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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 → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

♬
Tyrel could recall, as if she were still there, the satisfying creak of the floorboards underfoot: so well-worn by the thousands of feet that must’ve come and gone over the years. The scent of pine needles in the burgeoning stresia remained as vivid as if she were nine years old again, pacing about, talking anxiously and excitedly with the other girls, swinging her lone foot back and forth when she’d forced herself to sit. She could picture it perfectly: the smoothed and ancient nail that she’d rested the toe of her boot against. It had stuck up just enough to act as focus for her racing mind. The warm sun and the faint songs of dowsingjays had visited her from the large, curved windows, and dust motes had swirled and sparkled in the golden air, ethereal.

There had been five of them, at first, remembered as colours, sounds, and feelings: Ailette, mousy brown, spectacles, and a rigorous, factual energy that flirted with the edge of aloofness; Ynorii, black-haired, Nikanese, foreign and shy but, when she opened up, warm, goofy, and… perhaps more mature than the others; Pluurii, white hair, pale, cynical, and awkward, fingers contorting themselves, foot tapping incessantly, glances stolen at a limb too recently lost; Thantra, red-orange, laughter, a best friend for a day, bright and energetic, hands held, games played, and circles upon circles danced. They were supposed to have kept in touch.

Five girls, they had been, all of an age, all with a burgeoning gift for magic, and made one-legged through birth, calamity, or illness. Then, there had arrived the woman with the bird-eyes. Tyrel did not remember her name, but she remembered her bearing. It was that of a bird, and not the friendly dowsingjays that her people so often kept as companions. She had walked like a gastornis: tall among the children and seated parents, with measured steps and eyes that flicked about, seeking either predators or prey. She had smiled like the other adults and spoken similar kinds of words in her lilting Constantian accent, but Tyrel had not liked her. Some animal part of the girl's mind had instinctively avoided the woman, but she had not been able to avoid the little shadow that pooled behind her legs, dark and clumsy and desperately wishing not to be noticed: Juulette.

There had been something in Tyrel that day, and she had shared it with Thantra. She had wanted to kick Juulette. The tiny girl had looked at them with these huge, dark, fearful eyes, flinching when they’d taken so much as a step toward her. She’d thumped and clunked about awkwardly on her crutches, bumping into the bird-woman more than once and recoiling in apologetic horror, but never too far away. Instead, she’d just lurked, leg drawn up, gripping her elbows with her hands, eyes burning into their backs as they’d played but then fleeing whenever Tyrel or Thantra had returned their gaze. Were the bird-woman not there, they might’ve talked to her, maybe in the cruel fashion of children or maybe out of sympathy. She was like a wounded rabbit in rezain: either something to be nursed back to health or put out of its misery.

When the priestesses had asked their questions, she had mumbled and stuttered and lisped and Tyrel had flushed with both revulsion and shame for looking down on someone so clearly less fortunate. It was hard to recall, now, a time when she had not been the Avatar of Vyshta, but a fear had nestled inside of her, just as she assumed it had in all six of the girls present, that she would not be the one. She would just be an unremarkable girl with a missing leg. Only, she had passed the church’s battery of tests. She had been chosen and consigned the others to that fate. Only Pluurii had seemed unbothered. Tyrel remembered the sight of small girls burrowing their faces into the folds of their mothers’ clothing. She remembered Juulette silently running away and she had followed her.

“It isn’t me. It isn’t me,” the tiny girl had repeated with rhythmic obsession, sitting on a tree branch, hugging her knee to her chest and crying. Tyrel was unsure, to this day, whether those had been tears of failure or tears of joy. Juulette had shaken, but her back had been turned and the sight of her had been unnerving. Whether it was anxiety, relief, or madness' silent laughter, one could not say. A nine-year-old Tyrel had stood there, in the shadows where the floor above loomed over the balcony, for a good long time, her stomach squeezing itself weak and hazy. She hadn’t known what to say. She’d only known that she needed to say something. Then, a door had opened, the bird-woman had arrived, and the Avatar of Vyshta had fled like a small animal.

It was but a speedbump. An entire two years early, she'd been granted the honour of a cognomen. Some had pushed for her to take ‘Vyshta’, as was her right, and she might’ve been Tyrel’vyshta’dichora, but her family had already been calling her Tyrel’yrash for years, to differentiate her from her mother, so she’d kept the humbler name and was glad of it. Damy would not like arrogance. Every night, she knelt by her bedside and prayed to him that she and he might be reconciled when she ascended. Fate and Fortune did not need to be enemies, so she would tell anyone in her official role as a living goddess. Yet, if she was lauded and beloved, heralded as a prodigy, a centre of attention, so had been a hundred other Avatars before her. They had all died by their twenty-fifth year and, every so often, when she did not have Chad for sex or Miret for comfort, when she was alone, Tyrel wished some other girl had been chosen. Let it have been Juulette, or… It felt wrong to place the burden on anyone else.

Of the other five, she’d seen only Ailette, in passing, as she was some sort of chemist at the academy now, speaking in incomprehensible mathematics, using instruments of science to create and destroy and eschewing magic as an end unto itself. They had never had much in common. The Avatar shifted in bed, the space too big for her. Miret was out late… being what she was. Chad was absent. There had been too many whispers that he was more than a luush’elar - that they were exclusively wedded in the fashion of humans and other lesser peoples - and so he attended to others, as one of his status was expected to. Sweet Chad and the genuine person behind his put-on arrogance and winking jokes. He consumed her. Tyrel lay there and stared at the swirling patterns of the ceiling, where branches had been woven together to form it. Virtuous. The Avatar of Vyshta must be virtuous and seen as such, or she would not live. A tear weighed on the lashes at the corner of her eye and she let it slide away into her pillow.
In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
♫
Present: Esmii @BlackRoseSiren, Oksana @Ti, Yuliya [@Arte], Marz @Th3King0fChaos, Yvain @jasbraq, Roslyn @Fallenreaper, and Khaliun @YummyYummy
Desperate Camaraderie

Night came upon Kirimansk, and it was a cold, silent thing. The streets were somber and largely empty, save for the occasional howl of a dog or clatter of loose rubble skittering down a ravine that had once been scenic but now seemed threatening. The lone exception to this was in the immediate vicinity of the гостиница золотая река - the Golden River Inn - where light spilled out in warped yellow triangles from a handful of windows and the sounds of drinking, laughter, and revelry reached into the darkness.

Many of these were locals. Six were students of Ersand’Enise and their semi-local guide. Strictly speaking, all might’ve been better served by serious discussion on what had happened so far and what was to come. However, what had happened before and what was to come were subjects of overwhelming stress, and so they were here drinking, instead. When they drank, things happened…


A small, scraggly Vossoriyan man was swinging at Sven. Penny blinked and sat stalk-straight as she witnessed the giant Eskandr block it with ease. The attacker was shouting angrily in his native tongue and Sven was responding in a confused and jarringly non-lisping tone. Her alcohol-addled mind told her to jump in and try to defuse matters, but within less than thirty seconds, Marz and three more locals had joined in and she was seated astride one of them, pounding the woman to a pulp.

Then, Yvain was there, along with a giant of a woman, and it was an out and out brawl. For the next five minutes, they pounded each other, taking out all of the frustrations they must’ve felt at the recent calamities they had faced. In the end, Penny sat on the ground, chest heaving and someone else’s blood spattering her pretty dress. She brushed a few strands of sweaty, disheveled hair from her face and pawed gingerly at a nose that felt… Is it broken!?

Then the boys were flexing and complimenting each other and - to be fair - her as well. It was a desperate sort of laughter and camaraderie that followed: something they were in sore need of following the disaster that had been Tagayungri. Yvain paid for any damage to the tavern and they filled the next half-hour with armwrestling. Of course, Penny didn’t legitimately beat any of the men and, once the adrenaline started to wear off, she quickly realized just how many injuries she had picked up: a broken nose and pinkie finger, three split knuckles, a tender rib, and a badly bruised stump.

The little group of four brawlers plus Esmii ended the night staggering outside through the empty streets, their breath coming out in crystalline puffs and lingering in the cold Stresian air. When they reached the cutoff point where magic started to return, they wasted little time in healing their wounds and trudging back towards the Golden River, the spirit that had animated them through the raucous night having faded somewhere in the intervening time. All of the others were abed by that unholy hour, and they were not long in following.

♫

Yet, for one more member of their group, the night was not something to be slept through. Having been sent along late after her peers, Roslyn Wicke, a brewer’s daughter and unlikely heiress to a rather humble fief in southwest Hendland, had spent the past night and day on a rickety river barge that rocked and groaned with the current. Four cages full of chickens clucked softly under the light of two full moons, old man Boris snored like one of the foghorns out by Morcester on the coast, and Andrei and Natasha were thumping, sighing, and giggling as they did… The motion of the ship had churned her stomach, stirring Roslyn awake and out onto the deck. Her chattering teeth spilled warm breath into the frosty air. She raised a palm, pressing it into the dark rings around her eyes. Feeling the grit dug away, she rested against the chilly rail to gaze at the stars. Gradually her gaze drifted down to observe the looming cliffside. Shortly, the Belykuska entered a gorge. Recalling her knowledge, this marked the final approach to Kirimansk.

A Rude Awakening || ♫ || ♫

They were awoken by the ringing of church bells. It was Victendes and the Veterite Church was not so very different from the mainline Avincian Quentic one in that regard. They rose from various beds in various states of wretchedness, yawning, stretching, and blinking. A couple buried their heads under pillows. One or two were somehow bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Nazih looked particularly rough, however: lethargic, cold, and repeatedly rolling his neck as he tried to work a kink out of it.

They gathered in the downstairs tavern where they had caused such a ruckus the day before, braving a handful of sour looks and narrowed eyes. Breakfast was nearly over and many others, for all that they might’ve seemed a rough-hewn people, were attending mass at St. Artyom’s Cathedral or one of the two smaller outlying churches. It was in one of these - Ahn-Dami the Shrewd - that the larger group had planned to meet up with Yuliya and Khaliun.

First, however, they had to make their way through the town, and this was chaos, what with the ongoing rescue and reconstruction efforts - sans magic - the normal Victendes traffic, and their unfamiliarity with Kirimansk, save Oksana, who was only passingly familiar. It was during this winding journey, complete with at least two wrong turns, that Esmii shared the harrowing story of her journey into a sealed-off cave the evening before and what she had learned. Gravity itself seemed to be askew, and it did not take long before people were already proposing this as a cause of the quake that had so devastated the town recently.

They did not have long to speak, however.

