shylarah

The Plague Knight Chronicles: Chapter 1

Shiara Cazarin, bone mage

Shiara considered offering her assistance to the apprentice, but it was obvious the two shared a close bond. Instead she lead their strange quartet back towards the crypt, with Noa's light to guide her. Before long the older knight was walking without aid, an amazing recovery after the injuries she thought he'd sustained. Shiara was curious -- both a virtue and a failing, according to her teachers. Not now. Wait until we are above ground, and the man has had a chance to rest -- and to decide what he wishes to share. And you to figure out what other aid you can offer. There was a brush of approval from Kem as she counselled herself to patience.

The idea of more Cursed was not a pleasant one, though now with bits of bone she would be able to study them, and fashion a better shield, perhaps determine the cause. The place where someone had broken through from crypt to sewer -- or perhaps the other way -- made her pause a moment, to examine the crumbling wall. "It will need to be fixed," she murmured, casting the light from her bracelet over it. "Until it is it will weaken the protection consecrated ground offers, and cause problems in turn," she murmured, and sighed. Such an endeavor would not be an easy one, she suspected, and her skills did not lie in building and masonry. With the breach as it was, she would not be able to fully restore the graveyard's spiritual threshold, but she might at least strengthen it some.

The apprentice knight's question brought Shiara back to their current predicament: underground in a crypt they'd fallen into. "Ah, sorry. Give me a moment, and I should be able to find someone that knows the way." She lifted a hand before her, calling Kem to her under her breath to lend strength to her sense for spirits and echoes. The ones buried in the crypt were older than those buried above, and so their presence was weaker. It took some several moments before the young bone mage could acquire an echo strong enough to follow. Fortunately the crypt was less a labyrinth and more many smaller passages off a single main hallway, and that hallway had a presence strong enough to pick up. "This way. The main corridor should be just a turn or two ahead, and it will take us up into the church itself."

How Not to be a Douchebag 101

When the unknown one retreated again, Rhylaen settled back on her haunches and considered him for a long moment, running over what she knew. Agent-Day's tinny voice through her earpiece brought the young woman out of her thoughts. "No...is tired, is weak. Is...maybe hurting?" Rhylaen wished briefly that she was older, wiser, but that was a futile desire. Age and wisdom took time. "Maybe turn down lights?" The lights were hurting her eyes, suited as she was to life in half-shadowed places. If they bothered her after only a little while, how much more must it bother one that was suited to darkness?

"Ask science men, can turn down lights? Please?" she asked after a moment, this time putting certainty into her voice. "I be responsible." She focused on the one in the blankets again, straining to reaching her thoughts out, but her weak telepathy was not meant for the purpose she tried to turn it to.

How Not to be a Douchebag 101

@Metronome I was gonna give @Hero a chance to post.

Also, does the alien seem just weak, or does it seem like the lack of shadows is hurting him, or maybe scaring him?

When Royalty Collides (#YIKES)

> S P A R K S , A C I R A S I T
status: gotta have blue hair!

> > Some royalty had interesting fashion sense. The first several were pretty standard, but then came a fellow in a full suit of plate mail, and it took all John's control not to chuckle. The herald had named them Princesses Liviana and Domitia, and from the staff briefing he was pretty sure Liviana was the one in the blue dress, so that meant Domitia was the one in the armor. Even though he was amused, he was also impressed. An outfit like that, it took guts.

Another princess favored all black, which was daring but in a very standard sort of way. The loud prince not long after had Sparks hiding a wince. Mentally, he took bets over whether the lad would end up confronting him over some detail of palace IT. He sincerely hoped not.

The Liangii contigent sent quiet ripples through the room -- after all, Princess Ayleanna would be marrying into that nation's government. The Haneul group sent ripples of a different sort, and their princess looked like a cotton-candy confection in pink and purple. Traditional dress was fine, but the colors were a bit much, in John's opinion. Still, she wore them well.

A handsome fellow -- John was pretty sure he was the Veredunian prince -- grabbed a flute of champagne off his tray without comment. Several people had, actually, but the prince was a particularly fine specimen of humanity and worth notice. Hos outfit was nothing special, a suit and some medals that were probably Very Important, but damn the man was hot.

And then the Argenyonni prince, in pants that matched Princess Ayleanna's dress, was...asking his permission for a drink? No, no, just being polite. "Of course, your highness," John replied smoothly, subtly adjusting the height of his tray for maximum convenience. He expected that would be the end of their exchange, but instead the prince lingered, looking him over with interest.

