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Force and Fury Member

Actually kind of mellow

STATUS: Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/… 2 yrs ago
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2 yrs ago
Current Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Don't mind me. Just shilling a thread: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
8 likes
3 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
7 likes
3 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
4 likes

Bio

Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?

Stay awesome, people.

Most Recent Posts

In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Masks

“This is our chance,” said Benedetto, adamantly. He was all for the cause. Unlike Jocasta, whose loyalty extended only as far as her sense of gratitude and fear that she would be a target should she strike out on her own, he shared the goals of the other who stood in this room with him. He shared them to the very core of his being. “They’ve pushed too hard for their fucking war and now even the rich kids are getting squirmy.”

“Your words may not betray you, Ciano, but your demeanor here does.” The figure in the black mask clasped gloved hands behind the small of its back. “Why should we care for the opinions of the rich? Why should we spend our hard-earned funds on their folly?”

The youth scowled. “It pisses me off too but, if we don’t, then Revidia or Perrence will get their hands on some big weapon and the war will come even faster.”

“And why, Ciano,” said a second masked figure, “should we want to prevent this war?”

“‘Cause it’s people like us who'll die!” he retorted, temper flaring.

“People like us die anyhow,” said a woman in a red mask. “And, usually, when we do, we simply accept it. Perhaps we grumble some, here or there, but we never get angry enough to do anything.”

“Unless there’s a war,” said a silver-masked figure with a rich Torragonese accent. He shook his head. “I don’t like it either, but it needs to be something brazen, something that lays bare the truth.”

“I would rather a hundred thousand die in the span of a year and then so many less for the indefinite future,” added a woman in a green mask, “than continue as we are.” She shook her head. “Something has to give.”

They were all against him here: the adults - the people who knew better. For all their talk of ‘we’, it wouldn’t be them dying. A silence built. The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly through its seconds. “So that’s it?” Benny demanded, “we don’t help when we can?”

“Try to see the bigger picture, Ciano,” said a scholarly voice. “If -”

“Our friend is right,” interjected an unexpected ally. It was Certosa - Jocasta. “It is important to see the bigger picture, but i would argue not only that. It is important to see all angles.” Benedetto bristled. Why was she speaking in support? She was not on his side. She never truly was. “If the students are allowed to publicly take control of the music box, then they are tied to it. They have taken a stand and, in doing so, divided the ruling class. They have made themselves a flashpoint and a target. We can use them to start undermining our overlords from within. Unlike you who are older and wiser, I have not yet given up hope that we might have our revolution with a great deal less bloodshed.” She glanced his way. “It is a hope that I believe Ciano shares.”

Benny scowled. “Don’t speak for me, Veleno.”

Their eyes met for a moment and then she looked away. This was a plan of hers, he knew, a trap. Jocasta was ever setting traps and he was her favourite prey. It had been that way since he had first arrived.

“The students will surely be martyred,” rumbled a man in a dark wooden mask, “and they are not the sort of martyrs that we need. They will make some doubt the course they've chosen and the necessity of our great work. A few decent-hearted individuals on the other side does not erase the need for them to fall as a whole.”

“Not all of them were born rich,” Benedetto reminded them.

“And not all here were born poor,” Jocasta added pointedly. That was it! It struck the boy that this would fail but she would fail with him. She would appear on his side, and then she would worm her way into his confidence and report all of his actions back to their seniors, as she had before. Jocasta was a snake. He couldn’t disavow her, though. Not now. They were always telling him to ‘behave’ and they were all hypocrites, for they were bad people, just like him, as soon as they left this room.

It was ten more minutes before that happened: ten minutes of pretend deliberation and discussion that was designed to lead to an inevitable conclusion: “thanks, boy. Now butt out and let the adults make the decisions.” He all but stormed out, fists clenching and unclenching themselves, and stood in the near-empty plaza. He could kill half of them, he knew. It was just the other half that was the problem. Benedetto spat on the ground and then Jocasta was beside him. She sat there under the moonlight with her porcelain face and her hands folded demurely on her lap. Her long, pretty blonde hair spilled over her shoulders and… her chest. They were so big, and her waist was so small and her eyes bright and wide and… He scrunched his face up in a snarl. “What do you want, cripple?”

She ignored the insult. “A victory,” she sighed. “To actually be listened to.” She let out a snort. “How about you?”

Benny kicked at a pebble. “You can stop trying to be all friendly and shit.” He watched it skitter into the distance, across the cobblestones and past the small fountain. “I’m never gonna like you. I know you’ll just rat me out to them and they’ll all think you’re so fucking great. That’s what you do.”

He could feel her eyes upon him, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of meeting them. He’d wait and let her seethe while she came up with some new plan for either getting into his confidence or under his skin.

“Whatever,” she said shortly, setting hands to wheels. He looked over as she turned and wheeled away, without even glancing back.

Crickets chirped and water splashed peacefully in the fountain. Fucking bitch. She kept hoping he’d forget: forget how she’d stepped over him - figuratively - within days of their first meeting, how she’d used him, how she’d betrayed him. Everyone had, really, and he wasn’t that convinced anymore that they were any better than the people they were supposed to be fighting against. If they wouldn’t give him the money, then he’d steal it. Benedetto gathered energy to himself and launched up into the sky, reveling in the cool of the wind on his skin, through his hair, and the flapping of his shirt. He’d steal what he needed, then. Stupid Ingrid and that asshole Desmond were actually doing the right thing. He’d steal the money to help them and because… fuck these people who thought they owned him.

