you told me the details of this little job. Who am I retrieving, why, and what kinds of expected obstacles am I in for?"

Of Blood and Bastards

Whatever Rohaan had in mind for his day, this was not ever in his wildest dreams. The whole thing was truly bizarre, and he was still trying to piece together how this had all come to be, and why. He waved a dismissive hand at the captain. "Save it for someone who cares. I serve no banner, no man, no law. Also, this language isn't my first one. Can't say I'm familiar with er...prostrate or whatever it is you said I ought to be. Not to mention Son of the Great Restorer," Rohaan spat viciously beside him, "Is in no way a convincing argument for the likes of me. Remember who you speak to, Ca-mm." The way he abbreviated 'captain' was odd. It was close to the more common 'cap'n', except the p was lost and the rest was overly pronounced. It was a habit from childhood that still stuck with him; back then, he struggled with the 'p' sound, as his language didn't have it.

Rohaan turned his attention back to the Emperor. "Your father, not to mention some of you and yours, slaughtered my people. Women. Children. Good people who wanted nothing more than to care for their livestock and see their children grow. How is it, do you think, that I came to be so good at what I do? I'll admit, it's good fun, but it's not like there were other options left to me. I'm a capable hunter and a better fisherman than you'd ever hope to be--it's a lot easier when you're actually in the water. But you of all people know I can't take my catch to market. At best, I'd be chased out. At worst, I'd be attacked. An honest living was never an option, Valdemar. Save your preaching about morality to someone who has the time for it. I don't. Though I will remember the deliciousness of the irony of you admitting to being equals, here in this moment. I'm going to savor that for a long time."

Rohaan listened to Karl's explanation of the crown, and the careful trap laid just for him. Interesting. So this hadn't been a chance opportunity, but something this man had been planning and scheming for a while now. Rohaan had an idea of who might have given him away, which particular cutthroat (or rather a handful of them) he was referring to. Rohaan noted that he'd pay them a visit soon, and show them how dangerous it was to cross Rohaan Ja'aisen. But the blonde barked a laugh. "You faked my death! Ha! That's a good one. That's new. I hope he was a rapist, or something equally sinister. It wouldn't do to kill an innocent man on behalf of such a wicked one as myself. But I've got to say, that will do wonders for my reputation. Rohaan Ja'aisen, the silver blood who can't die! That ruse won't last you long, and at some point the truth will come out that I'm still alive. But if you're going to spin a story at that point, at least make it good. Tell them I did whatever unnatural thing you like. A wise man once told me words were powerful weapons."

A table was brought out, laden with all kinds of goods, and Rohaan laughed. "I was about to say that it's bad form to torture a man and drag him out to the woods and then try to negotiate with him--I assume that's what you want--but you're doing much better now." He swept the loose, stray curls that had been matted to his face with sweat back with one hand, then took a seat and helped himself like the table had been set specifically for him. Unlike most street rats and vagabonds, he neither ate with the fervency of a man starved, nor did he chew with his mouth open like some kind of drunken slob. Someone somewhere had taught him manners, to a degree. He helped himself to a healthy portion of ale, some chicken, a chunk of cheese, and plucked at a few fruits. Meats, he could get easily and often. Fruits and cheeses, however, were slightly harder to obtain.

Rohaan didn't answer right away, he just studied the man sitting across from him. There were a lot of assumptions being made, though he supposed he couldn't expect anything else from a man like this. Someone who was used to getting what he wanted just by asking for it. Rohaan had never known that life. "My services? What makes you think they're for hire? Bold for you to assume anything I do is a service to anyone. I'm a thief, a murderer, a traitor to the empire, formerly a pirate, and if you listen to any of the stories about me, there's a whole list of unsavory things people like to call me. Only some of those are true. But nowhere in that list is 'mercenary'."

He took a long draw from his cup, though not without appreciating its quality. "Don't be coy, Valdemar. There are a thousand men who could do the job you want, and all of them with a lot less risk and without so much effort to get them. You wanted me specifically. You set the bait, you set the trap, and you made sure your men were trained to deal with me. You know I can do the job, I don't have to sell you on that. The real question is, what is it that you have that you think I'd actually want? I've got no use for money, seeing as I can't spend it, not reliably. Your father made sure of that. I haven't been starving since I was a child, and I have no use for fancy clothes, clumsy steel weapons, or even horses. Animals hate me--they can sense the predator within. Even if I wanted it, you couldn't give me power, either. Sure, you could grant me land and a fancy title. But no one in the world would respect that, if you didn't have an outright riot on your hands for the heresy of it."