Wandering about the port, a flutter of butterflies raced within Roslyn's midriff. She had stepped off the boat onto the sparsely crowded dock. Her hand clutched her bag close, comforting and anchoring in her in the moment. She frowned as frustration and worry built in her chest.

Her head turned from one direction to another, seeking any sign of other students here. Roslyn worried she had gotten lost upon arrival. She paused as she debated on her next actions and a small sigh escaped from her lips. The young woman had started back to retrace her steps when a voice called her name: “Roslyn!? Roslyn Wicke?” It was Penny’s voice, but she was addressing a confused-looking woman who was wandering about near the docks, in distinctly foreign dress. “I know her from conversion class with Jocasta!” she assured the rest of her party.

Rolsyn turned about to face the source. A familiar face brought her anxiety down as she recognized her classmate. With a quick step, she made short work of the distance between her and the group. "I thought I had gotten lost for a moment there."

Thus, the party’s final member joined them, resulting in a delay of a further twenty minutes while she rushed over to the Golden River to deposit her belongings, and then back, where she was filled in on their earlier discussions.

By the time that the group of now eight arrived at the doors of Dami the Shrewd, the church was busy disgorging its worshippers back onto the muddy streets. Presently, a decade of monks in dark robes shuffled past in the direction of the near-distant cliffside monastery they had seen on their way in. Eight wore blue kamilavkas and the remaining two, red. For half of the students, this was the first tingle of magic they had felt since arriving, though it was fuzzy and hard to grasp, as if their manas remained agitated. They found Yuliya and Khaliun soon after, seated in the rearmost pews, engaged in idle - and mostly one-sided - conversation. After slightly confused introductions were made, for nobody had expected Roslyn, it was quickly down to business. Sven, surprisingly, took the lead and laid out their objectives as succinctly as one could with their limited information:

One: find the crate that they had been sent to retrieve.
Two: discern the extent of the anti-magic field and try to use this to find its origin.
Three: learn more about the recent quake and see if it might be connected to the other two.
Four: investigate the strange phenomena in the caverns.

To this end, their local guides offered the following:

One: the monks were members of the Druzdyan Order of St. Artyom, dedicated to the care of the sacred springs that existed in the caves and caverns that peppered the cliffs beneath the town.
Two: The caves had once been a minor holy site and subject to some pilgrimage, but were now sealed off to visitors and had been for some years.
Three: Kirimansk was one of the last places conquered by the invading Vossoriyans and many of the residents were of mixed blood or even descended from its original inhabitants. Khaliun, though not from the city itself, was one of these people.
Four: A good deal of trade from Hoch Dorumvir and even Hagh Ramorghand passed through the town, and hegelans were not a rare sight, though they had become so lately.

With these ideas squarely in mind, it was decided that the group would split into pairs and work to cover as much ground as they could, with Nazih eagerly volunteering to investigate the caverns and the strange phenomena there. It was up to the others to decide who they would pair with and where they would go.

Action Opportunities



In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
CS Review
Hi @Fallenreaper! I've read your CS and, below, you'll find my feedback and some recommendations. Thanks for getting this finished and have a good move!
Observations:

1) Your background research on brewing really shone through. I liked the section on her use of The Gift.
2) I appreciate that you're willing to have her be a bit biddable and gullible without it being a meme. Nuance is good.
3) The cherune bit was interesting and could feed into something in the future.
4) I liked the section on her motivation. It's succinct, impactful, and establishes strong stakes for the character.
5) Inventory is really good as well. The items, as chosen, are both evocative and practical.
6) I like the dancing bit. Just a small detail that helps paint a picture.
7) Overall, in the interest of some constructive criticism, the fit and finish could be a bit better, but there are no glaring issues and she meshes well with the feel of the world and the RPG. Address the typos listed below when you can. Roslyn is accepted!


In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
♫
Present: Esmii @BlackRoseSiren, Oksana @Ti, Yuliya [@Arte], Marz @Th3King0fChaos, Yvain @jasbraq, and Khaliun @YummyYummy
The Night Before

It was late, but there were no crickets to remind them so. Penny lay awake in bed - if you could call it that. In reality, it was little more than a pile of furs on top of some tightly-packed straw. There were a few of them to each mattress and, next to her, lay Yuliya. Couldn’t you be jammy instead? she thought, but then, feeling guilty, she glanced over at her friend. Yuliya was just fine. It was this entire situation that was trying. Everybody wanted her help on their terms, their way, and it was almost as if she were a tool. Penny did not like being a tool.

On the other side, Yuli was trying to sleep. But she felt the eyes of another boring into her head. She had trouble sleeping at night to be truthful, especially after her rations had been taken. Alas, she turned over to face her bunkie, and forced a small smile alongside a few words “Can’t sleep?”.

“I can dream?” Penny laughed. She shook her head and sat up, pulling her knee to her chest and resting her chin on it. Her eyes darted about in the dark, regarding the others: there was only Esmii and she appeared to be sound asleep. The petite yasoi even snored. That hadn’t exactly… helped with the whole ‘falling asleep’ thing. She decided to just say it. “I was approached by the Arch-Zeno. He basically blackmailed me into… doing what he wanted. Now, these ungrateful fuckers.” She grit her teeth. “Ironically, Silas was right. We should’ve just moved on.”

“Mhm. Or killed the thing. If snoring hippie could have talked sense to her man, we could be on road two days ago.” she spoke a little groggily, but joined Penny in sitting up regardless. These Arch-Zenos had some intense nerve. Who were they to tell Penny what to do? Or her, for that matter?

Penny snorted at the mention of ‘snoring hippie’, but her mirth cleared after a moment. “At some point, you know, we have to take the reins ourselves. I’ll give tomorrow a shot, but if it doesn’t work, I’m blasting that thing.” She paused and checked on Esmii again. “Truth be told? I don’t think we can trust everyone here.” She shook her head. “And I’m not referring to the dumb ones.”

Yuli nodded. “We can trust Yvain, right? And I don’t think Marz is suspect either.” she spoke and pondered for a moment. That left the suspects to Sven, Esmii, Nazih and Silas. “Do you think it’s hippie couple? Or are they part of the dumb ones?”

“Definitely dumb,” Penny whispered guiltily. She thought about Sven, though, and reevaluated him. “Well, not dumb, per se, but naive - idealistic.” She shook her head. “Yvain, we can explicitly trust. He’s a blood relation.” She didn’t outright say it but, at this point, they both essentially knew the other’s second secret. “If the Traveler has her grubby fingers in this, then it’s either Nazih or Silas, and…” she trailed off, looking significantly at Yuliya.

Yuli scratched her neck for a moment, before looking back at Penny. Certainly interesting candidates. “Do you think it could be both?” she inquired. She thought for a moment. She supposed the powergazer would make a natural case, but she always got the vibe he was too selfish for that sort of behaviour. Nazih as a potential suspect surprised her though, wasn’t he supposed to be some sort of noble? He did have interesting smelling blood however… She silenced her thoughts and listened before she felt the hunger too deeply.

“Could be,” the Perrenchwoman allowed, “but one has a possible motivation, while the other…” She scrunched up her face. “What reason would a Darhannic noble like Nazih have for siding with the Traveler?” She was antsy, desirous of rising but also not quite willing to brave the cold. Esmii, meanwhile, rolled over and ceased snoring for a moment and the two conspirators to her left went stone-quiet. Then, thankfully, there was a little sniff and a light snore and the yasoi was back to sleeping normally. Penny grinned wickedly for a moment. “For some reason, I just wanna tug them lil’ pointy ears.” Presently, she returned to her earlier train of thought. “If the Traveler has someone here, it’s Silas.”

Yuliya had always dismissed him but, while Penny saw someone selfish in him, the little scamp was also clever, in his own way. Her friend was underestimating him and he was exactly the sort who could be radicalized. He’d come from nothing, after all, and she had seen, firsthand, how easily the emotions of such people could be manipulated all the way to the point of them being willing to murder or martyr themselves.

A flash of anger and realization appeared on Yuli’s face. A memory went through her head - the night of the Lednikrayva. Silas had been there for the beginning, but he had not been there after the ‘specter’ had shown up. Pieces of a puzzle she never realized existed continuously went through her mind, and it all began to make sense. And as quick as she made that realization, she knew what must be done. Perhaps she would have allowed this nonsense to take place at the school, but not in her home country, not when the lives of her people were at stake, and she held responsibility for them. In a hushed and far more serious tone, Yuli looked into Penny’s eyes and spoke “We will have to watch him. Maybe Nazih too. I think they are close. I watch rat boy, you watch darhannic?”

Penny pursed her lips. They would certainly bear watching, and maybe even intervention, though she hoped not. She nodded. “Agreed.”
After the Fall

It was… a sendoff. If Elder Ozodbek was not jubilant, if he was not bowing in thanks, he at least expressed his gratitude. There was no parade, but there was a hearty dinner in their honour and even a monetary reward that was perhaps just on the right side of insultingly paltry. Some of the people of Tagayungri grumbled that it might have been better to kill the begemot, but it was not them who’d ever had the ability to do so, and so the choice had not ultimately been theirs to make. Sven and Esmii had gotten their way, and the former bordered on smug about it, eager to remind his fellow biros to ‘have a little faith and do the right thing.’ The latter was playing around with the ruce seed extract, examining its properties as a sedative magically, while Nazih appeared to show an interest as well.

Penny, meanwhile, was busy speaking in gestures and a few shared words with the village women she had befriended, as Yuliya conversed in hushed tones with Nikolai. The children swirled about Yvain and a handful of girls glanced his way and whispered among each other. Marz and the village smith talked shop, the Hegelan seeming less than impressed but at least somewhat politic about the matter. They all found bread and meat stuffed into their travel bags. Even Ilvir was welcomed in, surprisingly, to be offered a grudging thanks before he departed and a more genuine one from most of the students.

Yet, just as he had at another gathering some months earlier, Silas disappeared midway through this one as well. Few noticed amid the general merrymaking, but a couple did…Yuliya was one such person, and she found ample reason to excuse herself from her brief conversation with Nikolai and went to find the abscondee, glancing Penny’s way as she exited. The Perrenchwoman, however, was deep in the middle of some story, and did not seem to notice. The Vossoriyan’s natural path took her to the river, thinking that perhaps her quarry had made his way onto the boat ahead of everybody else, but she was not a wild tracker, and did not find any trace of footprints, neither with her magic sense was she able to locate him. Even her honed senses were out of luck, perhaps because of the environment or the beating sun, or maybe it was the lad’s skill in being a thief.