He continued heading north, away from Mudville and out over Ersand’Enise. There’d been some fight in the Workman’s Quarter earlier in the evening. A half-dozen people had died. It had taken twenty minutes before help had arrived because the school’s people didn’t patrol the Workman’s Quarter. Everyone would talk about it the next day, of course: what epic magic was used and all that shit and, yeah, that pretty cool, but they'd hardly waste a breath on the people who died because those people weren’t special. They didn’t have magic. The sum of their lives would be six: the number of casualties, to show everyone how bad it had been and how heroic the people who’d stopped it were.

The boy's fists clenched and unclenched. If the past few months had taught him anything, it’s that he was strong, but not the strongest. There were some people who he just couldn’t go up against - not yet. He had to find another way to…

Then, Benedetto got an idea: an idea that could change everything.


In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
The Dragon: Street Hoghs

Whatever wonders the Iron City of the Hegelans had to offer, racers had to imbibe them as they ran, for it was now all to play for in this final leg of the race. The labyrinthine streets of Hogh Munkhelad, at times grand and open, at junctures narrow and claustrophobic, were inevitably confusing for the new arrivals. They were made even more so by the addition of barriers, blockades, and purposely unreliable signage. Dozens of people of a species most had never encountered before and some had never even heard of peered eagerly down from windows and balconies, pointing, clapping, and shouting. Others ran alongside them, some allies and some given the task of becoming obstacles.

Charging through the portal, the students who'd come from Longwan had the luxury of awe and exploration. Their peers who'd been waiting for the past hour did not. They had been balances on a knife edge of anticipation for almost as long as they'd been here, and now they took off. While some relied on brute power, others hoped for fortune and treasure, and some leaned into special talents and abilities, there were those who took a methodical approach to finding the five token stations and the five gates they would need to pass through.

And yet, for all of the teammates simply carried as deadweight instead of having their talents utilized, for all of the crashed rickshaws, lost 'geniuses', sneaky plans quickly debunked, and great efforts not quite rewarded with results, Vyshta once again had her say, and not in the form of Tyrel'yrash, whose magic did much - but not quite enough - to overcome her physical shortcomings. A free gate key allowed Yulia Vasilieva to skip an entire step and steal the lead from Marlijn Vaanse. Silas Reiger and Ahrora Babayeva's teamwork, nimbleness, familiarity with the region, and shameless sabotage allowed them to leapfrog well ahead as well, and not without the help of some Powergazer energy detection.

Sometimes, there's no substitute for being lucky. Sometimes, there's no substitute for being good. It came down to a footrace, with all of the top five finishers in sight of one another in a flat-out sprint. In this, the Vossoriyan Sanguinaire held off her hard-charging Kaganese opponent, Zarra Travendour burst from the greyborn dimension for a last-second kinetic boost that saw him leave his one-legged teammate in the dust and nearly saw him poach the lead, and Marlijn Vaanse was simply outclassed in raw power and not quite able to close the gap. You Could Never-Shortlisted took the win and, with it, the crucial 200 point finish bonus, SYCAMORE-Good Guy Team came from way back in the pack to claim second and a crucial fourth-place finish overall with their late charge, and Snaked and Afraid-Vyshta's Favoured edged out Lucky Seven-Sea People and Heartstoppers-Skull & Crossbones, who came in as a pair just as they'd started.

The cavernous underground city erupted in cheers and celebrations at the finish of The Dragon of DZ54 and the first public step in the opening of their cloistered civilization to the rest of the world. Other teams finished over the proceeding half hour, hearty drinks and congratulations handed to all. For some, these felt well-deserved; for others, they couldn't help but ring a bit hollow. The medal ceremony was held then and there, in Hogh Munkhelad, with the Zenith and three Arch-Zenos in attendance. The high finishers reaped the rewards, while others went back to the drawing board, worried that their chances of that much coveted top five overall finish were fast slipping out of reach. They would have a chance to redeem themselves tomorrow in the next event of The Trials: Roses & Neskals.






Next Up: Roses & Neskals
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
The Dragon: Invasive

The cold, snow-covered people who burst through the portal could not have looked more out of place amid their tropical surroundings. Waves gently rolled in and out beneath a star-filled sky, revelers laughed and clapped, and fireworks echoed in the near distance. The moment that their teammates arrived, however, the racers here were ready, and had been for quite some time. They darted off into the darkened jungle, hurling light and magics before them, pursuing their quarry after already having - in many cases - pestered the locals for what they knew of the invasive little pigs that they were to capture.

While much searching for treasure was done and interesting discoveries were made, many of the teams here employed similar strategies, relying on Chemical magic, local knowledge, and the natural environment to lure the micropigs over and put them to sleep. The speed and effectiveness they did this proved largely dependent upon how much they were bent on searching and how well they made their prey come to them. A raw carrot is one thing. An enticing aroma, spread unnaturally far and enhanced with magic is quite another.

It was the Lucky Seven-Sea People alliance who combined this optimal strategy best with luck when they found a crate of four pigs already captured, allowing them to cruise to an easy victory. Many other teams enjoyed similar though lesser success, and it was - in general - an odd sort of race: no distances or speeds to be measured, but a task to be completed instead. The only alliance who notably went belly-up were the VOID-Crusaders, whose shrimp dog, Eek, seemed very alarmed by something in the water and had to be actively corralled multiple times, taking up nearly all of Yaufin’s efforts and forcing Ysilla to divert many of her puppets, which had already been struggling to grab the small, quick animals.