Rohaan leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "But there is one thing...Granted, I'll need to know much more about this situation and your motives and what I'm in for. But even I can be bought, though you'll have to ask yourself if it's a price you're willing to pay. I'm no common thief." His expression turned hard. "Ban the slave trade. All of it. Shifters, humans, elves--any and all of them. Current slaves must be set free and compensated. Put to death anyone who does not honor the ban." There was a fire, a fierceness in his gaze that suggested he wasn't being wholly altruistic, that at some point or another this matter had once been personal. It was ambitious, Rohaan knew, but given his situation he had to at least try for it. It wasn't every day the emperor of Man wanted to buy a favor, much less from a man like him.

Of Blood and Bastards

Rohaan tried very hard to appear unbothered by his current situation. Appearances, as he knew quite well, meant everything in critical situations. And generally he kept his head about him, at least on a surface level. He'd been bound by the wicked ishun-tai, 'death steel' before. The first time he didn't how how he'd survived the ordeal, as it felt like the very fabric that knit his body together was being crushed and squeezed into nothingness. When Berlin, his former sea captain and his closest friend, tried to understand what had happened, Rohaan described the experience as being akin to jamming a whale into a breadbox. He was a creature of many shapes and his body was fluid, and the enchantments in that horrible material bound him stiffly to one. It was confinement like he'd never known before. But he was older now, and more experienced. He knew that mental focus and breathing could help negate some of the feeling. But not always. While he spent a good period of his very unexpected trip outside and into a carriage casting insults and jabs at his captors, every once and a while he'd turn from exhausted prisoner to something feral and inhumanoid as he wrenched and twisted at the shackle.

"Have I killed any of your friends?" he snarled at them. He did not fail to notice the insignia on their armor when they'd come to collect him. So, they'd called in the cavalry. Good, at least his presence still merited that level of caution. "I've got a long, sordid history with the empire. Who knows, maybe I've killed family members. Fathers, perhaps? A brother? When I get out of here--and I assure you I will--you all better sleep with one eye open. I have a very good memory..."

These soldiers were well trained though, and generally did not rise to his taunts. Once or twice he received a kick and a warning to keep quiet, but that was all.

By the time he was dragged out of the carriage and into a wooded area, he was well drenched in sweat and his body quivered slightly but persistently. The look in his eyes was manic and feral. When the sack was removed from his head, it revealed a man somewhere near the age of thirty, perhaps a little younger, with longer blonde hair tied in an untidy short ponytail of uneven and mismatched curls. A small section of it had been braided just in front of his right ear; a bone pendant adorned its end. His skin was just a little darker than one might expect for a man with straw colored hair, and though he'd obviously spent much of his life outdoors and under the sun, it had a hue that suggested he would never have exactly been pale, even in the winter. He had the lithe, taut frame of a man who lived on the road, and dutifully served his master, toil, his whole life. For a vagabond though, his clothing was not poor. Not rich either, exactly, it was too practical for that. But aside from the dirt and stains of much use, it wasn't terribly tattered. This was a man who saw after his own needs, but needed little. He wore a loose ashen-gray shirt, a light leather vest, black trousers and a pair of decently made but light boots. He wore a leather bandolier of pouches and pockets across his chest, and buckled to the empty space near his hip was a small knife with a bone handle. He carried no other weapons. Rohaan squinted in the harsh sunlight, blinking his eerily blue eyes that were reminiscent of polished lapis lazuli, and had a vibrancy and brightness that nature only gave to toxic, poisonous things. He fixed these on the man clearly in charge, and though his gaze was a little wild, it was sharp, analytical, and keen.