The docks were barren of activity with only the winds and flow of the river filling the silence in the air. Parked in its lonesome was a large riverboat with no energy signature to be felt inside. It was tied to one of the many bollards on the docks, and sat upon that wooden structure was a warm body that made no effort to hide itself. They wore a hood and the royal Vossoriyan crest was easy to see on the individual’s shoulder. Whoever it was, Yuliya would know this person, but their face remained obscured.

“You finally came home.” spoke the figure, her voice all too familiar to the princess. “And you’re down a unit.” she raised her chin to reveal her tanned face and dual braids hanging over her shoulders. It was Khaliun, the royal sentry.

Yuli smiled in surprise.. This was a familiar face she was all too glad to see at this moment. For tracking someone, she was worth five of anyone in her group, and she was someone Yuliya could explicitly trust. Best of all, it was someone she could speak to in her native tongue. “Not a moment too late, I hope. Though perhaps that ‘unit’ has gotten too far to do anything about anymore.” she spoke, walking towards Khaliun with a mix between a friendly grin and an annoyed grimace. “It is good to see you again, though as much as I wish to talk to you, I’m going to have to ask you to do something for me. We need to track that stray, and put it down.”

“Of course.” answered Khaliun as she heard the request. The lightest of pushes had her just an inch over the ground, feet hidden inside her cloak, as she seamlessly floated by the Vossoriyan Sanguinaire. “He broke off twenty minutes ago. Going North.” she took her time, narrowing her eyes as if she was focusing on something, even if she was looking at nothing in particular. “I could stop him. Even kill him, but -” her eyebrows furrowed, “If I misfire, he’ll be onto us and panic. Better to confirm the task on the spot with my coverage. Do you agree?” she twisted toward Yuliya and tilted her head as she waited.

Yuli paused for a moment, and thought about it. A tethered could squeeze his heart and squish it, but the chance of a misfire could make this far more complicated than it needed to be. The alternative was preferable, but they needed to be inconspicuous. She procured two prime shots from her pack, and handed one to Khaliun. The Tethered took the juice and stared at it. “Hegelan elixir. It pleases me to see you are more cautious this time around, my Lady.” the lid flicked off, and she drank. “Mmm. How many more do you have?” Yuli polished hers off, and stifled the need to vomit “Four more. Should be plenty for the mission at hand, but I’ve learned some lessons from the past.” She spoke and nodded. She pondered for a moment more, before coming up with an idea. “We need to be inconspicuous. You keep on tailing him, I will meet with a couple of the others and tell them to look in different directions, then regroup with you north. Then we will finish the job.” Khaliun nodded.

It was perhaps a couple of minutes after that conversation that Yuliya strode into the village hall and announced that Silas was missing. Maybe he had hoped to be quick and return before they noticed him missing or at least before they were ready to depart. Maybe he’d had enough - Penny guiltily revealed that he had confided his doubts in her - and simply decided to leave. Nazih recalled that he’d had a girlfriend, of sorts, who lived not too far to the north, in Kagan. Whatever the powergazer had been thinking was not of much import. What mattered now was finding him. Yuliya, who knew the land best, did not even wait for anyone else to volunteer. She headed due north with great pace. Penny headed south, along the river, taking Yvain with her. Marz went northeast, on a general course towards Hoch Dorumvir, along with Nazih. Sven and Esmii forded the river and searched west.

Later afternoon gave way to evening, and evening ticked towards nightfall. Shadows stretched long and jagged across the plains, and the sun perched, orange and perilous, atop the slalom course of the mountains. First back were the two Perrench, and Penny threw herself onto a bench outside of the elder’s residence. They had gone for quite some ways, augmented by Kinetic magic, and even strayed from the river bank. They had found nothing. Sven and Esmii returned as the last of the day’s light faded, equally empty handed. Marz and Nazih came back with the stars, frustration evident on their faces once they reached torchlight.

The six of them sat there in the burgeoning cold, their breath starting to turn into frost in this Godsforsaken place. Sven took a couple of steps forward. “At least it’s pretty out here,” he remarked, gazing up at the stars. Esmii hurried up beside him and the wrapped arms around each other. “There’s so many!!!” she wondered aloud. Gradually, the others got up to join them, and it was as if the Gods decided to award the small, shivering group of youths who had set out together on this thankless journey. A ghostly but brilliant scarlet glow lit the distant sky over the mountains, rippling in the night air and they all watched it undulate. Even some of the villagers emerged, casting their gazes that way. A portent of good fortune, it was declared, and Nikolai told them that none had ever seen anything quite like it.
Still, they wished that Yuliya, who had gone alone to the best of their knowledge, could have seen it. The hour was now dangerously late and she was missing, along with Silas…

Alas, not much longer passed before a tired Yuliya appeared on the horizon. Whilst the others had mostly retired for the night, only Penny remained, glancing up at the beautiful, merciless sky and shooting the odd glance at the horizon in some potent mix of anticipation and trepidation. The Vossoriyan maintained a vigilant gaze forward, her walk steady and calm. It took perhaps a minute still for Penny to recognize her friend in the distance and they found themselves reunited in shouted greetings, exaggerated expressions and, finally, a well-earned embrace. “Nothing, then, right?”

Yuliya shook her head.

“Well, at least you’re safe,” said the Perrenchwoman fondly, a pang of loss for Silas sequestered away. “At least we’ve still got you.”

Yet, if one Aurora had faded, another lingered beyond the mountains for quite some time, waiting, hoping, and then - with growing anxiety - dreading. This one had seen the brilliant red display in the clouds that so evoked another name: seen it and now, alone and cold in the mountains, knew what it had meant.
Kirimansk

Some stayed up late, hoping. Others fell into an uneasy sleep, but they had already delayed their departure twice and they delayed it still a third time. One more night in those horrid straw and fur beds. How the royals among them loved those. How they bore it with little complaint if it meant that their classmate and - perhaps even friend, for a couple of them - would be there when they woke up.

However, the morning brought no such relief, so they rose and conferenced. Yuliya, subdued for most of the past couple days, took the lead this time, seeming finally to have much to say. “None of us find Silas. I look extra hard, and still no luck. I think he don’t want be found.” she spoke, shaking her head in disappointment. “Нам нужно двигаться. Нет вопросов.(We need to move. No questions.)” she spoke to Nikolai in her native language, keeping the same disappointed facial expression as prior, her tone remaining the same.
Nikolai shook his head. “She is right. I’m sad to say it.” He paused to swallow. “This village owes you a debt that it can’t repay. I do as well, but there is a more serious crisis ahead and we can continue to search for your friend. We will send him onwards if we find him.” His expression settled, implacable. “You cannot afford to take any more time.”

It was naught but five minutes before they were packed, dressed, and making their way down to the docks. There, they found someone waiting for them. “You’re late.” Khaliun remarked, hood down and her fingers occupied with finishing her left braid as she sat on the same bollard as the day prior. “An entire day’s worth of late. We will miss our window.” she pushed herself off her seat after finishing her hair and began to levitate the same way they had seen Jocasta do, with her legs hidden behind her cloak. “I encourage you to hurry.” with a flick of her wrist, the sails were raised and the rope tethering the boat to land had been retreated.

It was a large riverboat, with a reinforced bow and clinker hull, along with lateen sails and poles for navigating the occasional rapids it would inevitably encounter. There was a small cabin, a tiller, and a mostly-open hold. It appeared as if the tethered had slept aboard the night before after arriving at some point during the day. Ushered aboard, they bid farewells that were, in some cases fond and in some perfunctory. Then, they set off down the Belykuska River. It was, for the first time that they could remember during this entire ordeal, relatively stress-free. Mountains gave way to steppe and the river widened as it continued and tributaries joined it. Drifts of snow piled up in valleys and against cliffsides. Great taiga forests coated the rolling hills and eagles circled overhead.

That night, they slept within the cabin, piled up against each other on naught but furs, with Esmii’s snoring to provide a constant backdrop. They sailed through the night and awoke in the morning at a small cossack village, where they came ashore for twenty minutes, traded for supplies, and continued onward. A second afternoon passed before Khaliun duly informed them that they were near.

It was as golden hour was dipping into sunset that they entered the vast gorge that led to Kirimansk. Great shadows stretched across the ancient stone faces and agitated currents roiled beneath them. The riverboat rocked and the poles were retracted lest they be lost, for the depth was too great for them to be of use anyhow. They sighted their first huts: a cluster above the cliffside, with a handful of residents peering over at them. One little boy waved. The others merely watched.

On they continued, as the outskirts of the town hove into view. A small monastery hunkered beneath the overhang of a great cliff, built right into it, and down a few flights of stone steps, lay a small dock. The burgundy-robed monks glanced up at them as they moved about their daily chores. Yet, something seemed… amiss. They were few when they should have been many.

The current lashed and swirled and the Belykuska was filled with pale grey-brown silt, perhaps in some homage to its name. They were now passing through the outliers and Kirimansk itself came into view as people blinked and shielded their eyes against the near-setting sun. As they drew closer they began to see, however, that something was wrong, and considerably so. Great flocks of crows and other carrion-eaters, including a trio of truly immense birds, circled over a portion of the city.

Then, they rounded a bend in the river and laid eyes upon it. Well up ahead, where the Belykuska joined the Kuska, a large area of the gorge had simply collapsed, decimating the section of the town that had formerly been built both on top of the prominence, on its slopes, and at its foot. Giant slabs of black rock stuck jaggedly out of the water and wreckage was strewn everywhere. Hundreds of people milled about, moving the debris by means mechanical, and mundane, but not magical. There appeared to be the remains of a port there as well, and rapid exchanges in Vossoriyan between Yuliya and Khaliun made it clear to the others that this had been an… unexpected wrinkle.

“There!” shouted Sven, “On the shore!” He pointed eagerly to a lone woman who’d hopped up on a large breakwater and was eagerly waving them behind it with a red flag. Khaliun shouted in her mother tongue, the movements of her mouth queerly exaggerated as she did so, and Yuliya began using hand signals. “Oksana!” exclaimed Penny, rushing over to the side. “She doesn’t hear,” the Perrenchwoman explained to the others, waving at the familiar face, and one much more welcome than Khaliun, in her subjective opinion.

