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♫ ~ ¿Quién teje sus planes en sombras de fuego?
Es Ayla—sí, Ayla—la dueña del juego.
De los patios reales al polvo del mar,
Su red va creciendo, su luz va a quemar. ~ ♫

♫ ~ Ah-ah-ahhh, su danza destruye. ~ ♫

♫ ~ Con lengua de plata y mirada feroz,
Con filo en palabras y un fuego atroz
Desde las tormentas hasta el claro sol,
Es Ayla quien manda, con un alma de rol. ~ ♫

♫ ~ Ah-ah-ahhh, Ayla guía el destino.
Ah-ah-ahhh, su poder es divino. ~ ♫

♫ ~ El mundo es su juego, las piezas a sus pies,
Y Ayla renace cuando amanezca otra vez. ~ ♫

♫ ~ ¡Era Ayla—TODO EL TIEMPO! ~ ♫

Most Recent Posts

In The Hourglass Order → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ayla, Thierry @Ti, Zarina @Yummyyummy, Desmond @Th3King0fChaos, Ingrid @dragonpiece, Casii @pirouette, Typano @A Lowly Wretch, Yalen, Isabella @pantothenic, Silas @tackytaff, Kaspar @Wolfieh, Benny, Ismette, Marci @Force and Fury
Event: Aberration Madness: Bonus Scene | Location:Tethered Refuge, Torragonese High Desert.

After defeating the Wyrm and the Froabases, there was only one issue remaining. How to deal with the aberration that was created in the middle of the battlefield. The towering thing pulsates as its dark slime-like texture was in the rippling form of Jocasta disguised as Ayla, embracing Trypano. Those who understand the nature of temporal distortions and aberrations pay attention to the two individuals involved, and a rather sheepish looking Ismette unable to avoid the gravity of their actions due to the presence of the thing.

The students agreed they needed to remove the aberration due to the dangers involved as the wildlife are naturally drawn to its immense power. Its size and ferocity posed a clear and present danger to the practitioners tempted by the allure of power, though would become overwhelmed with corruption and madness this would bring. It was proposed that 10 students would form a ring around the aberration to take in its strength, and that by working together, they could minimise the threat to themselves and others. Seven others posing as guardians to prevent them from being disturbed and the very real task of attempting to maintain their safety during the period of madness.

The strongest start first, followed by the weaker members, drawing in upon the darkness as they feel it saturate their bodies. The immense toil it takes as the body reacts to the great stress of the experience, pumping neurochemicals and adrenaline to counter its effects, too little as the body's homeostasis is greatly disrupted. The ten students embracing their new madness as the guardians watch on, prepared to act to safeguard their wellbeing. The clock is ticking.

Ingrid was the first to draw in the aberration. At first absorbing it only felt for lack of a better word icky but it soon got worse. Little by little this sickly feeling started to overwhelm her. This nothingness now felt like thick sludge was pushed through her body. Her mind deteriorated quickly and as she moved away she felt off, no longer fully aware of what was happening. Ingrid mind regressed to the anger she felt at Benedetto over Wvysen's death and she lunged at him screaming bastard and started to draw energy for only but a moment until the next impulse arrived.

Silas saw that there was nothing at the centre of the aberration. The shouted warnings of the others that had made him expect it to ignite with energy when the group joined together to absorb it. Instead there was nothing, no sign of any energy. That was until it began to fill the very core of his being. Whatever the non-energy was poured into him impossibly fast, filling his capacity in almost an instant. He lurched forwards spinning and screaming as the energy came off him in waves of force and heat.

Ayla felt that the world became like a swirl, thoughts and feelings clouded by the sudden rush she was experiencing. Her first thoughts was seeing Zarina and Marci together, feeling over an overwhelming jealousy as she attacked the tethered girl like a cat, trying to scratch her with her nails like claws. “She is my friend, not yours!”. And there Zarina was, a bit more RAS in the pocket and a lifetime’s worth of emotional damage. First thing’s first, being reminded of Ayla calling Zazzy her Babaca? Retribution is at hand, and that beautifully fake hair is going to get PULLED, “Babaca this you little shit! RAAAHHHH!”. Ayla was now being tackled by the far larger Virangish girl who was pulling at her hair and screaming loudly towards her about being called a babaca the last time they were together like this. She redirects this towards Marci, ”No! You cannot have her!”.

Desmond had only seen such chaos occur in the midst of the battlefield, yet it was never so, horny. Many people attacked each other, yelling, crying, laughing, makeouts and more happened at every moment. Some were very rough with each other, some tried to literally use magic to kill each other, Desmond couldn't use his guns, they were too close and slow, so he threw his bullets and upon impact with someone, he used the force to cause them to spread out, driving them apart, and then using chemical magic to apply anaesthetic substances. Many numbed limbs, as all the while he got people into holds and grapples to get them away from each other.

Desmond grabbed hold of Ayla as he tried to pull her away from Marci, being her new focus of her aggression. The smell and accent of the boy marked him as from Enth of all places. “Bet you don’t even play the Hurdy Gurdy!”, she bares her fangs as she attempts to bite down hard upon his arm, though thankfully the teeth do not even penetrate the leather clothing he was wearing. Isabella pulled upon Ayla’s blonde strands, following Zarina’s example, her eyes full of greed as if treating them as being made of gold.

Zarina however let go as she got distracted by the red-headed giantess attempting to hook up with a random lad, feeling that the very existence of the pale beast pissed her off, rushing over to yelling, “You’ve got a fat arse, and you’re way too tall!”.

Desmond was surprised that someone was being rough with him, which wasn't as bad as he expected, he just wished some of them didn't seem like they were about to literally draw each other to death, or worse, use magic and blow up the place.

As the wrath moved away from Ingrid, she suddenly started to just dive into the ground. Sand would rub off some of her skin while the hardened stone hurt her bones and muscles as the large girl completely dove head first into the ground. Ingrid yelled that she was a mole person, a tunneling gofer and she needed to get home for dinner! The In-laws were coming over after all.

Realising she would be late for gofer dinner, Ingrid started to yell at herself that she is always the failure. Most of the yelling at herself broke down to her not living up to her own high standards sprinkled in with a bit of nonsensical stuff like her appearance. Ingrid would slap herself periodically and kick the stones because it hurt.

Zarina, in the discussion of plump derrieres, thought about the handsome knight, experiencing a new feeling invading her stomach. Her golden hues turned toward Thierry, and she could feel a warmth taking over. She approached, set her hand upon his armoured chest and whispered, “Oui oui …” before falling into a burst of mocking laughter, falling on her ass and then shifting into a regretful cry “I’m sorry … I just …” finally, catharsis!

Ayla had broken herself free, laughing out loud as if she was an evil villainess, feeling the ecstasy of the experience and realising she was in disguise… no… costume. “Mwahaha, they call me Jocasta Re, Mistress of Time! Disrespect me, and by Oraff, you will witness your own creation in reverse!”.

Pumped with courage and bravado, she singles out the yasoi girl who has been arguing and bullying her friend Jo earlier. She walks up to Ismette in that drunken delirium, looking up towards the towering girl as she uses a finger to prod her roughly in the chest. “If you call me Enna one more time… Let’s see… we will find out just how good Yasii ears are as natural handlebars”. She smirks widely as she gives a lewd laugh and a wink towards her.

Silas on the other hand eventually stumbled, hitting the sand with enough force to continue scraping forward, burning the sides of his face. His body shook with sobs this time, but no tears came to clear his eyes. Not that he needed them to see the stranger in front of him. A strange and unfamiliar burning flared in his chest. He reached for the figure before him trying to speak but only managed incomprehensible sounds. The figure left him to be replaced with another. It had a voice that spoke with such short and irregular syllables he couldn't help but giggle. He laughed riotously, until again he fell to the ground in tears.