With much hesitance, the soldiers removed his bonds, including the ishun-tai. They wisely stepped back as they did, though they were not so skittish as the other soldiers he'd dealt with that day. The moment the horrible thing was removed from his skin, he gave a quick yell and reeled back as if the thing and the man holding it had burned him badly, then, like stretching a long disused muscle, he shifted three times in very quick succession. Bear. Tiger. Eagle. Back to himself. At this point, he could have changed into some winged shape and flown away, and even a skilled archer would have a real challenge trying to match both his speed and his movement. He could have also turned into a cyradan, a small breed of fire-breathing dragon and either burned or crushed them all to death. But Rohaan was a practical man, and he knew that if they wanted him dead, they had many easier opportunities. No, this man wanted something.

He spoke, rather condescendingly Rohaan thought, and asked if he knew who he was. Rohaan did not answer at first, he simply held up one finger, turned on one heel, and walked toward the lake, giving a warning glance to the nearest soldier, just daring him to try and stop him. He knelt at the water's edge and scooped up many handfuls of the cool, clear water and drank like a man out of a desert. He was very aware that he'd just ignored the direct questioning and therefore snubbed the Emperor of mankind, but he was unbothered by that. Let the wretch wait, he thought. If they wanted something form him, and they most certainly did, or they'd have done away with him already, they'd do it on his terms. After all, he was not a placid farm animal to be penned in and told to work.

When Rohaan had his fill of water, he unceremoniously wiped his hands on his pants and proudly stalked back to the Emperor like he owned the place. Despite looking a little roughed up and exhausted, one would never guess from his demeanor that he'd just been a captive. He looked the man up and down. "I had a good guess as to who you were, but your soldiers gave it away a minute ago, your grace." He sneered a little as he said that. "Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen, at your," he spat at his feet, "service." The only genuine part of that was the spitting. "You may call me Rio, or simply Ja'aisen. The other two names are not for you." Where he came from, children were given three names in addition to their family name. Which one was used depended on who was using it and the relationship to that person. Rio, his third name, was the most informal and did not have to be earned.

"You know, I'd come to your humble abode because I wanted to see if I could steal your crown. Not sure what I'd do with it once I got it, probably toss it in the river, I don't know. But I wanted to see if I could. Got a bit sidetracked by your personal liquor cabinet though. I particularly enjoyed the whiskey, by the way." He didn't mention that he'd filled his own flask with the stuff after he'd finished sampling. "The curtains in your chambers? Ghastly. But you've got some sharp staff. There's a serving girl with red hair that deserves a raise. Not only did she know you were away, but she had the presence of mind to pay attention to my eyes and knew I wasn't you. Either that or the portrait of you I used for my disguise doesn't really do you much justice. You're a bit uglier in person, actually. Perhaps you should get a new artist."

Rohaan had a slight accent, and though the Emperor was likely very familiar with his people and any shifts in dialect that manifested across his empire, where Rohaan had gotten his was unclear. It had been long since diluted, but not erased. "I'm going to assume you didn't bring me all this way for afternoon tea. Though if you happen to have mint tea I wouldn't be opposed. And if you'd wanted to kill me you'd have done it a long time ago, so that begs the question, what do you want, "Dragon" of the North?" He couldn't help but laugh a little at that. This man could call himself whatever he liked, but he was no dragon. Rohaan knew dragons, and he wasn't one. "And more importantly, why in Tevira's name should I do anything you ask?" Tevira was the name of a much-storied siren who was said among mariners to be the spirit of the ocean herself. The use of the name marked him as a former sailor. He waved a dismissive hand. "And don't threaten me with death if I don't comply. That's harder to do than I think you realize and it would cost you dearly, even if you succeeded. Besides, it's terribly uninteresting."

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne strolled along without any particular haste; things seemed to be going well down below, and Darin was doing fine on her own. Ridahne wasn't about to interfere. She watched, and though she could not hear them over the clamor of the city, she brushed up on her shaky lip reading skills. From what she could see, Ridahne gathered that Darin was getting a lesson in Eluri bows. Good, that would serve her well, and it would also give her an insight into these people's lives and culture. Not to mention, if she got good at 'speaking the language' of bowing, she would understand the subterfuge that happened in many interactions. Sometimes bows were given genuinely, but sometimes the wrong bow would intentionally be used, and it was a quiet slight. An ambassador once came to visit Azurei and had words with Khaltira-Sol, whom they did not particularly like. Instead of giving a bow of deference or respect, the ambassador gave one as if he was speaking to someone lesser than him. He didn't know that Khaltira-Sol could speak the language too, and what he thought was his own private joke got him immediately thrown out and forcibly sent home with a sealed, signed letter from Khaltira-Sol demanding a different one next time. Reflecting on this, Ridahne now thought he was lucky he wasn't killed. She probably didn't just because he was an ambassador, and killing him could cause major trouble with their close neighbor Eluri.