As the group's attention focused on her, Oksana set to work, tossing them ropes and receiving some, and finally reeling them in as Yuliya, Marz, and Sven brought out the poles to help maneuver the riverboat into place. Her work done as Yvain and Nazih leapt ashore, the cossack hurried back to a nearby horse that must’ve been hers, swinging into its saddle. She stood before the group, then, hands poised in front of herself. With a warm smile on her face, she began signing a quick gesture, expressing the concept of 'Welcome' in a graceful manner - "Pryvit, Well-come” - as she approached. Though, upon making eye contact with Penny, she thought better of staying mounted, slid her leg over the horse, and dropped down upon the ground. Her hands moved outstretched as if hugging the air as she smiled warmly, the Perrench girl being the only one from the group who she recognised from her time in Ersand'Enise. She enfolded Penny in an embrace, smacking her hard upon the back, "Well-come to Hun-dry."

Penny coughed and returned the enthusiastic hug. “Happy to be here,” she replied, but her eyes went to the disaster zone just under a mile away. “But what happened!?”

If Oksana did not recognize the words, she knew the expression and the glances towards the scene of devastation. She shifted her signing, her expression turning more serious. Her hands traced an outline of a circle in the air, forming an imaginary boundary, while her face became solemn. Through her signs, she conveyed the concept as her fingers formed a symbolic gesture of caution, waving in a sweeping motion to alert the group to be wary further inside. "Poofth," she exclaimed, as she attempted to recreate a sound that represented failed casting with the gift. "Magiya, poofth.” She waved them a few steps further up the steep walkway and… that was when Penny felt it: Her magic. It was there and then… it was gone.

In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
♫
Present: Yalen Castel @pantothenic, Maura Mercador @Ti, Trypano Somia @A Lowly Wretch, Ingrid Penderson @dragonpiece, Niallus Saberhagen @McKennaJ71, and Abdel Varga @YummyYummy
It was 2:00 in the morning, by Retanese reckoning, when the Obake Maru appeared in the fogbanks southeast of the capital. The ship’s stern showed no port of registry and it bore neither flag nor seal. Its sails were black and it ran no lights either, appearing as stealthily and silently as its name would imply. In truth, even that name was an invented one, for people it is easier to name an uncertainty than accept it. There had always been an Obake Maru, perhaps more than one, as far back as any could care to remember.

There were men waiting for the vessel in a pair of large skiffs, and two women as well: one young and frail, blindfolded; the other dark-robed and deeper-voiced, her face covered with a mask. “Are all of these precautions really necessary?” grumbled one of the men. A couple of others glanced his way reproachingly. “Yes,” replied a somewhat elderly voice. “We’ve reached the next phase. There are more pieces in play and more at stake.” He cleared his throat as a rope ladder came down the side. The younger woman, who had been stalk-still for the entire sequence, nodded, and one of the men reached up and secured it. “The Dragon has placed his hungry young pieces on the board,” his older counterpart continued, “and, if we ever want Retan to be truly free of the yoke, we must feed them only the right meals.”

“Keep your friends close…” the older of the two women concluded. The others nodded. They knew the rest.



The hour was late, and two men sat beside a campfire. One was finely dressed. The other’s clothes were ragged. He set a mask aside and breathed heavily. “That Exemplar hits like a dragon,” he griped, and his counterpart laughed softly. “But at least he brought the goods. They got to fight the Traveler’s Agent, saw how bad he was, and got their share of institutional rot and distaste.”

His counterpart said nothing, and this made the raggedly-clothed man nervous, even against his better judgement. He continued, in Avincian, following the trend of their entire exchange to this point. “Do you think they’ll take it?” he asked with a hint of anxiousness.

His counterpart, spare in motion and response thus far, merely nodded. Then, he rose. They both knew that his night was far from finished. He had more people to meet and much yet to do.



The sun broke the horizon. There was not much sleep, and still less than there should’ve been. The sound of a strumming lute cut through the dawn-hour silence and straight through Rikard’s rest.

“Hello sleepy people, I know you haven’t slept a peep
So I'm feeling kinda bad right now that I’ll interrupt your sleep!
I can see your eyes are lazy, though the fault: she isn’t mine,
But you’ve only gotta rise, my friend. No you don’t have to shine.

Have to shi-i-i-i-ine, no you don’t have to shine!

Have to shi-i-i-i-ine, my friend: you don’t have to shine!”

His head still pounded, feeling heavy and fuzzy, and his body ached. He refused to open his eyes. Instead, rolling over and burying his head under a pillow, he willed the unwelcome noise to go away. It… did not.

“Well, I’ve only come to wake you with excitement in the air
And I think you’ll wanna hear this and I hope you’ll wanna share.
And I know your mind is hazy and you’re feeling less than fine.
But you’ve only gotta rise, my friend. No you don’t have to shine.

Have to shi-i-i-i-ine, no you don’t have to shine!

Have to shi-i-i-i-ine, my friend: you don’t have to shine!”

Fuck off, fishsticks! Fuck off! he screamed at her mentally. Bits and pieces got through, though: exciting news, sharing. Momentarily, Rikard wondered how she could be singing and strumming so loudly without all of their chaperones hearing it. Then, he remembered that she was an accomplished sonic mage. He groaned and rolled over, the moment of having to think having irreversibly woken up his brain.

“So it’s time to use some magic on your hangovers and aches,
And come down to the atrium before our babysitters wake.
Now, I betcha think I’m crazy and you wish I’d just resign,
But you’ve only gotta rise, my friend. No, you don’t have to shine.

Have to shi-i-i-i-ine, no you don’t have to shine!

Have to shi-i-i-i-ine, you bum: no, you don’t have to shine!”

Now, there was knocking on his door too. “Okay, okay!” he grumbled aloud. “I’m up!” He rose in a single smooth motion, flipping out of bed and standing. Truth be told, he was already feeling better, just the act of getting to his feet having perhaps done it. He stretched briefly and blinked. He was actually feeling really good, to be honest, as if he hadn’t just been drinking the night before and wasn’t running on perhaps three and a half hours of sleep.

Down in the atrium, people were gathering. Rikard swept for the guards and all but two - in other sections of the inn - seemed to be asleep. Mr. Wei was in the kitchen, already cooking breakfast. Yin seemed… later than usual to rise.

“Eye em saurry foor wekeng yoo aup soo erlee,” the lone eeaiko among the group began. “Eye see meny sleepy eyes.” She made a guilty, apologetic face. “Baut Eye thenk meny oof aus heve staurted too learn theengs.” She took them all in. “Eye thenk eet es e good ideea eef wee shere.”

Thankfully, it seemed as if at least some others were willing to take that leap and, in hushed voices, they exchanged what they had learned so far. Still, more than one seemed guarded. While much was shared, a handful of things were inevitably held back. Kaureerah was not one to do so, however. “Eye hev e theery,” she proposed, glancing Maura’s direction. “Wu Laung is aun aur side. Wee were naut braught too thet restauraunt by ecceedent. Eye hev thaught ebaut eet mooch, end Eye thenk hee wes tryeng too get aus eenvoolved.” She shook her head. “The goovernment ees joost keepeng aus eraund. Why? Eye cennaut sey.”

The discussion lasted the better part of half an hour and inevitably turned to what they should do next. There were numerous opportunities and leads to follow and more than one seemed to be pointing to Bailong Shan. “Maybe we should split up?” Rikard proposed. “I know we’ve got at least one ‘in’ with searching for Bao, and a couple of us have managed to cozy up to the White Knights.” He shrugged. “If we do, I call mountains!”

That was when Ingrid spoke up, still rubbing some sleep from her eyes, though everyone was surprisingly - almost unnaturally - energetic given their general lack of rest. “Hey wait… has anyone seen Xiulan?” she wondered aloud. “She’s usually getting up around now.” There was silence and a chorus of shrugs and shakes of the head followed a series of glances. Then, once more, Kaureerah spoke up. “Erly thees moorneng, Eye hoord saumoone leeve. Eye waus steel sleepy, soo Eye deedn’t sweep like en eedeeoot.” She smacked her forehead with her palm. “Coold’ve been her.”

The group broke up as Captain Zhu and his men drew near, coming back together at the large table in the atrium for their morning meal before long. Mr. Wei and Yin filtered in and out, bringing water, food, and handkerchiefs as needed. With Xiulan still absent, it fell to Maura, Abdel, and Ingrid, but most especially to the absurd(ly useful) Speaktrout to make communication work smoothly. It was discovered that their translator and guide had booked the morning off for an ‘important personal matter’. In fact, she’d even left them a note, produced by Mr. Wei.

Dear Friends,

I am sorry for my absent this morning and my distract last night. You see, I have studying for the official magic certification test very hard and now is my result date. I always had the ability to magic and I wish to use it. I have work the hardest I can and I hope to sharing this victory with you soon, but I might to have the oral test next after I pick up the result. For the morning, I arrange two things for you: a visit to the guardian station and a hiking up the White Dragon Mountain (白龙山) because I see some of you to go look it last night when you should go sleep. Tisk tisk. You can to choose the one you like. After breakfast, there will be wagons wait for you to go each one. I will meet the first group before the lunchtime. Captain Zhu and his guards will to go also. Yin will go as well. Good luck and stay safe!

秀兰
Xiulan


It was hastily decided among the group who would go where. Those who had gained some level of favour with the guardians generally decided to visit the station, in the hope of being sent on investigations within the city, for there was much to look into. Yet, just as many proved unable to resist the allure of the great mountain to the north, or perhaps there was more to it and they knew as much.



It was a cool, dusty Rezain day as the wagon they had chartered dropped them off at the base of the mountain. Noon was nearly upon them and they sipped sparingly from their flasks. A smattering of cicadas buzzed in the thickets and tall grass along the sides of the road, a last hurrah for their kind before the weather took its final plunge towards Hundri and the snow that was perhaps a month and a half from coating the ground. Yellow and reddish leaves skittered about, pushed by the wind, and there were workers out in the fields.

Yet, it was far from a peaceful scene. The large village of Jiangzuishan was bustling with people, donkeys, horses, and wagons. Many of the latter were shaped like giant barrels sliced in half lengthwise, with thick metal ribbing to strengthen them. Many of the men, leathery and sun-browned, with those ubiquitous straw hats, trudged their way up the mountainside, oversized baskets on their backs. They all seemed to be headed to where the avalanche had struck the night before when the dragon had emerged from its periodic slumber and lifted off. Of that great and noble beast, there was no indication, save for the small temple near the summit and the sacred cave and shrine just below.

It appeared to be Dai and the captain himself, Zhu Kai, accompanying them today, along with Yin, equipped with a basket of her own. “So… what, exactly, are they all gathering?” Rikard asked, glancing Abdel’s way apologetically. He’d thrown himself eagerly into learning the language, but there was only so much that one could pick up in two and a half days. Most of the men appeared to be loading red slime into the multitude of barrel-wagons, and each of the tourists peered inquisitively in their direction. Yet, a handful seemed to be handling small reddish shapes with far more care, settling them into small jars strapped securely into another couple of wagons. “那些是法力果冻。我们称他们为红色杀手。它们非常珍贵，获得它们的最佳时间是在山上发生雪崩之后。” (Those are mana jellies. We call them Red Killers. They are usually very rare and the best time to get them is after an avalanche on the mountain.) If Abdel’s translation wasn’t great, everyone at least got the idea, context being king in this instance.