As Ingrid got done complaining about her appearance, she set her eyes on the oh so beautiful Zarina. She was drop dead gorgeous to Ingrid with her perfect skin, her great proportions, her height. Everything. Even her clothes made her look better. Ingrid couldn't do anything to someone that beautiful so Ingrid ripped some of her clothes a fair bit with telekinesis. Ingrid realised it only made her hotter.

Like a flash of light, Zarina's unparoled beauty struck Ingrid with an all-encompassing truth. Hotness can be found for any reason. For their wit, their strength, their beauty, their personality. And all that doesn't matter to anyone but yourself!. Love whoever you want and love fiercely because life can be snuffed at any moment!

Having taken a whole new approach to love it only made sense to go make out with Benny. She looked at him like he was a stud and made her way over quickly, lightly gliding above the ground until she reached him. Ingrid took a hold of his face and looked at him like he was hotter than the Torragon High Desert and started to kiss him. She felt a hand on her chest coming from behind but that didn’t matter, the more the merrier they say.

The daze cleared and Ingrid found herself to be kissing Benny. Her body was throbbing from a mixture of pain and heat. She had no idea why she was kissing him, they had just been friends but she found herself still kissing, drawn in by the comfort being near him previously provided. She pulled away knowing it wasn't right but she perhaps lingered too long. She is going to have to apologise for this.

Benedetto blinked. At one point, he'd hated and mocked Ingrid. Now... she was in his arms. He stepped back quickly, but did not completely let her go. Perhaps they could simply play it off as being caused by the aberration madness, but... he suspected otherwise. As if he could almost sense her thoughts, he smiled back in a way that he hoped didn't come across as 'creepy'. "No apologies needed."

Isabella came to her senses in the middle of groping Ingrid's chest during the others intimate exchange. Though she was apologetic, she took maybe a second too long to let go. When she floated off, she was staring down at her own front with a look of sadness.

Zarina looked right at the sky with her bloodshot eyes, “Vashdal Witness Me! I am the Dragon QUEEN!” and she eagerly stared at the nearby Froabas, before beginning to sprint. There, she came around, and just kind of tripped. Face in the sad, head pounding and her horse slowly pacing by to nudge her head with his lips, “Mmmm …” she whinnied.

Ayla flaps her arms like a bird, tripping hard as she makes whooshing noises. “Fear me, for we are Skyborn. Death from above!”. She ‘swoops down’ as she finds Yalen, clinging upon the boy's back and holding him tightly. “Hehe… Yalen and Jocasta make such a cute couple… blonde bebes.”, her hands wrapping around to grope upon him. Ayla comes down hard as the drop in blood pressure causes her to pass out upon Yalen’s back. Sleepy time.

Yalen's sides were hurting, and wet stains were beginning to dry on his face. He couldn't tell if what he'd gone through was a dream, but he was slowly beginning to come back to the real world. When the urge to hurt, to kill welled up inside of him, it took everything he had to fight it off. The effort of doing so drove him to tears. Also, his body hurt all over as if someone had spent several seconds kicking the crap out of him. On top of all that, the laughing and crying he'd done made it hard to inhale.

There was another distressing matter he was now acutely aware of. Ayla was squeezing him from behind, and her hands had gone somewhere he really didn't want them to. When Yalen looked over his shoulder, he noticed the look of sleepy confusion and embarrassment on her face. Okay, at least this wasn't intentional, but this would be hard to talk about tomorrow. For now, he quickly tore himself away from her and hid behind what was left of the stone barricade to hide his shame.

For Casii, the lure of the aberration was enough to bring her in, but she knew she shouldn't have. Her own kin wallowed under the same vice and yet there it was.... It happened in a blur. A profound sense of regret, experience, rage, joy, lust and when she came out. She had her hands wrapped around Ismette, each greedy hand tightly gripping the other Yasoi's rump. She was close, practically leaning over the other Yasoi who might have been leaning away from a kiss as Casii's eyes opened to see her lips extended... "Oh..." She muttered, cheeks growing rosy as she withdrew. "...sorry." She hung her head in embarrassment. Ismette hadn't even been tempted by the aberration and here Casii stood, giving in and now she went and made a fool of herself like that in front of her. "Was it bad?".

Ismette blinked. She blushed, but barely. "Actually, it wasn't bad at all," she said with a slight laugh. "Unexpected, but by no means bad." She winked and reached out to squeeze Casii's shoulder. "Feel no shame, sister. I now find myself wishing I'd partaken.” She took a step back. "Now, if you would like someone to be your eshe'doin, I do not mind in the slightest."

Trypano was standing in the clear opening surrounded by the dwindling sounds of madness her reasoning returns to her, her focused and cold stare fastening back onto her face. Forming glass out of the sand below she creates a vial. With her knife she opens a vein in her wrist and lets blood out into this new container. Sealing it with more binding she then tucks it away in her bag, afterwards checking to make sure the lantern is still intact.

Kaspar's sitting back between his heels in the strewn remains of sand and glass. His mind feels like he'd just been on the cusp of something great, a revelation to shake the world, but it's already slipping from his grasp into a freefall away, stolen knowledge returned to the abyss. Kaspar notices the warmth, Gods’ forsaken as it was to his southern blood—against his legs and his hands on the ground, in the air surrounding him, but a sleeve of it runs up his left arm.

As partly hazy eyes glance towards the strange sensation, they're met with red. Breath hitches, painful and panicked in his chest at memories that he forces down with extreme prejudice, but the pale sleeve of his shirt is bright crimson and sticking to the skin where fabric still remains. Fumbling, he sees the handprint carved into the flesh, nothing compared to what could have been done, but bleeding openly still. The boy didn't need to measure to know it would match his own palm, as covered in blood as his right hand seemed to be now.

Grimacing, he tugged fabric away from it, a more absorbent sort forming in his hand as he expelled the mana that had once been his flesh—from the blood, and to the blood it would return, as he pressed the material against the wound, the red weeping already beginning to grow sluggish. His eyes scan the rest of his companions, finding them in odd sorts but still alive. That would have to do, for now.

Marci blinked. She was... dancing, in a sense: dancing in the middle of the desert, and laughing without a care in the world. She did not often dance anymore because of how her legs were these days, but something had compelled her anyhow, and she was secretly glad of it. There were bruises on her face and a tenderness in her knuckles. She noticed them next and they said that she had been up to some sort of violence. Marceline's cheeks burned with enough shame that she ceased her laughter and dancing. Still, she could feel this strange new power surging through her and she had a feeling - a sense deep inside of herself - that was telling her that great things awaited if she went to Ersand'Enise. When it was all over and she had come down from the strange high, she stood there smiling: happy.

As fast as the energy came, it was gone. Silas found himself half buried in sand, unsure whether his pain and weariness were from the battle with the froabases or the aberration. It was some time before he tried to move.

As once it was all over, Desmond sighed in relief as he saw people finally calming down and seeming to have the fog clear.



In O R I F L A M M E → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Event: Best Served Cold | Location: Voyage upon the Eskandr Longboat.


Maëlle readies her bow, raising it up towards the perched squirrel. She makes herself perfectly still in her position, anchoring the pull and with a deep breath, steadies her breathing. She releases her fingers as the arrow flies and misses the mark. The squirrel sniffs at the air, before scampering along the branch as a second arrow makes the creature drop down.

“Don’t rush, mi fresa - ma fraise)”, Gisselle lowers her bow, smiling sweetly towards the pouty faces her daughter is making, “Patience will ensure you strike true”. Maëlle looks towards the squirrel upon the ground, “Da always says to strike quickly and decisively”. Gisselle looks towards her, and now in a chiding tone, “and who is the best hunter in the village?” clearly referring to herself. Maëlle grins up mischievously, “Papi~”. Gisselle blinks then laughs, “Maybe Pa in his heyday. He did teach your Da, and myself, of course”. The pair picked up their prizes as they made their way back home towards the small town they call home.