A flash of anger rose in Ridahne at the thought of Khaltira-Sol. She shouldn't even be called Sol, she should be stripped of her title. Which made Ridahne wonder if they'd decided on her replacement yet. The Court of Sols had never had to choose a new Sol in the memorable history of Azurei. The original Sols had risen to power sort of organically, and they individually chose their successors after having years to observe them. But they'd never had to choose, as a group, someone they did not have their eyes on already. Ridahne wondered if one of the other Sols had given up her successor and lifted her to the rank of Sol to fill the position, or if they'd found someone else. Ridahne wondered who she would be.

Darin and her new companion looked directly up at her. Ah, she'd been discovered. Darin greeted her and apologized for getting herself lost. Ridahne found a nearby ladder and descended down to their level smoothly and with grace. She approached her apprentice with a formal, haughty air and said, "Ah, Martin, I was wondering when you'd notice me. You must pay attention to your surroundings, Eshai" The word meant 'apprentice' or 'student'. The rebuke was mostly formal, mostly part of the ruse they kept. If the city was more dangerous, her ire might have been sharper and more genuine, but there was little worry in a place like this. She looked at the man standing with her. "You must be with the Council," she guessed. Ridahne chose a bow indicating that she was a guest, and he was her host. "It's a pleasure to see your fair city again. Thank you for finding my apprentice. I hope he wasn't too much trouble to you?"

Of Blood and Bastards

Rohaan could almost hear Berlin's voice in his head, berating him for his lack of forethought.

You don't think things through, Rheoaan. It'll get you into trouble someday.

It didn't usually. Usually, he had enough skill or luck or some mix of the two that he could just kind of do things on a whim, and come up with a plan as he went. Maybe that made him cocky, or maybe the soldiers here were just especially well trained, because more and more of them were pouring into the hall. They kept their distance but made sure to keep him surrounded. As new ones filed into place, he could hear them passing a simple word down the ranks in a hushed whisper. "Shifter!" And each soldier who heard the news gripped his weapon of choice just a little harder. They were afraid of him. Good. Yet they stood resolute against him.

Rohaan did a quick survey of his surroundings. No easily available windows, a whole lot of soldier-clogged doors, and the ceiling was too low to comfortably be out of spear range. They all had weapons and he only had a small knife that was more of a tool than anything else. But he didn't need weapons.

"Do we really need to do this?" He gestured around the room. "C'mon now, I'm sure most of you have families to get back to." He frowned and pointed to a comparatively wispy young fellow. "Except you. You ought to get you one. But come now! Do you really want to fight me?" The soldiers each advanced cautiously, taking one step forward but nothing more. The blonde shifter shook his head and laughed. "Don't you know who I am?"
A man answered as he came through one of the doors, both sounding and looking a fair bit more confident than the rest. "I believe you're called Ja'aisen, aren't you?"
Rohaan bowed, fixing his attention on what appeared to be some kind of captain. "Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen. Heard of me, have you?" He secretly enjoyed the amount of uncomfortable shuffling from the rest of the men at hearing his name.
The captain smiled humorlessly. "I have. And a great many other things about you. None of them pleasant. What's your choice, silverblood? Are we going to have to do this the hard way, or are you going to come with me?"
Rohaan rolled his shoulders. He thought of some witty reply, and had just drawn in a breath to give it when something hard struck the back of his head. He dropped to his knees, wavering a little like a drunken man as he tried to regain his bearings. Damn, he'd been played, and he hadn't thought to look behind him. Stupid, really.

Before Rohaan could get back up, someone else had rushed in and put a shackle around one wrist. The icy metal touched his skin and suddenly it seemed that he was a large object being squeezed into an impossibly small space. An involuntary cry jumped from his lips and he bucked and thrashed like a feral animal, but it did him no good. There were to many of them, and now that the enchanted metal was firmly clasped around him, they were not so afraid of him. Before he knew it, Rohaan had been dragged away and shut in some dark place.