Before long, Yin was skipping ahead excitedly, twisting around to smile at them. “We must go up!” she chirped in heavily-accented Avincian, ”Up up up!” and Rikard gasped and smiled. “I didn’t know you could speak Avincian, Yin!” He skipped after her, full of boyish energy, but she merely blinked, blushed, and smiled in embarrassment. “No speak,” she replied, shaking her head. She bounded over to Captain Zhu and reached up to squeeze him on the shoulders, grinning. “He speak!” She giggled and darted out ahead again before he could shoo her away. The two exchanged a glance and Yin stuck her tongue out. “This is starting to look like a job for the Hundrians,” Rikard joked, widening his eyes suggestively in Ingrid’s and Niallus’ direction. “Hun-di-an!” Yin exclaimed, grinning in his direction. “What is?” After a moment, she winked. Captain Zhu merely blushed. Dai kept his eyes pointedly straight ahead and began whistling. Then, everybody broke out laughing. They had a long hike ahead of them and no idea that they were being watched.



The other group, by contrast, found themselves well aware that they were objects of interest. Abdel had convinced Ming, of the White Knights, to let him use the skuggvars to track the now-escaped Mr. Bao, and Zihan had offered only perfunctory protest. Yalen had wanted them to return to where he’d defeated the mysterious black-clothed woman who had seemed to be a leader of sorts. There was a good chance that they would find bloodstains. He remembered how heavily she’d been wounded by Rikard before healing herself and escaping. It had occurred to him that her accent was not strictly Retanese, but more similar to that of a student he had run into on occasion back at Ersand’Enise: Ymiico. She was Nikanese.

It was an unusual dynamic, to be certain. Each of the youths had his or her own angle. Ming had his priorities, Zihan had hers, and the skuggvars very much had theirs. Yet, by the time that lunch approached and they were headed back to the station to eat and meet with Xiulan, they had succeeded in uncovering four leads:

- Mr. Bao seemed to have visited a particular complex of shops. It contained an apothecary, a noodle restaurant, a Nikanese imports and curiosities shop, a Constantian-style watchmaker, a produce vendor, and a butcher.

- One trail led out towards the coast, near a small fishing village just outside of the city. This was not followed all of the way due to distance.

- A third, faint one, led into the Forbidden Quarter, where high officials and some of the emperor’s favourites and guests would dwell. Ming appeared very nervous about proceeding further and Zihan said that the proper paperwork would have to be filled out to gain entry permission.

- The fourth led into the foreign quarter and, in particular, to a warehouse in a seedy area.


The strange woman’s activities, by contrast, had gone mostly unexplored and were left for the afternoon.

So it was that the eclectic group of investigators found themselves sitting at a table in the guardian station courtyard, waiting for Xiulan. Waiting for a companion who… never arrived.



In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
T H E M E E T U P || ♫
Present: Ayla Arslan @Ti, Evander Fino Synesti @RezonanceV, Tku Pictor @dragonpiece, Fiske Flachstrauch @jasbraq, and Zarina Al-Nader @YummyYummy, Desmond Catulus @Th3King0fChaos

“But they’re always hungry,” Classa was assuring Tku, trotting along near the head of the group. She was glancing back so often, at the gaggle of humans and their little pachyderm shadow, that she wasn’t strictly looking where she was going and Riesco was forced to gently nudge her back on course more than once. Each time she started and leapt to the side, glancing around guiltily. “If you can keep a tusker fed, it’ll love you, but not many people can.” She rolled her eyes. “He is kind of a cute lil’ guy though,” she giggled, cantering back towards the small elephant, who hastily took off and glided away from her. Within moments, the girl was back, and once more pestering Tku. Before, it had been Ayla, and she’d even tried convincing the petite human to ride her briefly. Desmond, she’d shown a healthy fear and respect for, glancing a couple of times at his weapon, and Fiske and her had made faces at each other a bit. Marceline, the centaur had barely noticed.

Tku was her shiny new toy, clearly. “You find anything else out there?” Classa prodded, eyes going to his bag. It wasn’t long before he was spinning slightly embellished tales about the sandbat and the hidden melon and… when he had a moment, he extracted the wand and showed it to her.

The child froze in place, eyes snapping to it. Immediately, she bowed her head. “I will serve.” she said, voice solemn. She swallowed nervously.

Tku was startled by the girl's reaction. "This is no game is it?" He looked at the wand, worried for what it signified. Might not be the best thing to brandish this right away. He smiled at her reassuringly. "How about I grow you a nice juicy melon. he offered in exchange for her silence, ”and we can keep this secret between us for now?" He tucked the wand deeply in his bag, binding cloth around it to obfuscate it further from view.

Classa seemed… unsure. She blinked a couple of times and nodded. “That’s a control wand,” she replied quietly, watching him put it away. “Masters use it to punish bad demons.” She shook her head. “Though not Mr. Jascuan. He treats me and the others well. You’ll see. We’re going to meet him.” For a moment, she regarded Tku evaluatively, eventually seeming to satisfy herself that he was not, actually, one of the masters and was no threat to her.

“I got something!” Marci suddenly called. She’d been quiet - focused - searching for Evander and Benny. She turned, reaching up to hold her hat to her head in the blustery desert wind. “That way!” She pointed with her free hand. “In the old ruins, I think, but like…” She trailed off and scrunched up her face in thought. “under them, somehow.”

This brought the group of seven to a halt, and the discussion that followed split them into two groups. While one, consisting of Zarina, Ayla, Tku, and Classa, continued onward to the farmstead, the other, with Marci, Desmond, and Fiske, detoured to the ruins, with the tethered promising to keep in touch via pinch language. There was, Marci assured them, a city to the northwest of the farmstead where they could perhaps find some supplies and get their bearings later. Classa introduced it as ‘An Zenui’, city of the ‘cazenax’, whatever that meant…

A N Z E N U I

It was inching toward midday in An Zenui and all of the shit was drifting in from the desert. Some were peddlers, but there was little need for their wares. Some were hunters, but why would one need to hunt but for sport? Some were water sellers and, for them, there was still some use, though less, these days. Others, still, were beggars, and they were the worst of all. Could they not just learn the new arts and beg no longer?

Following the slow, muddy flow of the Zuna Hagui, they arrived at the Bristling Gate. There, they waited, under makeshift shelters of wood and canvas or their own cloaks, stretched over their heads. Mostly they were still, exchanging the occasional banter, their animals stinking and baying by the gate. Pathetically enough, it wasn’t long before some started trying to peddle to each other, in addition to other, more reputable, travelers.

“Any new faces?” asked Zugan-Alguo boredly. He was, perhaps, not so efficient today as his name might imply. There had been a dust storm in the morning and he’d lost hours and all motivation after sweeping. Stupid Zix-Shama had grabbed the Stuzé Paca first for her side of the gate and he’d had to do his without assistance.

She ursed her lips and scowled for a moment, scanning, and he looked up from his rifle-cleaning. “Neh. Just the usual donkey-riders and some of the countryfolk. Probably coming into town to buy stuff for repairs.”

Zugan-Alguo heaved himself out of his seat, trying not to strain anything. He was past middle age now and feeling it. Indifferently, he peered down at the group gathered below. There was Muto-Nogen, the drunk, with his scraggly beard and bad breath, getting right up in the faces of some of the others. Zugan shouted down at him to back off, as he sometimes did, halfheartedly gesturing with his rifle. Jupai-Malma was wearing her usual revealing attire, turning on her charms. She had some tourists from - it looked like they were from one of the northern cities - in her sights. Urzax-Cilo was shambling around, begging while trying not to look like it, hiding his disgusting mouth. That was when Zix noticed a mop of shaggy, shoulder-length black hair bobbing about well below everyone else’s head level. She pointed it out. "Potés-Palix?”

Sure enough, it was. The boy with no legs had dismounted from the tired old donkey he always rode and was making his way toward the gate, scooting about on his hands and his ass. “Sweetwater!” he called in his squeaky, pre-pubescent voice. “Fresh from the dewsail! Get your sweetwater!” With a grunt, he hustled forward, a satchel full of bottles slung across his chest. “Sweetwater! Cheaper than in town!” He glanced hopefully up at the gatehouse and waved. Zugan could’ve sworn he hadn’t grown a smidge in the two years he’d been coming here: one of those kids destined to be a runt until a sudden late growth spurt, the gate guard supposed, not that it’d much matter in his case. “Mr. Zugan-Alguo!” he chirped. “Mrs. Zix-Shama!”

Zix twisted to regard her partner. “Kinda feel bad for the kid,” she opined. “We let him in today?”

“Market vendors won’t like it.” Zugan grumbled. Potés-Palix had disappeared into the crowd, but he was never far from the donkey that carried him everywhere and pulled his little cart of sweetwater jugs. Sure enough, he reappeared moments later, clambering onto its back in his baggy, ill-fitting clothes. He got the animal moving and, moments later, he was knocking vigorously on the gate and smiling up at them.

“Yeah, but it’s the real stuff, unlike that vo zin swill,” Zix prodded. “Honestly, I could go for some. How ‘bout we make that the price of entry?”

Zugan made a sour face. “You shouldn’t speak of the vozas like that.” All of the youngsters did it now, or at least most of them. He hadn’t raised his own son and daughter that way. “Yeah, okay, gramps, and I guess we should all go back to living underground too.”

Zugan sighed.

“Okay, okay. Sorry,” Zix relented. “The vozas is great. Honestly, it’s our source of almost everything and our ticket to the bigtime. How can we not appreciate it? It’s just… sometimes, real stuff is better. So,” she remembered, “What say we get a sweetwater and relax a bit? I’ll treat you.”

The senior guard tried to look like he was unconvinced, but he’d already given in, to be honest. “How much for a two-copel?” he shouted down at Potés-Palix.

“Ten pix!” the scrawny youth replied, counting on his fingers for a moment. He paused and grinned. “But uhh… five if you buy it from the other side of the gate?”

T H E F A R M S T E A D

“We’re almost there!” chirped Classa, still casting about for the tusker. Sure enough, it had stopped towards the perimeter of the farm, not daring to come any closer to an inhabited area. She noticed Tku glance back in its direction as well. “Trust me. It’s a good thing. If it came too close, Zox would have to cwush it.” She shook her head. “He doesn’t like cwushing things, but it’s his job..”