Gisselle was glad it was Père and not Asier that Maëlle looked up to in this regard, her father is still the towns huntsman despite his waning years, and he continues to entertain the children with a tall tale or many of the strange and wonderful creatures he encountered in the fables. It is not as if she disliked Asier, but he hasn’t been the most reliable role model, especially one with a daughter who pines after him constantly. Now with another blessing on its way, perhaps the gods grant them their wish that their family will grow larger despite the challenges and tribulations they have faced. Perhaps after the battle with the Eskandr is done, she will have the opportunity to have a serious discussion about his responsibilities back at home and not for the Parrench King.

As the pair start to approach their home, they notice the horses, Espirito and Fresa outside of the gate. Gisselle starts to eye this up suspiciously as Maëlle gets excited. “Da is home! Look Mamá, the horses are here…!”. Gisselle tugs upon Maëlle to prevent her running off, “He may be weary from battle, he hasn’t put the horses away. Go and do that first”, Maëlle shoots up a look as questioning this with some choice words, though notices the expression upon her mother’s face, “Mamá… … will make sure they the horses are fed, they must be tired”.

Gisselle moves towards the door as she is greeted by a messenger, the man opening his satchel as he bears a letter with the king’s seal upon it, “Baroness Herbeumont, I presume?”. She clicks her tongue at the use of the Parrench name, “Baroness Hierbamonte”, the man looks rather uncomfortable for a moment before proceeding. “Important letter from the King”. She offers her hand as she accepts the letter, moving to her pouch as she offers the man money to stay at the tavern, “Inform them of my name if there are any outstanding expenses, feel free to rest up before your return journey”. The Parrench man looks a little sheepish, as he gives a small bow before disappearing, Gisselle politely pointing into the appropriate direction. She makes her way inside as she uses the knife to break the wax seal.

Maëlle slowly makes her way through the door, moving in an hesitant manner, “Da is not coming home again, is he?”. Gisselle gently hushes her daughter, gesturing for her to come close as she pats upon her lap, and when she climbs on, gives her daughter a warm embrace.

“Your Da is going on a journey out to sea.”






Asier learnt that being tied to the bow of the longship had its perks, mostly that he got a good view of the journey and a chance to breathe in deeply of that fresh sea air. The other perk was that the Eskandr had to put up with the smell of sea sickness as well, as the motions of the longship caused him to rock up and down in a see-saw fashion along the sea.

Asier’s experience only grew more intense with the passing of time as the waves licked up and crashed over the front of the ship. The sky started to brew, darkening as storm clouds began to populate the horizon and the Eskandr raiders headed to a nearby island to camp for the night to wait out its passing.

After the customary beating that always came with changing positions, Asier now at least had the comfort of wood to sit upon as he was hauled to the mast and left tied upon it in the open rain. Not as if he had to worry about his clothes getting wet, but at least his skin would be able to shed itself of its accumulation of salt. Outside of the repeated punishment, the Eskandr had treated him well with food, less a gesture of their generosity but more that he would maintain his strength for the journey. Not through any compassion as his hosts were performing the duty out of preference for keeping their prey alive rather than having it perish during the trip for the punishments that laid in wait for him when they reached the capital.

As the rain batters through the night and the thunder crackles through the sky, dark shadows bend and twist along the deck in strange and unusual man-like silhouettes. Between the flashes of light and boom of the thunder, a scurrying as hands are fiddling, the sound of feet scampering through the puddles. “If you are after the good stuff, they stick it in the strongbox on the left under the deck.”, Asier owes the Eskandr no loyalty and doubts these imaginary shadow creatures would be taking off with their treasure even if the idea of it amuses him greatly. The shadows bob and weave in response as they currently stick to the edges, their attention focusing on the said location. “Should be quite a lot in there, the brutes tend to gather as much as they can find, haul it on these ships, then store it up in great big piles in their frozen homeland. Should be enough for you and your friends”. He gives a wry smile as he is convinced he is being driven mad from this experience.

Then, violence: sudden and decisive. Coinciding with a great crack of lightning, one of the small figures rushed up and cracked open the chest not too far from where Asier had been lashed. The Eskandr had taken most of the good stuff ashore, ever wary, even in a place like this. They had been weary, though, and sloppy. The lid slammed open, nearly breaking its hinges. Inside was silver, frankincense, and sugar in great quantity. The shadows rifled through it eagerly, very much corporeal beings, apparently.

If they were saying anything, it was hard to make out amid the crash of waves, wind, and distant thunder, but they plucked eagerly from the chest, filling slings tied across their shoulders. They conferred with each other as they did so, nodding, pointing, and gesturing. They tied their slings into sacks and tossed these overboard. If there were individuals waiting below to receive the stolen bounty, Asier could not see them from his angle.

Then, all at once, a couple rushed up to him, leaping the distance in a pair of nimble bounds, very much yasoi-like. The larger of the two - a young woman by the looks of her - tilted her head to the side. “Yeen ik-k-k Queeyan?” she exclaimed, turning to her counterpart. He shook his head. “Yeep ik-k-pap Queeyan.” Very obviously not human, though something not completely removed either, both turned large, dark eyes to Asier, their surfaces reflecting the light. “Hyou speek-k-k Essk-kaam?” asked the second in broken Eskandr, jabbing a finger at the prisoner.

Asier has most definitely lost his mind when being confronted by these beings in some kind of delirium, though his lack of companionship has made this journey rather dull other than examining the glares, hisses and spitting of the Eskandr. Asier would raise his hand in greeting if he could, simply making do with a nod towards the strange creatures of the night, “Hello there.”, he gives them a warm smile as the rain drops run down his face, unable to quite make out what they are. ”Do you happen to be Yasoi?”, he peers to them inquisitively, ”though either way, the Eskandr most likely have more of those boxes on the shore, but they are most likely stored with their axes and foul tempers.”. He offers the pair a toothy grin as he doesn’t fully understand their speech, ”Not sure about Essk-kaam, but my Parrench is not too bad by their standards”.

“Yeep ik-k-pap Essk-kaam,” said the older male. His clothing was of a single piece, mostly smooth, but festooned with little bits and baubles. “Yeen ik-k-k!” insisted the other. “Yeen owuuik.”

“Ak. Kikoo.” He shook his head. “Kikoo.”

“Ahooi yeen ik-k-k Paahreck-k,” suggested the woman, and the sea-man made what may have been an annoyed face. “Keepah keepah!” she prodded, but when he was slow, she shoved him aside.

“Hi!” she said, in Avincian, waving exaggeratedly. She extracted some silver coins and a chain from her sling and held them up in Asier’s face. “I wike!” She grinned, and her mouth was full of sharp little teeth. She pointed at the chest and nodded, and then indicated the general area with further gestures, perhaps indicating confusion or curiosity. “Fwiem!” she announced. “I fwiem. You fwiem.” She held up some more silver and kissed it, turning eagerly to Asier.

Asier raises an eyebrow as he watches the display, still unclear, however the female appears to be the smarter of the two strange beings. “It suits you very well.”, he gestures with his head towards her silver and then towards her.

“Ferry Weww!” she mimicked, nodding eagerly and then blinking. She tilted her head to one side.

“We could always do with having more friends out here, wherever here is.”. He takes a look towards the older male, simply trying to give him a respectful nod. “There must be four other ships with more hoards like that as well, reckoning from my last count”.

“Fouw…” she repeated, stewing upon the word. She held up four fingers and gave a questioning look.

He nods in return to the gesture, using his head to bob as if counting. ”One, Two, Three, Four. Four Ships.”