As frustrating as things were, the tarpit lurkers were less of a hazard at night, being notably less active, and the series of torches set up made it easy for teams to find their way back. Snaked and Afraid-Vyshta’s Favoured were quick, as were Xicallicoatl-Gunboat Diplomats, Heartstoppers-Skull & Crossbones, and You Could Never-Shortlisted. In the end, though, it proved a poor round for frontrunners, as overall points leaders Void-Crusaders crashed and burned and Afraval’s alliance fell out of first position for the first time since the opening leg.

With dozens of youths rushing through the hotly-anticipated portal to the exotic locale of Hogh Munkhelad, they had different goals: some vied for first place, others for redemption, and still others desperately trying to break into the top five, regroup, or hold off the charge of a fast-gaining team below them. It was all to play for. Soon.


The Micropig. Kill one and you're officially going to Oraff's Hell.





Next Up: Street Hoghs!

In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
The Dragon: The Dragonspine

They were welcomed by howling winds, crunching mud, and whipping cold, but also by warmth. As the desert racers bundled through the portal, they were quickly wrapped in warm quilts and provided with hot cider, waterproof boot-covers, and all of the hospitality that this distant corner of Eskand could muster. If the land was poor in wealth and luxuries, it was rich in spirit and conduct.

Their arrival caught some by surprise. It was easy to retreat into a comfortable haze of quilts, cider, and conversation, but those who knew this place and understood the nature of the competition recognized the importance of staying limber and acclimating. Those who started ‘cold’ started better.

Quickly, an invigorating hike turned into an exhausting slog. A shallow incline turned into a steep one and, even further, into a perilous vertical. Powerful gusting winds whipped snow into the climbers’ faces and picks dug into rock and ice alike for purchase. Great white dragons circled overhead, a looming threat, and treacherous fissures promised a quick and painful fall or else cruel and opportunistic creatures that lurked unseen. Before long, sparse shrubs and mosses gave way to hardy lichens. In turn, these submitted to bald rock.

Yet, this was not an exercise so cut and dried as those that had come before it. While all competitors were given a wooden board, rope with grappling hook, and set of picks, they were not forbidden from bringing equipment of their own. Ashon of VOID-Crusaders came with his Dervish gear. Ghaven of You Could Never-Shortlisted wore his runic items with pride and purpose. Ingrid and Sven, both Eskandish, had their own gear to supplement what they’d been provided. Perhaps the strangest and most novel, though, was Trypano Somia and Chimalpepech of Xicallicaotl-Gunboat Diplomats. They came with… more or less a bobsled and a great deal of Kinetic Gift to use.

There were some, such as the Hegelan, Ghaven, antigravity mage Ashon, and mana-enhanced powerhouse Augusto who were never not going to thrive. The discovery of helpful items along the way certainly did not hurt the chances of many of these frontrunners and their partners. Yet there were those who suffered. Some fifty racers would have fallen to their deaths were it not for the intervention of local safety crews. For all of its speed, the bobsled nearly crashed multiple times due to sabotage and the naturally-occurring fissures. Summit pegs were hidden and frozen to the ground, ropes were cut, and avalanches were started. Were it not for the Gift, the majority of teams would not have had so much as a hope of completing the challenge. Indeed, some did not even appear particularly interested in doing so, so ardent was their search for treasures. Sven Bjornsson, both competitor and local, came away with the egg of a Grand Mountain Serpent, abandoned in a hollow just off-course by its mother. Rope dragons attacked these explorers almost at will, but even those who stayed on course were not immune to their attentions. The beasts had to be fought off by staff and students alike.

It was not these that caused the single greatest calamity, however. That distinction lay with Benedetto Corvi of Lucky Seven-Sea People. Harassed by a juvenile Tyrannus Monsigneus, he took the dragon on in single combat and slew it upon the mountain, rendering a large section of the course near-impassable for some time.

The leaders were already ahead, however. Hopped up on a series of boons, adrenaline, and natural abilities, they clambered, skied, or slid down the mountainside with varying degrees of grace and competence, some - like near-local Ingrid Penderson of Snaked and Afraid-Vyshta’s Favoured - treating the massive ski jump as an experience.

When all was said and done, however, it was You Could Never-Shortlisted who once again crossed the line first. Lucky Seven-Sea People lost further ground, Xicallicoatl-Gunboat Diplomats gained, and the racers plunged through their third portal with some hopes waxing while others waned.




Next Up: Invasive!
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
The Dragon: Burdensome Beasts

The Dune Sea of Torragon is a blinding place. They stumbled into it from the sea of the setting sun and it burned their eyes. Sand lashed at their faces and a heat almost too intense to be real slammed into them from all sides. It was no exaggeration whatsoever to characterize it as oppressive.

The students whose task it was to coax the large hesitant tortoises known as Halassa across the finish line two kilometers distant had been given time to adjust. Those who were wise were already mounted. Some had taken time to learn the ropes, for there were locals among them, milling around behind the start line and in the nearby desert, under temporary awnings and tents, in the shelter of alcoves and overhangs in the near-distant cliffs.

It was, by and large, a fiasco. The stubborn beasts would not budge for many. For others, they simply wandered off in a seemingly random direction, driven by some unknown instinct or simply the allure of a distant food source. A couple of halassa attacked each other. Others lay down.