The house was low, squat, and sprawling, made of sandstone and streamlined in the direction of the prevailing winds so that they might be channeled around it. A large patio wrapped around the other three sides and, on it, they could see a stone golem, easily eight feet tall, rumbling about with an oversized broom, sweeping sand away. An imp of some sort hung from the spandrels, huffing out massive breaths that sent the sand swirling off and away into the desert wind. Finally, in a rocking chair on the patio, was an old man with a wide-brimmed hat. At the sound of approaching hooves, he perked up. Grabbing the armrests, he heaved himself to his feet and felt about for the cane he’d left leaning against a small table nearby. “Classa? Né lix?” (Classa, is that you?) he called, grasping hold of it. He paused, making his way slowly there, cane held out in front. “...ni sen,” (and more,) he decided.

“Sol Jascuan!” she exclaimed, breaking into a light gallop. “Cé lix! Cé’x paté. Ax zobar.” (It’s me. I’m safe. Don’t worry.) After that, they spoke rapidly and none of the three biros could understand any of it as they approached. The huge golem placed its broom delicately aside and began to head their way somewhat threateningly until Mr. Jascuan raised his cane and called out some instructions in a tremulous old voice. With that, the construct bowed and back up a couple of steps. “Oh, ah… ahem. My apologies. I’m Zox and I umm… certainly didn’t mean to make you… uncomfortable,” it apologized, “Or anything of… of the sort.” It tapped its head with a large stony finger. “It’s my programming, you know, haha. I um… I’m built to crush things, though… sometimes I wonder if there’s more to life than -”

“Aaaaaahahahaaa!” came a laugh, high-pitched and mocking from the imp. “You’re a golem, rockhead! Your whole job is to scare people. Sheeeeeesh. Wouldya look at this palooka? Not even twenty seconds after meeting people - and high types to boot - and he’s already waxing philosophical.” The imp snorted and leapt down from the roof. “Naxos,” he said, his black, beady little eyes darting between the group’s members.

Last was Mr. Jascuan. He was clearly not human, and not of a race any of them had seen before. His skin was tanned and reddish along the back, though not in a sunburnt way. His ears were large - larger than those of a yasoi - and his nose great and pointed. He was… somewhere in the height range of a hegelan, though not nearly as stout. His eyes, quite clearly, were blind, whether by age or some other ravage, they could not quite be sure. After shaking their hands, he spoke in a voice gravelly and aged, and Naxos translated… somewhat reliably. “The boss says thank you for bringin’ Classa back to him. She’s always gettin’ lost and he worries about her.” The imp hopped from foot to foot, as if pathologically unable to keep still. “He offers yuh his hospitality, though don’t you go freeloading or I’m gonna have something to say about that.”

“He didn’t say that!” Classa protested, and Naxos waved her off. Meanwhile, Zox returned to sweeping, his big stony head turning curiously in the direction of the new arrivals every so often.

“Yeah yeah, I know. It’s called paraphrasing, yuh stupid ‘orse!” He seemed to soften after a moment, especially when Classa started to pout. He sighed. “You ain’t stupid, Classa. Just… you don’t know everything. Let the grownups talk, alright?” He turned to face the three visitors. “Listen, that was my addition. I’m gonna be honest with youse guys. We don’t refuse anyone here, but we’re a small operation. Just old man Jas, his kid Maxi - who’s in town right now - and the three of us demons.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Not much uh… overhead, y’know?”

The old blind cazenax sniffed the wind. He smiled in the three humans’ direction and spoke some more, gesturing them into the sprawling house. It certainly looked rather large, though those perceptive enough would see signs of disrepair, neglect, and hasty, low-quality patch jobs all about the place. For all of his blindness, though, Mr. Jascuan navigated the space effortlessly, explaining things as he went. This time, Classa translated, seeming quite proud of herself. “This farm has been in the family for almost five hundred years - since even before the Vozas was found - and is one of the cwosest big sweetwater fawms to An Zenui. That makes it cheap and easy to sell there, and lots of people have offewed to buy it, but Mr. Jascuan isn’t selling. When he walks into the darkness, it’s gonna go to his owdest son, Wazuo.”

He kept speaking and she kept translating. All about the ceiling were four-leafed fans, creaking and squeaking as they turned. An elaborate series of ropes seemed to connect them all and connect them to some sort of power source. Classa saw them looking. “Oh, the fans are all connected to a great big windmill outside. Mr. Jascuan’s great-great grandfather built it, but it didn’t work for a long time until Maxi fixed it. Anyways,” she continued, “There are four types of sweetwater we fawm here, and each uses a diffewent type of cactus and a diffewent size of dewsail. Some’s for sauces, some’s for drinking, some’s for cleaning, and some’s for healing. People even have baths in it!” She turned on the spot, smiling nervously, her hooves very loud on the floor. “You’re welcome to twy it!” She paused. “All except the sauce. We save that for the evening cook, when Samaxi’s back.” She couldn’t resist stamping with happy hooves “It’s sooooo good! I pwomise!”

A N Z E N U I || ♫

Two bored and sweaty guards sipped on sweetwater from their perch above the Bristling Gate. The doors opened briefly, groaning on their metal hinges, and just enough to let a single donkey with its half-sized rider and a wagon full of sweetwater jugs through.
Inside, the city of An Zenui was a hive of activity in the wake of the morning’s sandstorm. The sounds of hammers and saws at work cut through the sea of voices and bustle of other activity, and the smells - the sheer miasma of them was overwhelming, especially as one reached the spice market. Ever were the outriders galloping off into the wide world these days, and returning with things to be reproduced from the bounty of the Vozas. Ever were the vozcrafters at work.

“Sweetwater!” came the squeaky voice of Potés-Palix, cutting through the swirl of sounds and colours. “Locally produced: the real deal!” A large wagon paused in the middle of a street as a litter made its way through, mounted on the backs of four centaurs. From inside peered an old woman with a hard, wrinkly face thick with makeup and eyeliner, and enough jewelry to start her own shop. She was not, of course, a mere peddler, and so she released the curtain and sat back on her cushions.

Potés-Palix did a brisk business in the Bantarsca District, whose expensive high cliff residences had been hard hit by the storm and were already filled with thirsty labourers - mostly stuzé-upéts. The snakelike people paid what little they were given as stipends and lazed around for the next few minutes, chattering in their hissing tongue and sunning themselves as they drank. They were always a sure source of revenue, and the boy usually cut them a deal and used magic to cool their drinks. There was a mutual sympathy that helped: them as slaves and he with no legs. Taking a few moments to count his coins, he flashed them a smile and climbed up onto Nuro, riding away to the next set of houses before another independent seller made it there. Today was going to be a good day. He could feel it.

“You’ve got until she’s out of sight,” said Sazan-Betai, finishing the last of his bottle and setting it on a workbench. The no-legs kid would return for it later and they’d get back some of their money if they gave her the bottles. He consulted his task list and sighed. Talo-Tecazan-Mostix-Cazui insisted on building large trellises for his wife’s garden since it was the ambition of her married idleness to become a grillmaster. Shame that she wasn’t much good at cooking. Bigger shame that nearly every passing storm wreaked havoc with her plants. In what had become the fashion among some who could afford it, she had wanted ‘authentic’ ingredients and set out to grow them herself. Come to think of it, she wasn’t much good at gardening either.

The workers set their bottles down in various places and Sazan continued his rounds, ensuring quality and compliance, as he always did. A couple gave him stink-eyes when he told them to make modifications, but there was no backtalk, at least. Only that one they called Egosto-Alguo really unnerved him. He could feel the man’s seething. In his youth, he had shared it. Now, he could not be bothered. He had a small house of his own on the master’s property, a wife, and a brood. He smiled just thinking of them: Matzic, Juja, Cili, Walan, Loci, Zanca, and Lelix. All adorable in their childhood precociousness and innocence. All the creation of he and his beloved Stela. Next year, they would be given their first duties. He scowled. Poto-Mits had let a beam fall again and was now protesting her innocence. Why she was given hard labour when she was clearly a house-stuzé was beyond him. He began scribbling notes on his scroll. There would have to be a report. He would have to account for this. He consulted his task list and sighed.

T H E T U N N E L S

What he lacked in range, Desmond made up for in tracking. Evander swept for energies as he started to enter the tunnel behind the door marked number five and he noticed the approach of three individuals. After a tense but momentary standoff, they recognized each other and had a decision to make. Both Fiske and Evander seemed keen to continue exploring, and Marci decided to follow the tunnel as far as she could with her tethered mana sense. For a good minute or so, she went almost eerily still and silent, while the three men watched, quietly discussing their next course of action and what they had seen and found.

Then, as she was wont to do, Marci returned to them all at once. “You know that city I sensed earlier?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, what about it?” asked Desmond, already gaining some idea of what would come next. “It leads there.” She nodded, eyes taking in the others’. “I mean, it’s a bit of a maze, but I’m a human sensing device, and I can get us through. I can tell the others with pinch language so they don’t worry, and we can get to the city, unless anyone here’s claustrophobic.” She regarded them evaluatively. “It’s a good five miles, all underground. She shrugged. “At least we won’t be hot.”

To write about their adventures in the tunnels would be to spill the secrets of the tunnels, for what happens there, truly, stays there. However, the quartet made good time, even with Marceline flagging towards the end. She’d had nearly a year to rebuild the strength in her feet and calves, but long and strenuous walks such as this one still revealed a weakness that she might never entirely be rid of. Still, as they approached, she gave ever more regular updates: the movements, the smells, the sounds. She had learned how to interpret the traces she felt through energy, translate them into concrete things that others could understand and conceptualize.

The people, she could now be sure, were not human, and she described them as a cross between hegelans and yasoi, were such a thing possible. They moved about in their multitudes, but there were others, as well: more centaurs, like Classa, and sirrahi, to be certain, and still more that she could only describe in terms of features and not as known quantities. Yet, when Evander inquired about technologies far outstripping the students’ own, she could only shake her head. “They seem innovative,” she admitted, “Inventive and industrious, but I don’t feel veins of electricity.” Then, they were there and the other three were in range, pausing to sense the sheer activity of what lay above. The entire trip had taken some two hours and thirst scratched at more than one throat. Cautiously, Evander opened the door in front of them, and there was another large room, similar to the one they had entered from, only its banner was yellow. Above and outside, there was a large group of people. Faintly, they could hear the sounds of speech in an unfamiliar tongue. Some twenty feet above, they could sense a sirrahi! With that, Marci reached up to the trapdoor and pushed it open.