“Wum tkoo fwee fouw ssipss!” she chirped, pointing at him, greatly pleased with herself. “Ssipss!” Her older counterpart shook his head adamantly. He stomped on the deck with a webbed foot. “Ssip,” he insisted, but she shook her head and pointed with equal certainty to Asier. “Ssipss!”

The sea-man rolled his eyes. “Pooka. Dee axi pooka.”

“Dee pooka. Dee papa pooka. Dee mama pooka. Dee oumaf axi pooki!”

Asier gives her a guilty look, especially as she is full of confidence as he shakes his head. He follows the others' gesture as he stamps upon the deck as he reinforces the word ‘ship’ as meaning the longboat. ”Ship.”. He looks to her again, when he has her attention to look down to himself using his chin to point as he indicates ”Asier. My name is Asier.” He tries to make sense of their language as he gestures towards her, “Pooka?”, he asks in a questioning manner.

“Woo woo woo!” shouts the sea-man. “Kee pooka!”

Encouraged, Asier points towards the other with his chin, ”Papa Pooka?”.

“Woo woo woo!” shouted the younger one. “Papa pooka!” She grinned wickedly at her counterpart and he scowled. She turned that same smile on Asier. “I Akeenah. You Assiew.” She pointed to the sea-man. “I Hoomak,” she announced, using the wrong pronoun. “I -” she grabbed silver and gestured “wike.”

Asier gestures with his head towards the bindings coiled around him, wiggling his body to show the suggestion of perhaps untying or cutting him free from his bondage. ”Going to be difficult without my hands. Are you able to free me?”, he wiggles in an exaggerated manner as tugging at the ropes, as he repeats ”Free friend?” in a suggestive tone.

Hoomak rolled his eyes at Akeenah, but withdrew a wicked-looking dagger from his pouch when Asier spoke. Akeenah’s eyes widened momentarily, but then her partner was slicing the human’s bindings and the ropes were sloughing away. “Hyou go,” said Hoomak. “I wike-ke-ke.” added his partner eaerly. “I tkake. Hyou tkake.”

Asier rubs his wrists as he can finally feel his circulation going towards his fingers, rotating them to get the blood flowing as he nods towards Hoomak, stating ”Thank you”. Asier redoes the introductions to confirm what they have learnt so far. He points to himself, ”Asier”, he points towards the girl, ”Akeenah”, he points towards the male, ”Hoomak”, then he reaches down to knock upon the ship, ”Ship”, he raises his fingers to signal ”One Ship”, then closes his hand, then points towards the distance, ”One ship, two ship, three ship, four ship”, and shows four fingers towards them.

Once the refresher class is completed, he notices their attention upon the silver, as he reaches out towards it, ”This is silver. Silver.”, even prodding it to make the point if allowed that close, ”Akeenah like silver?”, as he points towards her then the silver in her hand, ”Hoomak like silver?”, doing likewise.

“I siwfer!” Akeenah hisses when he got too close, baring her teeth, but then it turned into an impish smile. “Hehe, I ghak-k fowee!” She made a thinking face for a moment, and a flash of lightning illuminated her surprisingly humanlike features. “I, hyou, hyou go siwfer.” She paused and pointed. “Ssipss.”

Hoomak jabbered something quickly back in their language and Akeenah nodded. Then, the older sea person was gone: springing overboard with surprising nimbleness for his apparent age. “Hoomak go.” She makes a gesture of pulling or gathering something. “Go peepwe: wum tkoo fwee fouw…” She bit her lower lip. “I, hyou go ssiips. Peepwe go ssipsss. Siwfer!” She nodded and smiled conspiratorially. “I, hyou go wum. Peepwe go tkoo.” She winked. “I, you, wum, tkoo fwee, fouw siwfer.”

Asier smiles as he thanks the heavens; the basic universal concept of wanting more applies to these creatures too. He does a big gesture with his hands, ”Lots of Silver. Lots.”

Akeenah is an awkward walker when not bounding or leaping, her long-toed webbed feet evidently not well adapted to moving quickly on flat ground. She turners on a heel. “Wotkss,” she tries gamely, stumbling over the word and having to twist her mouth in a strange way to pronounce it. “Wum, tkoo, fwee, fouw.” She pauses, psyching herself up for the challenge. “Wotks.” She arches an eyebrow, annoyed, and shakes her head, gesturing to Asier to follow her overboard. “I, hyou…” She points to her mouth and mimics speaking. “I queeyan: eeaiko queeyan. Wotks,” she continues, “Kohkah!” She pauses, swinging over the edge. “Wum, tkoo fwee, fouw: kohka!”

“Asier,” she says, poking her head back up. “Hyou…” She clambers up a bit and hooks her elbows over the edge. Poorly, she motions swimming. “Okay?”

Asier questions the language, pointing towards Aleekah. ”Eeaiko?”, then pointing towards himself, ”Human.”. The main reason for clarifying is the fact he is realising what is going to be asked of him. Being a horseman on the steppe, his contact with water is infrequent, even if it is a butt of jokes about bathing. He moves towards the side as he tries to estimate how deep the water is, though during storm conditions as the waves crash against the side of the boat, this is impossible to tell, and even if he could paddle a little it would be vastly inadequate. He probably looks rather meek when looking towards the water, offering a shrug of his shoulders, as he starts to draw upon the force energies of the storm, so if he starts sinking towards the bottom, he might be able to get his way back out if he manages to push himself towards the direction of land.

He was about to jump into the water when he got an idea. Stopping himself, and using the open flat of his hand to symbolise ‘stop’ or ’wait’, he moves over to grab some rope, returning to the Eeaiko girl. He moves the rope around him, as he begins to tie it into a knot, then tugging upon it to show how it doesn’t come undone. ”Asier rope.”, pointing down towards it, then offers the other end to Akeenah, ”Akeenah rope? Asier Akeenah rope together.”, trying his best to communicate with his hands.

“A.. aha… ahahaha! Asier uh-uh ik–k-k ahee!” She was laughing at him, but she clambered back aboard and accepted the rope, tying it around her waist. “I, hyou, go!” she prodded, hopping nimbly up on the gunwale. “Okay?”

Asier gives a thumbs up in an act of fake confidence. ”Okay.”, as he moves upon the edge of the gunwale, then with much reluctance, even with the rope, pushes himself into the water with a splash, sinking in underneath then trying to kick himself up so his head is above it. Thankfully, he is not wearing any armour, considering it all got confiscated as part-payment for his act of arson.

Akeenah more or less drags him to a nearby longship, her eagerness to reach it not giving Asier much chance to be anything but a passenger. Once his hands have grasped the side, she untethers herself eagerly and leaps aboard. “Silver?” she demands, but she’s already going for a chest. There’s a brief buildup of energy and then the lock shatters and she’s opening her prize. What she pulls out is not silver but gold. She waggles her eyebrows at Asier and grins, but it quickly fades in favour of inquisitiveness. “You uh-uh Eskaam?”

Asier shakes his head to the question, assuming it meant she was asking if he was Eskandr. “Me Parrench. From Parrence. Not Eskandr.”, he works up some spit as if to give a demonstration of disgust towards Eskandr. He does change the subject as he points towards the gold, ”Gold. Worth more than Silver.”, he points towards Akeenah’s silver, then using a gesture with his arms symbolising a lot of it, then pointing towards the smaller pile of gold. ”Gold is lots of Silver”.

Akeenah, busy scooping gold into her sling, just kind of looks strangely at Asier and where he spat. “Paareck,” she repeats, apparently solid on it, but there seems to be some deeper confusion there. She stares briefly at the spit again, already washed away by the rain and then shakes her head as if to clear it. Then, from the water comes splashing that doesn’t seem like waves. Hoomak and seven to ten other Eeaiko clamber and leap aboard. One - a particularly large man in what would appear to be fine clothing for Eeaiko - takes the lead, grabbing Akeenah by the hand. “Akeenah, reek awoom ak-k-k oomum.” He looks Asier up and down, scowling.