There were those among them, however, who understood the creatures and others who at least knew how to entice them. A handful used brute force, shifting the halassa against their will through the power of the Gift. It was unlike the previous leg of the race; people ebbed and flowed, gained and lost. Tentative holds over the beasts were annihilated by sabotage and the distant screams and ominous shadows of the circling froabases, both wild and tamed. If some elements in the race were planned, the deserts of Torragon would also have their say.

The racers plunged into a valley of scraggly thorns, rocky crags, and sparse vegetation - positively lush by the standards of this wasteland - and then into a tangle of vast dark caves. Here, they searched in earnest for hidden treasures and, of those who left in good order, many left enriched in some way. Few climbed the stark line of cacti that lay baking in the desert sun; for this, they had long ago made clever plans. The gravel slope proved a gut check. Animals rebelled. Some rested, some searched for water, some threw their riders, and others simply avoided the incline.

The riders found solutions, however. Some fused the unstable shale with Binding or Arcane magics. Some boosted or even lifted their mounts with Kinetic. Others lured them with sights and smells that they could not pass up on. People strapped themselves in or glued their clothing to halassa shells in their determination. Cresting the hill, a leading pack emerged, jockeying ferociously for position, throwing kinetic shoves at riders and mounts alike, tempting the halassa with food or water, scaring them with loud noises, bright flashes, or pebbles near the eye. The froabases created yet more chaos, but that was mostly among the trailing group, raggedly strung out now across the wastes. Jocasta of the Gunboat Diplomat-Xicallicoatl alliance led, through sheer force of magic, followed by Nazih Iqbal of Heartstoppers-Skull & Crossbones, Isabella Lowell of VOID-Coastal Crusaders, and Zarina Al-Nader of You Could Never-Shortlisted. Yo’ldoshoy Yo’ldosheva of SYCAMORE-Good Guy Team raced to gain ground having finally left her eeaiko partner behind.

The final two hundred meters proved the true test, however, where mounts had to be actively ridden and controlled. Jocasta fell off the pace and Beastwhisperer Zarina was able to pull ahead, pipping Nazih at the line. Youths dismounted gratefully or regretfully the moment that they crossed that chalky swathe of pebbles, swinging off the backs of the halassa and racing through the swirling portal ahead. They emerged from perfect heat into perfect cold, some alliances having gained, some having lost, others right where they’d been earlier. At least the blustery wind had not changed.




Next Up: The Dragonspine!
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
The Dragon: Deep Blue Sea

They arrived at their starting places: two hundred fifty-six teams in one hundred twenty-eight alliances. For some, there would be a substantial wait. They wandered the nearby environs, mingled with the locals, and took souvenirs. In each of five locations, a portal zapped and swirled, wondrous and enticing. They talked, taunted, and took friendly bets on who would be coming through to meet them first. A sort of casal paranoia prevailed: nobody wanted to walk too far, lest they not be perfectly prepared when their teammate came bursting through to tag them.

For those in the Rainbow Sea, the wait was a great deal shorter. The enormous floating platform that they stood on bobbed gently up and down on the calm waters of Western Callanast, truthfully eight separate rafts lashed fast and lazily undulating on the gentle waves. Gulls wheeled and bleated overhead and the sun began its final plunge towards the horizon, vast and golden. Then, the Grand Chief of the Ahach stood tall before them and a thousand or more eyes came fixed upon his form. His arms dropped, a pistol sounded, and, without further ceremony, two hundred fifty-six youths plunged into the lukewarm waters off the island’s north shore.

Many were competent swimmers, but it wasn’t long before a handful had distanced themselves from the rest. Eeaiko and hyrdomancers, this small group surged ahead, throwing distractions, inconveniences, and sabotage in the paths of their opponents. A second pack developed behind them, scrappy and talented in their own right, vying for the precious points offered by a fast finish and high placement.

Through the sets of rings they surged, many completing all three in a single dive, for such were the immense advantages provided by the Gift. They siphoned the heat from the hydrothermal vents and battered their way relentlessly through the kelp forest. Local wildlife and curious eeaiko onlookers shied from their paths. With varying degrees of grace, they leapt, scrambled, and climbed through the hoop raised above the water, ruthless in their sabotage of each other. For those who led, it was a simpler matter. They did not have to contend with a gauntlet of hostile action and clever trickery. Employing a mixture of magic and natural ability, they made quick work of the whirlpool, grabbed their tokens, and moved on. The others found themselves dunked deeper, the tokens rendered invisible by illusion, or battered by opponents’ magic.

The water became crisp and frigid as they neared the finish, a test of thermal magics, tactical acumen, and willpower. It was the Lucky Seven Sea People alliance in the lead, hotly followed by VOID-Coastal Crusaders and the Xicallicoatl along with the Gunboat Diplomats, victors in the previous event and overall point leaders. The massive wall of ice that loomed before them stood little chance. With fury and ingenuity, they battered, melted, and unbound it. Others gained on them, but it was not enough. The slower members fell out of the lead pack. Teams You Could Never, Snaked and Afraid, and SYCAMORE entered the conversation, taking advantage of existing weaknesses in the ice. In the end, it was too little and too late. In a near photo finish, it was Aktichak, Acoatl, Auvam, and Owain at the line. They stumbled onto a beach as the sun set and leapt through a portal into the desert. A dozen other swimmers joined them within the next thirty seconds. The race remained anyone’s.