The commentary on his hair brought a wide grin to John's face, even though he wasn't really supposed to be interacting with the guests. "Thank you~ Gotta say, you look dashing yourself." Keep it simple, man -- this isn't the time or the place to be socializing. Even if his accent is hot. And isn't he in a band, or was that one of his siblings?

The Plague Knight Chronicles: Chapter 1

@Overlord Thraka I'm here! But I posted last for the underground crew, so idk. *flails* I was having fun, too~

How Not to be a Douchebag 101

Rhylaen was pleased to see the unknown one sitting up. He moved slowly, and still seemed wary, but it was a start. He seemed weighed down, lost. She'd been the same shortly after her arrival, with so many strange things around her and no good way to communicate. She ventured a couple steps closer, then knelt on the floor near the old oatmeal. She left that be -- it looked quite stale -- and instead picked up the tin cup of water. She had no way to say what she wanted, save through actions. He needed to eat. So she drank some of the water herself, enough for the cup to be visibly emptier, then set it on the ground in front of her and pushed it towards the unknown one. The cup scraped as she moved it across the floor, a harsh sound, but she didn't pull back until she'd left it within what she judged to be arm's reach. Then Rhylaen sat up again and waited. If he copied her, she'd have Agent-Day bring something to eat.

How Not to be a Douchebag 101

Her suggestion of a second, suited person earned her the right to enter unsuited herself. Pleased with the small victory, Rhylaen waited for Agent-Day to suit up, and darted eagerly to the antechamber leading to the cell. The locks couldn't cycle fast enough to suit her. Inside it was the same temperature, and the unknown one sheltered in a burrow of cloth. She wondered a little at the oatmeal. Why would they feed a warm food to one who seemed to prefer the cold? She'd ask about that later.

For the moment she studied the lump curled on the mattress. She could see one jewel-bright eye watching her, and though the size was different she felt a pang of loss for her own home. Setting that aside, Rhylaen gathered her focus, and tried to project the ideas she wanted to convey. "Let me help you," she said, though she used her own tongue instead of the human one. "You are a stranger, as I was. I mean no harm. Let me help." She extended her hands before her, palms upturned in a sign of peace. For the moment she stayed near the door -- she would not step closer yet, hopefully not until she received some sort of acknowledgement. She could sense the wary presence of Agent-Day behind her, and hoped the other woman would do her best to be unthreatening as well. Her own attention remained on projecting the idea of safety and aid.

When Royalty Collides (#YIKES)

@Glyph oh. That's...proibably a good idea, to know if a pc is near yours.

When Royalty Collides (#YIKES)

@Glyph Do whatever works for you, but I'd advise against designated partners personally. If you were only going to rp with two or three other people, then why did you join a group rp?

I'm not sure what you mean by spatial awareness.

If there's questions about who's where, the OOC or discord are easy places to make quick questions. I find that asking for quick reactions or about hypotheticals helps me write good posts, and I usually reread things as I'm writing to make sure I don't miss stuff. I also often make a quickreference sheet in my notes just so I keep people straight, and add to it as things go on and dynamics develop. But that's just what works for me!

When Royalty Collides (#YIKES)

> S P A R K S , A C I R A S I T
status: servitor

> > John adjusted his bowtie for the last time. He really didn't like having to wear them, but sometimes he got drafted from his usual job and put on other duties. In this case, "other duties" required him to wear a three piece suit, and the unfortunate bowtie. At least they let him leave his hair its sky blue hue, a splash of gentle color in contrast to the black and white of his clothing. He had a bluetooth walkie nestled discreetly in one ear, so he was reachable in case of emergencies, but most of his usual tech was either left behind or secreted in one of his several pockets. He was signed off for the duration of the event -- barring catastrophe, or a reasonable excuse to be otherwise.

He swept his designated tray up off the counter and balanced it on one splayed hand, then pushed out the side door into the ballroom proper, taking up his position among the other servitors. It was hard for him to keep from smiling. They looked like a bunch of penguins scattered about the room, but that wouldn't last. The bright colors of noble attire would cover them like wildflowers taking over a bare lot.

He could see the lady of the hour and her family, greeting the guests as they entered. Princess Ayleanna was a sweetheart, and she was handling her upcoming marriage with enthusiasm. She always had a friendly word for the castle staff, especially the fellow that kept her net connection alive and well. She wouldn't be saying hello at the event, of course, but he'd have a chance to watch all the guests, and that was a good way to pass the time.