Asier was helping to find other treasure upon the ship, bringing it as an offering towards Akeenah as she was storing things within her sling as he built upon that rapport. Though the arrival of her friends is met with some perceived hostility by what appears to be perhaps the leader of this group. He motions towards himself, ”Asier, Parrench Human.”, then towards the wealthy one, ”Silver, Gold, for Eeaiko”, he gestures the box towards the group, as if offering them the opportunity to partake in the spoils. He keeps an eye upon the dynamic between Akeenah and the leader, wondering if there was deeper connection, or simply general suspicion towards strangers.

“I speak your worzz, Parreck,” the apparent leader replied. He pulled Akeenah close. “I am Auvam, of Akamaz. I see you have meh my betkrove, Akeenah.” He did not make any move towards Asier, for either good or ill. Instead, he crossed his arms. “So, you are a prisomer, we have freeh you. You give us goww and siwver as thacks. You wook for more?”

Asier smiles brightly as this one speaks his tongue close enough, a perfect opportunity. ”Glad that your fiance introduced us then, we need to share words that involve you getting a lot of gold and silver.”, he hopes the words take the interest of Auvam, making him more willing to hear his ideas. “Your Akeenah likes her silver, so let's make your wedding full of it. Does that sound interesting to you?”.

”The Eskandr,” pointing towards the ship, ”have sent a great many to Parrench. Around a thousand it seemed, they filled the waters off the coast.”, he nods towards Akeenah to gesture a really big ‘lots’, definitely a lot of fours. ”You are talking to Asier, the man who burnt them all, nearly.”, he gestures a big poof of smoke, like an eruption. ”The Eskandr are stuck in Parrence. Their homes are missing many of their warriors.”, he moves towards the chest of silver and gold. ”Eskandr takes gold and silver from everywhere, to bring home. Their halls are filled with this.” he takes out the gold and silver, offering it out to the group. ”If Auvam of Akamaz, and his many friends wanted an opportunity to have a wedding filled with silver for his lovely wife”, gesturing towards Akeenah, ”Asier the Parrench will help him, and he does not want gold or silver.”

“You say this ouh of the goohess of your hearh or for revenge?” Inquired Auvam. “I will noh brig my kig a requess for pickig awwies ih a humam war.”

Asier shakes his head, ”Justice, not revenge. We do not desire bloodshed or their death, nor would this be requested”. ”Tell me. Given what we see of the Eskandr, they are brutal, cruel, and warlike. Your people must have met their ends early at their hands. Yet, despite their threat, you are here on their ship, for their gold and silver, in a peaceful manner as they sleep on the shore. This tells me that gold and silver are important to you.”, he gestures towards the shoreline. ”Their warriors are on a shore called Parrence, whilst they leave their city like this ship. Like this ship, Asier will offer to help you claim what you need, taking those riches in payment for their crimes against the Eeaiko, past, present, and maybe even future. All we desire is justice being served, my friendship on this is your wedding gift.”

“Tell me, humam, why are you sayig your nhame, nhoh ‘I’?” Auvam tilted his head to the side.

Asier scratches his head for a moment, ”Bad habit which was picked up when trying to converse earlier, we were learning each other's names, and mistakes were made. Hoomak ended up as Papa Pooka by accident, we were trying to familiarize ourselves with correct names by repeating them. Also we Tourrare Parrench are a communal people, we aim to serve and contribute to the family, not the individual.”

“Hah! Papa Pookah!” Auvam laughed. “You are fummy, Asier. I will give you thah. Now…” He twisted, cleared his throat, and began shouting orders in his language. Akeenah flashed a little smile Asier’s way and took the lead as eeaiko spread out across the ships. “You shouh be correc, though,” the leader amended. “We are’t the omes who fear Eskaam. Eskaam fear us!” He crossed his arms. “I will bring this projec to my king. I have his ear. Perhaps he will lissen.”

The last moments Asier can remember is that big toothy smile of Auvam as the world goes dark around him.

As the morning sun breaks through the clouds, Asier looks up from the ship mast even more worse to wear than the night before. He groans as he seems to woken from a very strange dream about the events that transpired during the night. He is roughly greeted by a charming Eskandr brute of a man who enjoyed greeting him with a slap against the face each morning, though now, that permanent scowl seemed to twist to show how his heart grew three times smaller at this present moment. “Hvor er sølvet? - where is the silver”. Asier spat out blood as he was struck again, looking towards the side where the strongbox laid open and the lid broken off. "The sea demons were real…?” Asier questioned for a moment, as he looked up towards the man. The man fumed as he started shouting out in Eskandr. “Havfruene! havfruene var her”. He looked down towards Asier, grinning as he prodded upon the strange mark scratched upon him. “You were lucky boy, they didn’t eat you. They left you a parting present to remember them by.”

Asier looks down to see the mark upon him. It was regarded as a curse for those who have been in contact with the seafolk by the Eskandr after he had outlived his usefulness in taking the Eskandr’s treasures. Perhaps his willingness allowed him to remain with his life, even though it won’t be much of one once he gets to his destination.

Next time, he might have had better luck in attempting to trade silver for Auvam’s wife than encouraging them to raid a city.

Let’s hope the gods bless him with an opportunity to end up with his Parrench compatriots once again.



In O R I F L A M M E → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Event: Defense of Relouse | Location: Behind Enemy Lines, Parrence.



The cold air brushes upon the man’s face, his eyes open to darkness. As he stares towards the heavens, the moons shine brightly, the gods looking down upon him as the haze of the starry sky becomes clearer.

Is this… the afterlife…?, the sharpness of pain penetrates the numbness as he feels his awareness returning, his senses coming to life as the smell, sound, and feel of the wet earth below his fingers. He tries to move, very sluggish in his manner as he tries to right himself. His hands roaming upon his armour as he feels the puncture holes adorning it, however the flesh underneath is present, despite being scarred and raw. He looks around to see the battlefield almost absent of life, other than a few scavengers collecting the spoils of battle. The words he hears around are of Eskandr origin, as he tries to make out where the battle-lines are. He appears to be truly in enemy territory.

He looks at the bodies around him as he selects belongings to obscure his identity as he tries to blend in with the host of the Eskandr horde. Taking a helmet, a dark cloak, and some appropriate weapons. As he was about to take off, he noticed a familiar sight of what was once the beloved Arpegiar. Such a noble steed to have been butchered so brutally that it should have been a crime against Oraff. It seemed the animal took the vast majority of the arrows, dying almost suddenly as its eyes were still wide with alertness. He crouches down as he makes the sign of the pentad, the typical hourglass shape as he leans down to close those eyes, ”Rest well, good friend..

Fortune has favoured Asier. Reshta, known as Vyshta to the Yasoi, is the embodiment of chaos. Taking with one hand and giving with another. In exchange for his life, it seems the path of fate has taken cruel turns. The one who reached him, before they were driven away, only had healed him enough to enact vengeance upon the Eskandr for their hubris.

Asier skulks along the battlefield, moving low and moving quickly as he attempts to infiltrate the Eskandr supply lines. The cover of darkness provided opportunity as the lookouts were minimal, their fires almost unguarded as the Eskandr must be too busy revelling in their victories against the La Grande Armée of the Parrench.

After taking a moment to survey the surroundings, he starts to mentally plan out the camp before him and not appearing to find any obvious weaknesses, despite the minimal levels of patrolling along the south and the beached ships furthest away from the encampment. Only those moving and out of the camp were the scavengers seeking the spoils as they picked at the corpses like vultures. He came across an oaf of an Eskandr who seems determined on removing a nobleman's cuirass without the knowledge of knowing how to unfasten it, despite somehow gathering a sack of ill-gotten gains. This was a ripe target as he silently moves up to the distracted man, unsheathing a dagger as he used the gift to apply the force along the edge, allowing it to move effortlessly as he silences the individual in a swift motion as the head slides off his neck with a squelch as it lands within his hands. He takes the bag of booty as he starts to heave it towards the encampment.