Next Up: Burdensome Beasts!
In O R I F L A M M E → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Act Three: Victors and Vanquished

With our second act coming to a conclusion, we reach the halfway point in our story. The Parrench would appear to be on he front foot, but the Eskandr have both been galvanized and gotten the jump on their enemies in some areas. Two new fronts open up in the conflict and it is time to decide where your characters will see their next action. Please place yourself in one of the two options using this document by Tuesday.
Siege of Chamonix

Having given all of its men and resources to the war effort and the defense of Relouse, the great city of Chamonix, a bastion of learning and culture in the east of Parrence, now stands virtually undefended before the Eskandr hordes of King Hrothgar the Black, save for its redoubtable walls. To its rescue rushes King Arcel and his sizable army, evenly matched with that of the heathens. However, a clever mixture of trickery and treachery has allowed a second Eskandr army, under the command of Sweyn Thunderspear, to approach the Parrench from behind, trapping them between the two forces. It now appears that not only the city but also the king may need to be rescued. The ragged remnants of Queen Eleanor’s army, ultimately victorious but devastated by dragon’s fyre, attempt to lend their aid, along with an irregular force drawn from the surrounding countryside of Green Parrence. The fate of the nation could very well be at stake. If Chamonix falls, it is likely that the east of the country goes with it. If Arcel falls, Parrence just might splinter entirely.
Committed NPCs

Hrothgar the Black
Arcel de Parrence
Eleanor de Perpignan
Sweyn Thunderspear
The Nashorn
Talit'yrash'osmax
Perceval de Perpignan

Drudgunzean Marches

The Kressian Marches stab into the underbelly of Parrence like a dagger in the hand of the country’s enemies. Emboldened by a fresh wave of recruits, the Eskandr march northward, led by Queen Astrid on dragonback. Joined at the Kressian border by troops from their newly-committed ally, led by Dietrich von Sturmfeld, they aim to strike from below, in an area left less defended due to the urgency of the situation out East. It is known by all that the capital, Solenne, is not so very far north of this region, and if the capital falls, so does the country, by all rights. Arcel and Eleanor are both distant. Many of Parrence’s most famous champions are fighting in various campaigns nowhere near Drudgunze. Messengers from Solenne have sent out urgent summons for more soldiers and letters of exhortation to King Otto of Lindermetz, their nominal ally to the west of Kressia, to intervene. The Drudgunzean king is an inscrutable man, however. The situation may indeed be a dire one.
Committed NPCs

Sir Rodric, The Laughing Knight
Otto of Lindermetz
Thorunn Silverhair
Astrid Fireborn
Gudrid Fangtooth
Bjorn Coldfist
The Skyygge

In O R I F L A M M E → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Sasha is approved! Welcome aboard.
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Oraff and Eshiran 𝅗𝅥 𝅘𝅥 𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝅘𝅥𝅯 𝅘𝅥𝅰

For five hours, as Oraff took her part of the day, Eshiran - in truth - reigned supreme over Ersand'Enise. It was the annual Melon Derby, first event of the academy's famous Trials, and it played host to clashes of far greater impact and intensity than virtually anyone expected. The minds of people are queerly self-centered things: overestimating the self, scarce bothering to consider the impact of others independent of the challenge that they might pose. This was no ordinary cohort; that much was clear and, more than once, the Zenos and even the Arch-Zenos were forced to intervene. So, too, had the rules been changed, rendering moot hours of strategic planning done beforehand.

Youths from all five continents raced about the city, chasing down leads and, where something particularly valuable came into play, clashing over it. Before long, six had separated themselves from the pack. Where Zeno Born-on-Solstice's team - Lucky Seven - and their Skull & Crossbones allies fought cleverly and tenaciously for the terramelon and others, they ultimately came up short and had to make do with a sixth place finish. Zeno Luria Colloy's Team VOID, however, enjoyed more luck - and that is exactly what it was - along with their Huggy Bear allies from distant West Callanast, coming home with the firemelon and fifth place. A series of ferocious clashes in which faculty involvement was required and some backroom deals netted Zeno Fades-in-Moonlight's team Snaked and Afraid and their hegelan allies, Shortlisted, fourth place and the watermelon. Third, and the much-coveted terramelon went to the relentless exploration, melon growing, and various schemes of Zeno Sienna Afraval's squad and their Vossoriyan allies, Pravda Aeresvaktr, while second place fell to Zeno Hamir Zemana's group, who'd managed to secure both the thundermelon and the cloudmelon due to early and decisive action.

In the end, however, as with all other iterations of the storied event, somebody had to win. If it was not one team, then one alliance stood alone atop the podium. Team Gunboat Diplomats, of Zeno Zander Mozaru, and their allies, Blaze of Glory from Weggos, won not by virtue of sheer strength - which they also possessed a good deal of - but cleverness, creating false leads, building alliances, and defending their decoys as if they were real. A bitter last-second fright aside, nobody came close to figuring out their clever gambit of leaving the melon supreme hidden after touching it, creating false beams, and having Carmillia Carbonneau, whose capacity was just low enough not to trigger its effects, be the melon's carrier.