They bound him hand and foot and tethered him to the wall by a chain attached to the enchanted shackle, then left him. His whole body burned. For a while, as he sat crumpled against the wall, he tried to compose himself. He had to think, had to have a clear head to get himself out of this. After all, he'd endured the squeezing misery of shifter-steel before, he could do it again. And it worked a little, and his breathing would calm a bit, but then he'd snap suddenly and wrench at the accursed thing like it was on fire. Rohaan was drenched with sweat, and a little liquid silver bead had formed in the places where he'd scraped the skin of his hand pulling at the shackle. Just a little blood. If he couldn't think of a better way, he'd break his hand just to get out of here. Still, as he heard footsteps approaching the cramped cell they threw him in, he was determined to keep at least some composure for pride's sake. It was the captain again, and a team of handlers that came to haul him out. Out where? He forced his breathing to be slow and even and tried to concentrate. If they thought he was done fighting, they were sorely mistaken. But he'd wait for the right moment.

Character driven 1x1

Excellent. I’m blackfridayrule#9681

I’m also kinda bad at navigating discord, so if all else fails, here’s a channel

discord.gg/9MvXJTE

Character driven 1x1

I am 100 percent for you bringing in your own ideas. It’s the best part about this platform. Shoot, mate! Whatcha thinkin?

Character driven 1x1

Hey all. I've got a character that I haven't played with in a while and I've got an itch for a new roleplay. I'm looking for someone who will post reasonably often (I certainly don't expect every day or anything), put some depth into their posts, characters, and the world we build. Looking for someone who will create the story and the world with me, using our characters as a jumping off point.

The character I have in mind is a shapeshifter. His race has many names, including simply Shifters, Silverbloods (as their blood is a shiny metallic silver), or by their own they are called Vokurians. Some uneducated rural folk just call them demons. Tales tell of their inhuman azure eyes and their thirst for blood, and most young children have at one point or another been warned of Silverbloods catching them and eating them if they stay out too late. This couldn't be further from the truth, of course, as the Vokurian people generally like to keep to themselves and fear humans about as much as humans fear them. Humans, after all, make a business of hunting them down. The only good shifter, they say, is a dead one. Shifters are not permitted to buy or sell in human society, nor are they welcome to walk among them. But if properly subdued, perhaps they could make decent slaves...

My character's name is Rohaan. The world gave him few options except to turn to a life of crime, but if you ask him, he's not all that sad about it. He learned to steal to survive, but found he was good at it and it was rather fun. He makes a hobby of thievery, nay, a career. With few ties to anything or anyone, Rohaan travels often to see what the wide world has to offer him. He answers to no one, follows no law if it cramps his style, and will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way. But that'd be a terrible mess, so he'd rather avoid it. Bold. Adventurous. Cocky. Fiercely protective.

I figure we can come up with a basic scenario in which our characters meet/get entangled somehow, and build from there as we see fit. Possible scenarios including but definitely not limited to:
-- Someone hires/convinces him to help them with something. Revenge? Obtaining artifacts? Massive heist? Wilderness survival for a journey?
-- A royal/politician/somebody important forms a weird, loose, tentative relationship with him, using him as a spy/saboteur in order to play the political game/do some espionage, either internally or between other nations, or both.
-- A pair of thieves, long time partners, stealin' stuff and doing whatever they please.
-- Or some other scenario you come up with, I'm open.

As far as the world building stuff, sky's the limit. There is magic, there are some mythical creatures like dragons and mermaids/sirens and things of that nature. Outside of that, we can do whatever sounds good. Want to have a full roster of different fantasy races? Neat. Want to have just humans and shifters? neat. Technological era should range between high fantasy and 17th century flintlock-pistols-and-the-likes vibe. Can be any mix of those too.

A few things I'm not looking for:
--Romance, blech. I won't squash it if it comes up sort of organically, but I prefer platonic relationships.
--Vampires/werewolves/angels/demons/zombies/undead.
--Short posts. Doesn't have to be a novel, but gimme something to work with here...
--Fandoms. Feel free to draw inspiration from wherever you like, but ultimately keep things 'original'.

Anyone in?