The trek was longer and more arboreous than expected. It seems whoever did patch him up was in a hurry, as some of the wounds were starting to reopen as he felt the warmth of his blood upon his skin, growing more sluggish. He approaches the Eskandr camp with his goods as the watchman looks on. He could overhear shouting in their guttural language as he draws closer. The watchman begins to grow tense due to lack of reply, but as the man got close, he could see the ill-fitting helmet, and beard hanging underneath, with the scavenger tapping upon the sack and giving him a roaring cheer, he allows him to pass, wondering just what he may have picked up was worth cheering about and how to get first dibs upon it.

With Asier within the camp, things got easier as he started to head towards the Eskandr sea-chariots. A horse for a horse he thought as he started to inspect the area. It seems these men were very lacklustre in their security provision, probably far too relaxed after what appears to be their victory, all the better to take advantage of. He climbs on board the nearest ship as he quietly inspects the cargo, checking out the caskets secured to the sides of the ships, filled with tar and pitch. Using his dagger and a persuasive amount of force, he opens the nailed down lid, dipping his finger inside to smell it and rubbing it between his fingers. What did they intend to do with this?



He could see in the distance the Eskandr have been removing the pitch from the ships, there were caskets stacked up along the beach as they were being stored along it. It was then it began to dawn on him what they were plotting to do, they were going to raze Relouse to the ground. He glances along the ships as he tries to mentally calculate but fails due to the sheer scale. They are going to burn Parrence to the ground? The cruelty of these people shows no shame, as he doesn’t look this gift horse in the mouth. ”You reap what you sow.”

Asier breathes in as he begins to draw upon the energies around him with the gift. The tides provide him with valuable force, the storms generating plenty of residual energy for him to take for his own. The Tourrare starts to overdraw, the concentrate of energy would shine like a beacon for those with the gift around him, but it is too late. For what is dead may never die. Asier picks up the caskets of pitch as he throws them, empowered with the force, upon the neighbouring ships, and tipping the last one over as it pours out at his feet, moving himself to stand upon the edge prepared. He concentrates the force of thunder at his fingertips, the lightning sparkling as he fires the currents towards the ships. The fumes of the tar are highly volatile as they ignite, the fire spreading quickly upon the wood, soon finding the caskets stored onboard those ships. The first signs of trouble would be the sudden light and engulfing of flame, only to be accompanied by a ferocious wind as Asier uses the force to control the air flow, sending out gusts towards the directions of the other ships. Fire, pitch, and flaming caskets raining down like brimstone along the shoreline, the ships docked in single file made them prime targets for his attack as the flames flicker up into wild fire as they start to spread unchecked. Horns are blazed as the horde of Eskandr are in uproar and panic, their access to the river blockaded by a wall of fire, fueled by what used to be their longships.

Asier spits out blood upon the sands before him, bowled over, crouching, as he suffers the consequences of his actions. The wounds on his sides are oozing with blood, as he feels the hot flame licking against his back. The Eskandr are arriving enmasse, they would instantly notice his shape against the backdrop of an inferno. The look of despair upon their faces made it known he did the right thing in the situation. “Nothing beats a good bonfire on a cold night after battle”, his voice and chuckle drowned out by the sound of crackling timber as the ships collapse under the intensity of the flame. He used the last of his reserves to amplify his voice. ”Are you not entertained? Isn’t this why you are here in Parrench lands? Is my gift to you not good enough?”, his voice bellows across as the Eskandr are overwhelmed with their emotions, despair, anger, hatred, fear.

Asier grins widely as he sees his nemesis, the Nashorn yet again. The hulk of a beast starting to charge over in his direction. ”Bet you regret not finishing the job now. A cat has nine lives.”, he spat blood onto the floor before him again as it starts to fill his mouth, then he turned around stumbling, heading into the direction of the fires he created, finally deserving of the peace his final rest will deliver him.

Nashorn rampages through the Eskandr lines and debris as he quickly descends upon Asier. The Tourrare warrior seems to not to pay attention as the beast tears through the smouldering carnage that has been wrought upon his people. He grabs the man, smacking him hard against the head to cripple him in his tracks before he would kill himself. He starts to drag the man towards the main encampment to be judged by his overlord. There are crueller fates than dying.

Reshta has not yet finished with the Lion Knight.

In The Hourglass Order → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Jocasta @Force and Fury
Event: Hugo's task | Location:Tethered Refuge, Torragonese High Desert.

🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨


“I don’t see why this is necessary,” Jocasta huffed, rolling along after Ayla, who traipsed about in front of her. “I am perfectly good with words and negotiation.” She glanced back at the others over her shoulder as they receded into the distance. “Look at how I defused that pool situation!”

Ayla started recalling the pool situation, her version aimed at attempting to de-escalate the situation before Jo bared her teeth. “It was a very nice touch at the end.” She gave credit where it was due as she redirected from the statement. “Your skill set would be invaluable, if you were free to act and not caught up in noble pleasantries and sycophancy. We don’t want our trump card on display whilst we are at a disadvantage.” She smiled widely. The irony of her own comment was not lost as she moved closer. “You know how persuasive my words can be. Let us do what we do best.”

Jocasta heaved a much-put-upon sigh. “Someday, mama, I’ll be a real girl.” She quirked an eyebrow. “For now, I’m just curious to see how badly you fail in a wheeled-chair.” They’d reached the wood workshop, where open space abounded and they could talk in private. Jocasta reached out with a kinetic grip and plucked a newly-finished chair from the corner. “Now sit,” she commanded, “and we can speak further as we roll.”

Ayla seats herself in the wheelchair, “You left such a lasting impression, we aspired to be like you so much, we wanted to become you.”. She smiles towards the blonde as she is practicing acting more snarky in her comments. “The logical next step.”, she puts her hands to the wheel as she practices pushing them forward in the manner she has seen the others, seeming far more clunky than she anticipated.

“Step, hmm?” Jocasta teased. She observed Ayla for a moment. “This isn't such a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but you do need to look authentic. First thing, when you turn, not one at a time; both: one forward, one back. You can pivot on the spot.” She pursed her lips, suddenly some kind of Zeno.

Ayla moves her hands as instructed, able to turn on a neskal. She gives a smile in return, “Thought you were going to refer to the hair and eye color with the authentic comment. But it appears we’ll soon be rolling and they will be hating at this rate.”.

“Better,” decided Jocasta. “You’re not dogshit anymore, pardon my Perrench." She immediately softened The comment with a smirk. “As for the hair and eyes, nothing a little blood and chemical magic can't fix.” She focused for a moment and her hair darkened until it was nearly black. “wait,” she interrupted herself, “I should’ve asked. You've been taught how to do this? Wanna handle it yourself?”

Ayla does open up her saddle-bag, full of various trinkets, including a piece of flat metal with a shine. “Cosmetics is my forte, if you give me a moment, you could soon pass for me.”, she gives a teasing manner as she starts to dig for powder and make-up. “Got a reputation to maintain, won’t pass with just changing your hair colour. You will soon be the prettiest flower in the garden.”

“Trying to tell me something?” Jocasta raised an eyebrow. People often assured her that she was pretty, though she knew it was more out of pity than anything else. “Anyhow,” she continued, “these!” All at once she reached out and slapped Ayla’s knees: hard enough to draw a reaction. She shook her head. “They can't move. You're moving them without realizing it.” She drew her hand in a line across her waist. “Nothing below here. Sorry for the slap, by the way.”