While counting and inspection was underway, students lingered, chatting. if there was some leftover bad blood, it was to be expected with so many people present who had known only victory so far in their young lives, often to the detriment of others. Then, as students gathered in the grand plaza in front of Balthazar Hall and the final standings were announced, the entire city - which appeared like nothing so much as a battleground by this juncture, began to clean and repair itself under the influence of thousands of mages' Gifts. For some, their performance was a cause for celebration. For others, lament.
Tragic and Comic

With the opening round of the competition complete, the race was on for dinner or at least snacks. Apprentice houses filled with feasting students as did inns and taverns. The city's bakeries, butchers, and food stands boasted long lines and animated conversations among those waiting. However, not all of these places were an oasis of calm. The popular student-run Zeno Bucks stand played witness to a fistfight between one of its proprietors, Zarina Al-Nader, and one of the academy's few yasoi students, Casii'fyret'alan, tensions between whom had been bubbling since their time as part of the mission to the San Agustin Refuge.

What took place afterwards was at once ugly, tragicomic, and ironic. As the two pounded each other, betting money was pilfered, tensions rose among the spectators, and a four-way species-based brawl erupted between humans, yasoi, hegelans, and eeaiko. By then, the two original combatants were sitting on the grass at the corner of the nearby arboretum, sharing a drink and a smoke, their feud laid to rest through the catharsis of simply being able to punch each other in the face.

Their rest was fleeting, however, as the Victendes auction started up shortly after, delayed until the evening due to the festivities. There, both local and visiting students bid sometimes-obscene sums on items both mundane and exotic until the final item, a strange music box with an unknown inscription, came up for grabs.

What started as an unusually competitive auction between rival students of great wealth in a game of one-upmanship morphed into something different and much darker as the bidding topped five thousand Magi. Never before had the reality of the looming war been brought home so clearly to students as it was in that moment as Evander Synesti, backed by the Doge of Revidia, and Ingrid Penderson, backed by agents of the Sovereign Pact, threw increasing sums of money at an item they knew little to nothing about. That it ended behind closed doors and with an attack by agents of an unknown entity served only to reinforce the palpable feeling of disquiet that prevailed.

Ingrid, Desmond, and Sven came away with the box and, once it became clear that it was not truly to be theirs and instead used by their governments as a means of pacifying and taming Monsigneus dragons for use in war, a rebellion of sorts was hatched. At Sven's urging, the students began gathering the kingly sum of Ỽ27,000 to pay the auctionhouse with so that they miht own the box outright. Before long, their hegelan allies were involved, as were Ismette and (with surprising enthusiasm) Benedetto. The aims of this 'Hourglass Order' yet remained nebulous, but all of its members agreed that the wrong set of people had the power and were all too eager to leave others holding the cheque for their decisions and fighting their wars.

During the darkest hours of the night, shadows fluttered across the open spaces of Ersand'Enise and lurked in the city's alleys and alcoves. Outside of the pubs and taverns, those late night oases of light, warmth, and revelry, secret correspondence and sums of clandestine money were exchanged, cloaked figures met in confidence, and the agents of the Traveler were once again active. The roundly ignored commons of the Workman's Quarter, who'd been forced to keep their heads down as the children of the rich and powerful had fought with deadly force over fruits the day before, rose early to light the fires in their hearths, clean their spaces and prepare their meagre wares for market, and dress up in the best of their humble clothing. They warmed up yesterday's food until it was safe to eat and set out, same as they did every day; same as they had for generations. As a slick coating of dewdrops clung to the city's myriad surfaces and the faint glow in the sky morphed into a hazy greyish predawn, this silent army flowed like blood through cholesterol-choked arteries to the townhomes, warehouses, and shops where they would spend their days at work. The night before had played witness to ample instances of drunken debauchery, but bricks had again reduced a half-dozen wealthy windows to crystalline splinters and two more powdered little lordlets had passed out in gutters and been relieved of their possessions. Seventy of the Century's hundred members were in evidence as the sun heaved itself over the horizon, a stern and solemn reminder of the force needed to hold peace and order apart from the clutching arms of chaos.

Bells tolled across the city to ring in 5:00 Shune and, by then, it was a keen, bright morning. The few competitors not already awake rolled out of their beds, shrugged off whatever hangovers or exhaustion they still felt, sometimes with the assistance of the Gift, and dressed themselves or had their servants do it. For last night's allies, farewells of varying fondness were given. They would meet again later as adversaries.

By the time that Shune gave way to Oraff, a vast crowd had gathered in the Grand Plaza and the air was abuzz with eager strategizing and prognostication. Hands wove their way through the air and voices rose in excitement. Once again, rules were announced, commendations handed out, and brunch served. Teams took care, this time, to linger close to potential allies and, when the three minutes for pairing were announced, they scarcely missed a beat. The tactical discussions reached a fever pitch. Warmup exercises were undertaken as others ate. Last moment trips to the privy were almost comically frequent. Some traced ideas on paper and others with the Gift. The second event was almost always the start of the separation between the elite teams and those who would fall by the wayside. It was crucial.