A N Z E N U I

Of course, Sazan wasn’t the only hard-working stuzé-upé in the city. Some ways distant, his sister, Cazelui, had finally finished clearing the sand from atop the walls by the Bristling Gate. Letting out a long breath, she slumped back against the battlements and just slouched there for a time, keeping one eye open for the guards. In truth, she’d worked slowly, letting her mind wander, for such work would numb it anyhow. Zix and Zugan weren’t bad, all things considered. She could count on one hand the number of times they’d ever used the control wand. They gave her jobs like this where she could just lose herself for hours on end, doing what her name suggested she was best at and daydreaming.

There were still the griddles to clean and, eventually, the stuzé uncoiled, heaved herself up, and stretched. There was sand caked all over them and, at this rate, they wouldn’t have enough heat for the evening cook. Coiling around the spars that held them out into the sun, she held the thick cloth in one hand and her water bucket in the other. Rinse and repeat. She sighed. Literally. The water steamed as soon as it hit the metal surface, and the heat began to emanate through the bunched cloth after some twenty seconds of scrubbing. Then, she was onto the next.

It was when she was on the final one, the least desirable one right by the bare section of canyon wall that was considered too unstable to build on, that she noticed it. His majesty! She stiffened. The king himself! He was walking among the people, no litter, as was his custom, regaling those coming through the gate with his plans in an ‘impromptu’ manner. Urzax-Cilo was trying to get close enough to flatter him, though the plain-clothes guards were not letting it happen, and Potés-Palix was trying to sell sweetwater within the crowd. She rolled her eyes. Stazen was a dreamer, young, and a man of the people, with big plans for the future that would benefit not just cazenax, but stuzé and centaur as well. Sometimes, she liked to listen to him speak. Sometimes, she wondered if a word of it was true. Yet, there was the money, coming from his own hand to feed the poor. There was the expansion of the Wola training mandate and the repeal of the outdated and onerous guiding laws around it. There were the Sirui Hé stuzé who could own themselves, their families, and even conduct business. Of course, their name had been stolen by the rebels, something nobody liked to acknowledge.

Entranced by the king’s speech, she leaned forward a bit further, slithering right to the end of the spar. It was at that very moment that a trapdoor opened below and a quartet of strange, non-cazenax faces peered up. Cazelui started and her tail may have flicked. It may have knocked free the bucket of hot water that she had been using, and it may have fallen straight towards those four curious heads that peeked out into a brave new world.





In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
M A R C E L I N E || ♫
Present: Ayla Arslan @Ti, Evander Fino Synesti @RezonanceV, Tku Pictor @dragonpiece, Fiske Flachstrauch @jasbraq, Zarina Al-Nader @YummyYummy, and Desmond Catulus @Th3King0fChaos

It was a long moment and it stretched out after the ranger had left with Jocasta. Desmond began to look around. Everyone seemed to be thinking, but that wasn't the test, this was about their instincts, not some puzzle. Desmond yelled out, "Orange!" Starting to force people to get the ball rolling.

“Purple.” announced a cross-armed Zarina with her helm removed.

Marceline wasn't completely sure what to do, but she was feeling daring, and so she followed Desmond's and Zarina's lead. The former's shout had grabbed her attention so, without any further thought, she shouted: "orange!" looking around guiltily immediately afterward.

Ayla watched everyone shout out their favourite colour, and decided to join them. "Blue!"

"Red!" Tku exclaimed and, after tending to the last of Zarina's injuries, he made quick work of the scorched duo's wounds, offering a single nod in their direction to reassure them that it was him doing it.

Desmond nodded to Tku as he looked expectantly at the others who had yet to speak.

"Yellow.." Fiske groaned from the burn wounds' sting even if it was somewhat fading.

"Um... red? Yalen shrugged, not really understanding the point of this exercise.

"Yellow again!" said Benny, more or less trying to mess things up for the others. He crossed his arms and grinned malevolently.

A Sirrahi?! Evander felt a compulsion to ask questions, to ask about Disska. To identify the reason why a Sirrahi had lured them here and put them through trials that could have killed them. He didn't. Evander refrained. Nobody else had questioned why they were engaging a snake person, and everyone, to his surprise, bought in. Each called out a color. It seemed... foolish, but they were in this large room with nowhere to go except forward... "Blue," he said reluctantly.

It was not long before Jocasta returned with the ranger. "I have my misgivings, but have been convinced of the… necessity of this," she admitted. Her eyes darted about the clearing before seizing on Yalen. She offered a supportive smile and let them drift again. "Stay safe everyone." Expelling a nervous breath, she let out one more word: "purple".

With that, the sirrahi nodded. "Thank y'all, and I mean it. Whatcher doin' could save every one of us." Then, he flickered and disappeared as if he'd never even been there. A sudden, massive surge of temporal energy replaced him.

T E M P E S T || ♫

Ayla, Benedetto, Desmond, Evander, Fiske, Marceline, Tku, and Zarina blinked and opened their eyes. They were in a desert, again. The blazing sun beat down upon them and the hot sand scratched at their eyes. In fact, the only thing that they could see for miles around, aside from sand, was a series of distant structures - almost sail-like - spinning slowly in the wind.

Marci turned on the spot, three hundred sixty degrees, taking in the vast nothingness that surrounded the group. The sun reflected off of the burning red-white wastes and she blinked. The air around them was distorted by the heat. There was plenty of wind to alleviate it, but this was hot and blustery, prone to whipping up sand and dust at unpredictable intervals, and it only made the heat worse, if possible.

“Well, that was fuckin’ productive,” grumbled Benny, casting about. He seemed about to spit in the sand, but then thought better of it. He glanced Marci’s way. “You got range, Gimpy, right?” he crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly. Then, he seemed to soften. “I mean… how ‘bout you sweep the area, Marce?”

She glared at him for a moment, moving a bit closer to Ayla and Zarina, who bristled at the insult to their friend. “How about you go fuck yourself, bud?” the latter snapped back. Marceline held up a hand to stop them, shooting Zarina a thankful, apologetic look. Then, she focused and energies swelled around her. Her face turned grim as the sun and wind continued their twin assaults and she brushed some hair from her face with her dominant hand, her left. “Nothing,” she announced, straining in the opposite direction of the sail-like structures. “Nothing as far as I can sense. A few critters buried deep in the sand. Maybe some ruins about seven klicks away. Fuckin’ desolate” She shook her head as another hot gust of wind whipped her hair about and made her gasp. Marceline, like her grandfather, was of the desert. She knew it. She could feel its moods and survive its periodic furies. This was different, though, in a way that she couldn’t place. She could feel herself drying out, like a sponge left outside on a Dorrad day and a deep unease began to take root in her gut. It started to remind her of…

The tethered shook her head and refocused and, dimly, she sensed a second set of ruins, much closer than the first, but mere moments passed before it hit her - it overwhelmed her. Marci’s eyes bugged out. “Now!” she shouted, pointing about ninety degrees from where she’d started. The sun occupied a completely different position in the sky and she’d struggled to get her bearings. “That way!” If one squinted into the distance, the horizon looked strange and hazy. “SANDSTORM!!!”





In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@yoshua171Alright, so, pending the feedback that I gave via discord, this CS is approved. Feel free to post it over into the character tab! Welcome aboard.
In Left Behind: Mulberry Street → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
T H E S P A R L I N G S : T H E V E N U E


L I L A S P A R L I N G
Location: Mulberry Park --> The Gazebo
Timeframe Early Afternoon
Interaction(s): Jason Sparling, Winnie Sparling
Previously: Survival Squad

The pitchfork had lasted about twenty seconds and as many yards. Lila had nearly tripped Jason and skewered Winnie, who still thought it was okay to walk right in front of people and just randomly stop moving. It was now in the eleven-year-old's hands, God help them all. Canvas bag full of pasta on her lap, Lila pushed her way across the grass, wheels threatening to sink into ground still spongy from a recent Spring rain.

"Shit, they all came," murmured Jason, and Lila, straining to keep up, pushed a bit harder, popping a hint of a wheelie to keep her front castors out of the mud. "You say it like it's a bad thing," she grunted in reply, but she could tell that he was nervous. He'd started something and now wasn't sure if he was the man for the job. "The fact that they're here means they feel the same way, or at least close," she tried. He was putting on airs of confidence with his swords and his 'tough guy' walk, but he didn't know what to do with his hands and that told her what she needed to know about her little brother's emotional state. "Yeah," he agreed belatedly. "I guess they wouldn't be here otherwise, right?"

"Right," Lila replied, straining against a tuft in the lawn.

"Right!" echoed Winnie, taking a momentary break from swinging her arms loosely from side to side and twisting to look at her older siblings.

The gazebo was just ahead and the grass was treacherous. There was a wood chip pathway nearby and it was, if possible, even worse... for reasons beyond the readily apparent as well. Bless their little hearts, they wonder why I left. In grade eight, when they'd had a petition assignment, Lila had written up a particularly eloquent one to the local council, researching online, finding links and recommendations, and double-checking her formatting with her mom's secretary in the hope that they would install a ramp and an accessible path to the Mulberry Park gazebo. The news station over in Rochester had even run a little feature when her petition had been selected. Then, after a couple of locals had complained that the ramp 'disturbed the historical character' of the gazebo, it had been torn down and rebuilt on the 'less attractive' far side, doubling the cost and not leaving enough funds for the paved path. She'd gotten 'levelling' and wood chips instead and, when the cameras had circled back for the conclusion of their feel-good story, it had ended up being one of the many, 'it's the thought that counts' moments in Lila's life, except, well... it hadn't. Good intentions don't magically make inaccessible things accessible. She'd made the mistake of smiling through the fiasco and playing along because she'd been a needy fourteen-year-old under social pressure, afraid of being left out or seen as ungrateful or not worth the trouble.

The nearer that she drew, arms and shoulders straining, the more that her mood began to sour. If the... zombies - the word was still surreal to say or even think in a serious context - showed up, she would be dead, full stop, all because some pointedly anonymous HOA-esque asshole almost a decade ago had been so certain that their right to a 'historic' vista outweighed hers to not have to be dependent on her fast-evaporating friends. For an extended moment, she glared at the path: utterly useless in its intended purpose. Then, Jason twisted. "If it's any consolation," he joked, "Fucker's probably zombie chow."

"Or a zombie," Lila snorted, shaking her head. "Now get outta my brain or at least pay me rent!"

He grinned.