Ayla grins for a moment with the final comment, “Don’t worry, plucking your eyebrows in a moment.” She pulls a pair of tweezers out, as she taps them together in a teasing movement. “But going to tell you a secret, two actually, first thing, you have good bone structure, don’t want you telling me you’re not pretty. Second, every beautiful girl is very talented when it comes to applying make-up, so once we are done, you would not be pretty, but ravishing. No pity.”

Jocasta blushed. “...got cheekbones like a Nashibansek,” she grumbled, but then she smiled. “Also, get that torture device away from me. I'll use binding. Just guide me.”

Ayla smiles warmly, teasing further, “You sure? No pain, no gain…” She puts the tweezers back in her bag as she moves to hold upon Jo’s hand, extending the index finger and moving it towards her eye-brow as she begins to guide the blonde.

“Ipte,” Jo huffed. “I'm a golem now.”

“Mhm. Have you ever dressed up before? Experience being like another person. It is a surreal and enjoyable experience choosing to be like someone you are not out of choice.”

A dozen times, Jocasta thought, but I have to go back to being myself every time it’s over.“Here and there,” she replied pleasantly, “but if I tell you, I might have to kill you.” She grinned wickedly. “That's neither here nor there, though. For now, are you ready to become blonde? Then, we play dress up, hmm?”

Ayla nods as she smiles, as she starts to apply the finishing touches upon Jo’s face. She leans very closely towards it, her breath gently blowing against the blonde as she is very delicately applying the freckles with her brush as they are face-to-face “Pretending to be a villain can be a fun act, especially when your ancestor is considered to be a Grand Demon.”, she moves her hand up as if to take the shape of a claw, making a scratching gesture. “You would need to make these already pretty eyes a sparkling sapphire too however, and then we should be done with the make-up. You would make a very beautiful Arslan.”, unable to resist teasing the blonde with compliments as she blushed in response.

Jocasta backed up a couple of pushes. “Uuh, yup,” she replied, a little bit uncomfortable with the closeness. “Green to blue.” She focused on Ayla’s hair, changing its composition until it shone golden, and giving it a bit of a wave. She maneuvered behind the Torragonese, taking up her hair, and starting to braid it as she usually braided hers. “Next, we need to change,” she said, “but I don’t think our clothes will fit each other.” She scowled. “Might not seem like it, but I think I’m actually taller than you standing.”

Ayla appraises Jo as she looks her up and down, “You might be right. Could use a couple of pins to hold it tighter. Nothing difficult to modify. Could always put a blanket over my legs.”

“Pins!?” the tethered exclaimed. “I can use binding, you know. Just might be… interesting fitting back into things after, unless binding is used again. As for the blanket…” she paused, thinking. “Might be a good idea anyways. Your legs are too full.” She shook her head. “Mine are like sticks. Now,” she chirped, starting to head for a nearby screen. “have we decided where I should sit?” She disappeared behind it momentarily. “if I’m you, probably somewhere in the front, but the back would be ideal…”

Ayla rolls her eyes in an exaggerated manner, “Forgot how you can use the gift to do everything for you. Next you will tell me we don’t even need to roll to the Duque and we simply appear there.”, uses tongue-in-cheek teasing as she starts to move behind her side of the partition.

Jocasta blinked, just as she was disappearing behind the screen. She rolled back one push, sticking her head out.“Actually, yup!” she teased, “But we’ll do it the old-fashioned way. Give you some practice.”

Ayla undresses as she starts to put her clothing along the top of the partitioner, before glancing towards the hanging items. She was about to ask if Jo was able to reach, catching herself, then decided to practice her mannerisms. “Uh oh, my one weakness, reaching for items above my head.”

“A crippling weakness,” Jocasta laughed, “Truly.” Then, she began plucking the clothes that had been slung over the top.

“You know you will have to start hugging everybody, right?”. Ayla smirks, already aware some of the tethered children have jokingly started saying “Ayla hug” when they greet each other. “My personal boundaries will now be violated, how fate prevents me from being able to avoid intimacy. We must now embrace the power of friendship, and witness the demise of my social anxiety.”.

“Ugh. Shut up,” the not-blonde groaned. “You know you’re going to have to swathe yourself in layers of snark, right?” She peeked out over the top of the divider. “A just revenge.”

Both of them were more or less dressed now, Jocasta’s calves exposed, the garment uncomfortably tight around her shoulders and chest, probably also giving her a wedgie which she was thankful for not having to feel. Ayla was swimming in her older friend’s dress, meanwhile, the light, flowy garment frumpy, ruffled, and pooling at her feet. For a moment, the tethered rose, until she was ‘standing’ across from her counterpart. Then, tugs, pulls, sounds of things ripping, and whirling threads. Her face became a mask of concentration; the fabric around her chest and shoulders loosened and she took a grateful deep breath she hadn’t known that she needed. Everything tightened up for Ayla, until the top of the dress was snug and form-fitting as it was supposed to be and the lower hem did not drag on the ground. “I think that about does it,” decided Jocasta, settling back into her wheeled-chair. “Now you too: sit!” She pushed a few paces. “And remind me what the plan was again.”

Ayla claps her hands together after she sits down, her fingers steepled together. “The plan is simple. Jocasta the magnificent will go brazen with confidence as she holds the Duque to account with an offer too good to refuse. She will play it smart and with an open hand to build rapport. He is going to be suspicious and contemplating in those first moments if it is worth sitting at the table, so the initial plan is to give him a good reason to stay seated there.”, she straightens her shoulders and makes herself look brimming with confidence. “Ayla on the other hand will have a nice position overlooking the proceedings. She will be expected to play an instrument at some point and polite greetings, but he would not be expecting much. Perhaps a meek noble girl. Ayla would be easily overlooked providing her perfect opportunities to act if needed.”

She moves to open up her bag as she starts to bring out various papers, “This petition for the King… may be worthwhile making a similar plea to Duque Frannemas instead. He will be more likely to grant and fulfill the wishes in exchange for certain assurances.”. She taps the paper as she looks towards Jo, “Would this be a compromise that would be accepted amongst the family?”

“Must everyone exist under someone else?” Jocasta grated, but she already knew her answer. “But I know it is the best we’ll get. He will push to make us his soldiers, you know, or take away our freedom if we cannot prove ourselves a useful weapon.” They were rolling now, Ayla halfway respectable at it. Only another tethered on two or less would know her for a fraud. “Be conciliatory, but don’t budge on bottom-line things.”

“My plan is to make the bottom-line look like a great idea of his own making, cannot go wrong with a good story or a well placed metaphor. Besides being used as a falcon in his employ can be a rewarding existence, treated very well and afforded privileges, there may be those amongst your number who would volunteer. An unique opportunity.” Ayla does ponder the realities of the situation, “We would be required to do a demonstration of strength and that would be Shai-aberración. Let’s hope our preparations are enough”. She does sigh a little as she thinks back to her own demonstration before them all, “If it were feasible, pushing for relocating everyone to the Arapor would be my desire. It may not be a bad back plan to fall-back on if it comes down to negotiating for our lives. Perhaps that could be Ayla’s offering if it comes to the crunch or when needing to present an alternative”.

“I will be there if needed,” Jocasta said simply. It had occurred to her in recent days just how chained she had been. Truly, the only thing stopping her was herself. She could kill the duke and his children, probably with ease, and take care of a consistent thorn in the king’s side. She could rule as duchess from the refuge, and turn it into a shining beacon for her people. Others would not go out for her plan, though. Others might get hurt were she to do it. Why couldn’t the people she now called friends be as strong as her? She shook her head to clear the ridiculous idea. There were paths other than blood and fire. “Now,” she announced, “this is where we split up. I slip into the auditorium from the back She gestured as she coasted. “and you roll up the front gate.” Leaning to the side and rubbernecking a bit, she scowled. “Hurry, Jocasta,” she teased. “I think they’re almost there!”