Next came the rule changes, announced with aplomb by the Zenith, in glowing form beneath the blustery blue sky. Huge, ethereal numbers appeared above the massive leaderboard by the fountain, counting down from five minutes, and a surge of energy was felt up on stage as time and space twisted and tore. Five swirling portals to distant locales yawned open and formerly coherent groups of ten fractured into pairs, some hesitating and debating to the bitter end. Nonetheless, eager, giddy lines formed before the great quintet and began to be ushered through. The two-hundred-fifty-six youths who emerged through each played witness to phenomenally different worlds.
Through the Portals

Those who stepped through the first found themselves on a large wooden raft, gently rocking upon a tranquil blue sea. Gulls bleated and wheeled under the late afternoon sun and, in the distance, rose the hazy shapes of islands and towering forests of balloon kelp. An otherworldly sight with their great rounded gas bladders, they swayed gently in a light breeze where they broke the surface, flocks of birds nesting upon them, spindly rope bridges tethering them to one another. Closer by were buoys made of gaily painted logs and ropes denoting the racecourse. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of canoes and small ships dotted the water's surface, packed full of the swarthy, high-cheekboned people of West Callanast. A few, opportunistically, weaved among them in maneuverable boats heavily laden with snacks and supplies, shouting repetitive slogans in singsong voices and doing a brisk trade. Eeaiko were everywhere, in and among the humans and off on their own. Some clung to the sides of the boats, chatting. Others floated on watercraft of their own, mostly awash. Still others swam or perched on rocky islets, their eyes on the competitors and some kind of shiny pearlescent currency eagerly changing hands.

The scene through the second portal was much in contrast to the first. A blazing late morning sun beat down upon a desolate dun sand desert. In the distance, beyond a veil of whipping sand that forced many of the new arrivals to shield their eyes, lay monolithic buttes and hoodoos. Vultures and small froabases circled on the rising thermals, casting rippling shadows upon the sun-beaten ground. Salty white lines were drawn into the distance, where the horizon disappeared into mirage, but the true focus lay closer to home, behind a thick chalky reddish line. Over two hundred halassa waited with varying degrees of patience and restraint, tethered to thick wooden posts that the lazy, wilful beasts could almost certainly uproot were they to bother trying. Some bucked and strained, a few snapping at others. Some ambled about on their short leashes, others rested, and a handful even slept. Handlers in desert garb hustled about the giant tortoises in a very unhurried way, jabbering rapidly in Torragonese or another strange tongue that sounded somewhat like Virangish yet was not. Their voices rose on the brisk wind and were shredded by it as they glanced back over their shoulders at the new arrivals. "You!" shouted one, "You come! You follow me and you ride halassa. Understand?"

The third portal brought with it a cold that was more than bracing. Students found themselves stepping through onto muddy grey gravel under a blustery grey sky. Up ahead lay deepening banks of snow and the blinding glimmer of the sun off of it, but that was not what drew their attention. Stout posts with threadbare banners marked out a starting line, and two lines of them stretched into the distance, onward and up-up-upward until they disappeared into the dark grey clouds around the summit of an unnaturally steep mountain. The sudden screech of a Snow Wyvern startled more than a few of the new arrivals as it circled overhead, as did the distant rumble of the Ildsjø caldera and its constant flow of lava. "Hah! No need to be scared, Greenlanders!" laughed a great big Eskandr, a grin peeking out from beneath his bushy blond beard. "Welcome to Eskand! The good one, that is! Come this way." He motioned for them to follow as thunder rumbled from the mountaintop and a ferocious gust of wind caused the colourful banners to strain at their posts and the students to shield themselves from the sharp, cold snow. A ragged but not-unenthusiastic cheer went up from the small bleachers set up nearby and the group was ushered toward their starting positions, where tall, leathery-skinned men and women on skis or snowshoes waited.

The fourth and penultimate portal proved as different from the others as night is from day - literally. Students found themselves standing on a beach under the light of five partial moons. Waves washed in and out in a steady, peaceful rhythm and torches burned into the night. Voices in conversation, barter, and laughter could be heard, and dozens of rural villagers were gathered around brightly-lit food, drink, and souvenir stands. A cheer went up as the competitors began to arrive, and the voices became excited, people in semi-silhouette leaning in, pointing, whispering, and gesticulating. Someone was going around and taking bets. A handful had brought drums and were making increasingly inebriated music with them, while a couple of children had to be pulled back by their elders. In the distance rose a subtropical rainforest, deep and tangled, with networks of tenuously torchlit paths snaking into its depths. Closer to the couple hundred youths was their guide. "Hallo, Sousern frienduhs! Walcome to Longwan! Come wiss me!" she enthused, motioning them onward. The drumming intensified. Some were ringing strange bells. Others danced with fire and burnt incense. "Come come! No worry, this is the biguh Autumn Festival. Good food! Yummy drinks!" A couple dozen children were already darting about between the new arrivals, handing them burlap sacks.

Finally, those who walked through the fifth portal walked not into some wilderness or near-wilderness but the heart of an immense city and, surely, save for the sole hegelan among them, it was like none they had ever seen. Taking their places in a sizable plaza, they found themselves within a vast underground cavern, its innards lit by blazing white fires and an intricate system of giant mirrors and crystals, as well as brilliant shafts of light that streamed through tunnels carved deep into the stone that separated this place from the world outside. On top of these, tiny gas and bioluminescent lanterns twinkled in the dimmer reaches. The ornate facade of a palace loomed before the students and, from beyond it, emanated a sweltering heat and the hint of a breeze. The place was alive with light and sound and scent, the noise constant: clanging hammers, bustling voices, clattering wagons and snapping fires. Their smoke hung about in a haze toward the roof of the cavern and some dissipated through the shafts above. It was the people who were most overwhelming, though. Thousands of them - hegelans all - surrounded the plaza from balconies, bridges, and rooftops, shouting, waving, and cheering. As the last of the competitors exited the portal, a cacophony of bells began to chime and a band began to play the moment that it ceased. "If yeh'll foollo me, ih'll be raigh thess way," shouted at least a dozen guides in relatively broken Avincian. "Welcom teh Hogh Munkhelad!"