"If I kill one, Jason, this whole fucking time, let it serendipitously be that piece of shit." She rolled her eyes and smirked. "Then my life will be complete." Jason slowed up until he was beside her. "Shake on it." He held out his hand and she took it. "Shake on it!" agreed Winnie, skipping up on her other side. Lila reached out with both hands and simultaneously shook, but her siblings didn't let go. "Now that we have her..." her brother teased, "I say we fling the cripple."

"Jason, I swear, if you do it -"

"The only question is 'how far'?" chirped her sister, malevolently Cheshire.

"Okay, seriously, the ground is muddy. I'll literally just faceplant!" Meanwhile, they were pulling her along, all three of them holding hands, until she reached the small paved area around the antique gazebo. Others stood around as they released her, some conversing, waiting for them or for some poorly-defined starting point. "Next time," Jason warned, as Lila let out a small, appreciative "thank you".

"She gonna fffflllllyyyy!" teased Winnie, twirling away, "But I get a ride, okay? That's what you owe me." She half-pivoted and struck a pose, as if she were about to stick her tongue out, before thinking better of it in front of the teens and twenties. Lila stuck her tongue out instead, giving Winnie social permission to respond in kind. "But then how am I gonna fly without a push from your big strong arms, Win-win?" Winnie bunched up her face, let out a little "Hmph!" and turned on her heel, bounding up the wooden steps with a series of loud thumps and leaning against a pillar. She faced her elders from a safe corner, eyes darting warily between them, trying not to be too intimidated.

"Up or down?" Jason asked, and Lila didn't want to be any more trouble. She crafted a smile and shook her head. "I'm fine here." She held up her fists and winked. "Besides, you need a perimeter guard who actually watches your six." Jason snorted. "Then she should have a weapon." He pulled his wakizashi from his belt, sheath and all, and handed it to her. Growing up around him and not knowing what the midsized sword that a Sengoku or Edo period samurai would carry was simply an impossibility, as was not looking like a complete dork in the current context. Somewhere between grateful and cringing, she thanked him and placed the sword across her lap as he swept some hair from his face and thumped up after Winnie. Lila rolled over to the foot of the steps so she could crane her neck and at least kind of participate. She already had her suspicions about how this was going to go, but she'd also given herself a job. She could only hope it wouldn't be required.


J A S O N S P A R L I N G
Location: Mulberry Park --> The Gazebo
Timeframe: Early Afternoon
Interaction(s): Lila Sparling, Winnie Sparling
Previously: Survival Squad

Jason wasn't smart. A comparative dearth of smiley faces on his tests and homework growing up had taught him that. Disapproving looks from adults, 'evaluations' for learning disabilities, and the sneering disdain of self-appointed smart people like Lee had taught him that.

Thing was... he wasn't dumb either, and he knew it. Maybe he wasn't book smart - all the books they'd read in school were for girls anyway - but he doubted anyone else here had his sense of spatial awareness or his intuitive understanding of angles, positioning, force, and motion. Maybe he didn't know all of the formulas, but he could tell where a ball was going to go as soon as it left someone's hands. He could guess, with near-certainty, whether he'd be able to make it somehwere before being caught.

The other part of that was knowing people, and reading them. He hadn't been good at that as a kid, but he'd worked at it, and his carefully-honed skills in that regard now told him that he'd messed up. He hadn't even wanted to be some kind of leader - merely get the ball rolling because it had been a couple of weeks and this was the new normal and nobody else had - yet now he was supposed to stand in front of a bunch of people - him: the class clown, the not-jock, the weeb - and deliver some kind of speech?

Jason sucked at speeches.

He gripped the hilt of his katana with one hand, finding sensory solace in its intricate surface. Bless Lila; she'd taken his mind off of the anxiety before, but now she was down there and he was up here and there were so many eyes and expressions and...

Fuck it. YEET.

"So, uhh, I'd like to thank you all for coming here, but, uh, first, I'd like to take a moment to recognize our security team for this event." He gestured in Lila's direction. "And our caterers." He took in those who had brought food for Holly and cleared his throat. "Finally, of course, how could we forget..." It was the quickest pause but it was a pause and he regretted it. Fuck! What were your names again? "Carson and, umm, Alena - for booking this venue ahead of time for us. We all know what a hot property it can be."

Jason grinned, impish and nervous in equal measures, and spread his hands. "So, listen, guys: I have some ideas, but I have no clue how to like... be a boss or whatever." He let out a snort. "I just saw that nothing was actually getting done and people were starting to run out of stuff, and the power's probably gonna go out soon, so I was juss like, 'we should probably all get together and figure shit out,' you know?" The middle Sparling glanced about, spurring himself to continue. "And I know the old people will probably find out, but I wanted it to be just us first so we actually get to talk without, I dunno, just being told what to do like we always are." He shrugged and walked over, leaning against one of the picnic tables under the shelter and crossing his arms. "That's the idea anyway. If anyone has a plan, I'm all ears." He paused and furrowed his brow. "Oh wait, and yeah, we should probably have like... a speaker's stick or like, you know, the conch from that book, like they had. Uhmm..." he trailed off.

"Lord of the Flies!" interjected Winnie, finding her voice.

"Yeah, that!" He'd ceded the floor. Now it was time to listen instead of speak... unless someone pissed him off. Someone would probably piss him off, or say something really dumb. Probably.

In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
T E N E B R O U S T O W E R S || ♫

The Castle Mandelein stood before Edyta in all of its aged vainglory, tenebrous towers rising into the moonlit sky in some echo of her homeland, spires reaching through a mourning haze of clouds to skewer the frosty white sphere of Juni and impale the blood red orb of Larus. There came, then, a soft rain, pitter-pattering on the aged stones and plinking against the copper-coated shingles. The smell of damp pine and muddy Stresian puddles mingled with the cold of the air and she paused to thank Ipte for the haunting beauty of the scene before her. These were her hours, after all.

A blanket of clouds blotted out the stars as the young nun paused and knelt off-path some thirty yards from the outer guardhouse. She made the sign of the Pentad, closed her eyes, and let herself be vulnerable, trusting the Gods - as always - to either protect or to claim her.

Ipte, to whom the world owes its beauty and love, I humbly ask for thy blessing, that I might remember what it is that I fight for and what it is that I forsake in the name of a grander good.
She pressed her right hand to her left shoulder.

Shune, from whom all knowledge and magic rings forth, I humbly ask for thy blessing, that I might act with wisdom, prudence, and keenness of mind in pursuit of the flourishing of all.
She pressed her left hand to her right shoulder.

Oraff, giver and guardian of life, I humbly ask for thy blessing, that I might act in the sacred interest of life's preservation wherever possible, even to the point of laying down mine own.
She pressed her left hand to her right hip.

Eshiran, bringer of war and destruction, I beseech thee to look upon thy humble servant and bestow upon her the tripartite blessings of courage, conviction, and power which are thine alone to govern. I ask this of thee so that she might act as your instrument in ridding the world of pestilence, wickedness, and cruelty.
She pressed her right hand to her left hip.

Dami, who sits upon the thrones of choice and judgment, I humbly ask for thy blessing, that I might know more truly good from evil and walk always in the light to deliver thy justice.
She brought her hands together, bowed her head, and opened her eyes.

It was a simple matter to slip by the guards. Such was the Gift that Edyta Laska had been given. Dorothea Hohnstein was neither so blessed or cursed. The two of them had agreed that each would find her own way inside. They would try, as stalwartly as possible, to stay within sensing range of each other, at least as long as the Rezaindian occupied the same plane as her counterpart.

T H E R O T T E N H E A R T || ♫

Sister Laska materialized inside of the great hall, where greyed ancient timbers one hundred feet across held up a roof that she could scarce make out and frayed banners and tapestries hung along the walls. Upon crossbeams, corbels, and rafters clung long ghostlike tendrils of cobweb, stirring, half-animated, by the persistent draft in the cavernous room. What grabbed her attention most was none of these things, however. Beneath a faded portrait of some former Graf Kapperstel, the hearth was cold. Even in the dead of night, in no grand castle such as this would the fire that was the beating heart of any occupied structure be allowed to go dark. Something was not right and she did not remain there long.

Curiosity piqued, she ventured next through the hallways, reaching out with her magic ahead of any encounters as she explored. There were... perhaps three people in the entire vast structure and, when she sensed the only one awake busy walking up the stairs, she ducked around a corner, waited, and followed the woman up from a discreet distance. Up they both went, into the second-highest tower, and there were the lord's chambers. Edyta faded into greyborn space and appeared only once the servant was gone.

She knew even before she returned to reality: it was all a lie. There was no lord - nobody to govern Mandelein. The nun's heart beat a good deal faster and there was scant little she could do to calm it. A rot, she decided, Deep and deceptive, at the very heart of this town!

Edyta was relentless after that. Like some sort of frantic, vengeful shade, she picked through the room and found yet more. Scratches on the wall! Powerful enough to carve right into stone!? Is that... evidence of a burn in the corner of the ceiling!?

She slithered and slunk, then, about the castle grounds, investigating the library next and its records of the House Kapperstel, up until shortly after the accession of the young Graf Anselm, some century or more previous. There, they abruptly ended. There were other bedrooms, similarly maintained in a semi-living state, but none yielded such treasures as the first. The exterior gardens were maintained in a state of shabby grandeur, at least, but those of the interior had gone wild and thorny. A façade! Sister Laska realized, They're maintaining a façade! The greater question now became, 'why', and the one that logically followed it was, 'what in the five hells are they hiding!?'

The answers to these questions were ones that she did not know, however. It was with this notion squarely in mind that she gazed out from the parapets as the glow on the horizon began to build toward an inevitable grey and dreary Stresian sunrise. Edyta fixed upon the dungeon. Surely, a place like this had one. She would find what she was looking for there, and so she set off once again, into the depths of Castle Mandelein, sensing Dorothea within her range.

The other two servants had risen and, much as she'd been careful not to leave any traces, worry nibbled at the edges of her confidence nonetheless. Such a grand ruse, this was! Surely, they would be cautious. Surely, they would be protective!

Such things mean little against a greyborn.

This, then, was a deserted place in truth: dark and dank and utterly without hope. It had gone so long disused that one could not even call the present stench one of death and decay. There was only mould and lime eating away at the castle's foundations, a fitting metaphor, perhaps, the nun considered. That was when she came upon the first cell. Dory was drawing near and, suddenly, Edyta would welcome her presence. She did not want to be alone. There were scrawlings on the wall - csaudecep? - but they were not what had shaken her so. It was the bones. They were not those of a dragon. They were not human bones either, but they... had once been.

It was the skeleton of a wildblood.
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