When the last of the students had settled in, signals were exchanged over vast distances and the wizened heads of a half-dozen Arch-Zenos nodded. The swirling holes in reality that had brought the students there winked out of existence. It was scarcely a minute later when new ones were formed, linking the disparate legs of the race. Over in the Rainbow Sea, under a sun that glared golden in the competitors' eyes, A stout man wearing a regal crown of feathers, silver, and precious stones raised his arms and let his body fill with magic. "Nswi... niizh... bezhik...Gagwejikazh!" He dropped them.

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Let the Race Begin!
In O R I F L A M M E → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Act Two: Scattered to the Winds____ __ _ _

Chapter Five: Calamity to Crisis_________ __ __ _ _



𝅘𝅥𝅮

It was shortly before midday when the katterhorns started up. Already, there had been a trickle of smoke from the direction of the Grøntempel and it had been a subject of idle conversation lately. Perhaps they were making some sort of offering. Maybe it was merely garbage being burnt in the yards beyond. Perhaps it was truly a fire in their sacred place. Many were still on edge over the havetskriger that had gotten loose the day before. Now, however, the great rasping cries of these horns rose into the cool spring air, harsh and crisp, and echoed off of the fjord walls. People paused in their daily errands and work, searching about with eyes and voices, and there were now other ribbons of smoke rising from the city: more than the usual assortment of cooking fires and forges. So it was that the city of Meldheim, heart of the Eskandr lands, lurched from calamity to crisis.

The people of this place did not yet know it - for it had been centuries since anyone had dared attack their capital - but all of the misfortune that they were now to endure was the work of Parrench infiltrators. These had been based in Rigevand for the past handful of days and their true nature unknown even to many of the Quentic converts who called the village home. For, as much as they now kept the gods of the greenlanders, they were still Eskandr and would have almost certainly rebelled at the prospect of their guests putting the city to the torch.

The katterhorns continued to sound, people scrambled, and fires spread. Within ten minutes, soldiers, firefighters, and sorcerers were running about the streets. The Grøntempel was fully ablaze now and a growing crowd gathered on the mountainside outside of the city walls. From this multitude rose cries and lamentations as they watched Meldheim burn. A punishment that they had so eagerly and thoughtlessly inflicted upon others had now turned its ire upon them.

As thousands streamed out of the capital's gates, chaos took their places within. For every fire put out, there seemed to be another three. Thieves and opportunists ransacked dwellings and plundered shops. Enemies of the Eskandr continued their work with a grim sort of glee. Then came the flooding, in earnest now. Streets became streams, cellars filled, and anything left unfastened was swept away.

Into this stepped Queen Astrid and the Æresvaktr. Whatever exhaustion lingered inside of them from the day before was nothing in comparison to the urgency they felt in action. Countermeasures were enacted, and stormclouds began to form over the city. Over a dozen Parrench either surrendered or were struck down in the midst of their crimes. Kol, Vali, and Arne were dispatched to the hotspots: the Kongesalan and Grontempel, the docks and the market, to both blunt the catastrophe and hunt down the ringleaders: people they'd likely met before on the battlefields of Relouse. Silently, the hooded figure of the Skygge joined them, but a dilemma remained: fight the fires, save the people, and salvage the treasures soon to be lost, or bring the arsonists and raiders to justice?

Yet there were more raiders now. The Sea People rose from the river and its ruined locks, dozens of them invading the palace and plundering wantonly. If they had not come as an army, they had come just the same and it was yet another figurative fire that the Eskandr had to put out. Too many! There were altogether too many and it was a mystery, a punishment, a farce that this had been allowed to happen! The water barbarians ran eagerly about, filling sacks of sea-cloth with whatever they could find, jabbering in their strange language, and chanting mocking songs. It was a tragedy: something to run from.

Yet, around the far hook of the harbour, a trio of knarrs rounded the headland, unremarkable but for their sparse crews and unerring path right into the mouth of it while many were trying so hard to escape. Aboard were Trygve, Maud, and Lazy-Eye Jacques. Of the strange swamp girl, Nettle, there was naught to be found and nothing had been seen of her since she had gone to tame the havetskriger. Already, they could see a few familiar faces along the docks: some who'd come with them and some who'd been rescued from Meldheim's prison. There were just a few more: a few more who needed to make it there. They could afford to wait around for fifteen more minutes. Then, whoever remained behind at that point would remain behind for good.

The hourglass was trickling, the pieces were moving and, as Maud watched from the boat, a heavy wind swept flames in the direction of the Kongesalan. A dozen small fires were now licking at the mighty building's periphery. Though the Tree of Life had not yet caught, one would have to think it would be only a matter of minutes. Trygve could not bear to look at it. "Træet er helligt. Vi burde ikke gøre dette," (The tree is sacred. We shouldn't be doing this,) he mumbled under his breath. Busy racing through the burning streets of the city where he had grown up, Svend glanced back and felt a pang of... something. Coming back here, playing the role of this Jarl Bjorn or Alsfard. It had awakened in him not a love for the old gods, for they were false, but at least for his own tongue, his own people and culture, and he felt himself a traitor, an eternal outsider among these Parrench. The die, however, was cast. He had chosen his path and, whatever regrets now welled up inside of him, it was his to walk.

Then, flames touched the great tree that rose from the roof of the Kongesalan and everybody within Meldheim was compelled to gaze upon it.


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