‘Jocasta’ puts on a mischievous smile, “Don’t worry, Ayla. Everything's coming up Jocasta.” She puts on airs as she tries to roll along, putting herself in the right headspace as she imagines Jocasta’s powerful self, brimming with confidence. She makes exaggerated pushes upon the wheels to represent this, rolling to meet Amanda and Manuel by the gate to greet the Duque. Prepared to smile and wave, she fiddles with the brakes to secure herself once beside them. Some instruction on that would’ve been nice.

In The Hourglass Order → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy, various NPCs.
Event: Hugo's task | Location:Tethered Refuge, Torragonese High Desert.



Dreams. Dreams have the power to affect the world around us. They reflect the unconscious thoughts, the realities we experience. They may be bizarre, they may be scary, they may be joyous. For this lion club, it happened to be all three.

Her close friend Ysilla had to return to the academy, whilst she didn’t speak much, her silence did lift the room. Her presence was heartwarming, that smile she gave when she saw you looking towards her always made Ayla bemused. She wasn’t able to say goodbye, with Ysilla reported to be in some medical emergency, but she hoped that wasn’t the last she could see of her. A letter was left behind, but that seemed to be not enough. The rhythmic Tick Tock from the dream being the final words shared between them.

Did dreams predict the future? Does the mind's eye reach a temporospatial plane or do dreams simply reflect the patterns our unconscious mind informs us about.

Ayla looks out towards the yellow sea, dreaming of home as she plays upon her flute. One step in front of another as she gracefully walks along the walk balancing. With a hurried step she moves to a hop and prance, the sweet melody fills the air. The music flowing like the tide of the sea, the ebb and flow cast upon the refúgio. The sound being her stage as she performs.

Her steps were as light as air, as they danced upon the music, the notes ringing out as she danced over the sand dunes, her mind lost in her thoughts. She contemplates how she had to constantly be positive for the others despite the fears and dread she experienced herself. To be cast aside to the far flung deserts, far from her home, to be met with the wild dangers within the last 48 hours that far exceed her fear of the spider in the bath-tub. Her mind turns to the friends she has made along the way. Seeing Jocasta, the blonde girl who smiled for the first time sincerely for the longest time. Confidence grows in Kaspar as he starts feeling like he belongs somewhere. Zaz being as sassy as ever, but showing that kindness and openness underneath. Yalen developing from a meek boy and showed bravery for the first time.

As she looked back towards the refúgio, thinking upon the memories that were made, she was surprised at how small it looked. The moment of realisation came as she fell, Sound Platforms. The puff of powdered sand cast up in the air as she lands, unscathed.

Montage



Sound. Sound is vibration. Sound is the movement of air, liquid, and solids. It is perceived by the ear. It can reach soundless pitches. This is something she will learn to master.

Ayla raises her hands up as the sand around her starts to vibrate. At first, this was very minor, the sand seeming to shift lightly as she started to increase the amplitude, which increased the loudness and strength of the sound waves as the sand started to bounce upon the floor. She moves her hands as she alters the direction, causing the sound to concentrate upon certain areas, creating patterns upon the ground below her. She increases the speed of the sound, showing how the affected areas grow and shrink in their size. Her hands push and pull together as she changes the wavelength of the sound, changing the pitch of the ‘music’ around her. She increases the frequency as the changes blend together, creating more sound. Ayla concentrates the sound, increasing its intensity in the area, the grains clump together in a sphere-like pattern, the sand spitting up into the air moving in a liquid manner similar to that of a lava lamp.

The sound pressure increases as she feels the world become heavy around her, her body starting to feel significantly heavier causing her to release the magic, and thus the sound, causing an eruption which sends her flying backwards across the soft sand.

Ayla lays back upon the sands as she stares up into the sky. The theory session has completed, she has gotten a grip of the variables she needs to control and how they feel through her manas. This is something she has been doing for years, but breaking down the components was new, visualising and controlling the variations directly rather than instinctively, turning them into building blocks of her very own brand of sonic magic.

Starting small, she concentrates sound together. This is likely to be the most difficult part as she tries to find shapes that work. Flat shapes worked best, compared to bumpy, though parabolic shape concentrates sound, and conic shapes for projecting sound. As she is trying to concentrate it together, forming it into a ball of sound, perhaps a Sonic-Sphere is the best shape for sound consistency as the waves are re-concentrated into the centre. Another concept was the formation of sheets made of held-air which trap sound between them, akin to double glazing, called Sonic-Sheets did appear to offer promising results as well..

Time to experiment with these. Using the balls of sound, she casts these with her hands towards the sand in a linear line. Each flick of her wrist causes the sand to erupt from the ground as if she was firing bullets into it. She mentally writes down the basis of this as Sonic-Shots.

With the sheets, these seem better for static uses. After putting one up and throwing her shoe at it, she watches as the shoe appears to bounce off as the musical note rings out, though breaking upon contact. With the reflection, she draws parallels with a shield, dubbing this one Sonic-Shield. Implementing this concept upon the ground, she steps upon it, causing her to be pushed upwards and end up falling backwards. As she lays there, she recalls when she was unintentionally doing it earlier, using soft light steps and dancing along the platforms as they gave her a lift. She makes a mental note for Sonic-Steps to be the other concept to expand upon.

After the training out in the Desert, she makes her way back. Time to get to work.

Refúgio


The hours and meal times pass as she begins her various duties around the refúgio. She has now met the new students, each of them peculiar characters, and the less said about the yasoi girl, the better. Between helping the tethered children with their magic practising, supporting with the chores, and the late night practising of her own magic, things have been busy.

As Laëlle brought news of the Duque’s arrival, Ayla uses the opportunity to find her friend and begin to discuss the plan for when he arrives. There are going to be some difficult conversations ahead.


In O R I F L A M M E → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Event: Defense of Relouse | Location: The Bloodied Fields, Parrence.



A battle is a contest of fights, the song struck together by the fury of battle. The instruments of war, the spear, blade and axe ring out along the battlefield. There is one thing binding all within this song, and that is belief, belief that their lives this day serves a higher purpose. May this purpose be the will of the gods, may this purpose be the safety of our loved ones, may this purpose be the bread baking on our hearths. In this carnage, these rivers are blood, our purpose opposes that of our foe, and for that, this is the hill we die upon.

Flashback



Maëlle sits upon the horse as she rides with her father. She races against him up towards the tall hill, despite his concerns for both her and the horse, giggling as she reaches the summit, looking around to the lands below. Parrence. This is the land of her birth, the one her family has lived on for generations since before the times of the great Avincian Empire. Asier follows up after her, laughing like he usually does, “Looks like you are the greatest daughter of Arslan after all”. Maëlle huffs as her father makes one of his Dad jokes again, “Da, the only daughter of Arslan”, he holds his hands up with a smirk, “Well, if your mother is having her way, that isn’t a title you would be holding on for long”, Maëlle looks back in disgust, “Ewww Da…!”. He gives an almighty chuckle at her response, “Wouldn’t it be great to have a little brother or sister?”. She moves herself against him in a sulk, her father isn’t around enough as it is, and the idea of sharing him with others is not something she is too keen about.

Asier softens his smile as he looks out towards the horizon, “Everything the light touches, is Parrence”. Maëlle looks out as she sees the billowing green and yellow fields of the farm lands, the green tips of the woods, the brown mountains which border the region, and a place of darkness in the south, “What about that shadowy place?”. Asier looks out to the lands of the Eskandr, “Those are not our lands, they lie beyond our borders. It is a home to barbaric people who lust for violence and glory in battle, who enslave their fellow man and sacrifice them to their gods. You must never go there, Maëlle.” She looks up to him, the curiosity of a child still with her, “But why don’t you go and drive them out? They won’t be able to stand up to you, Da”. Asier smiles as he ruffles his hand through her hair, the innocence still there with her, “Being brave doesn’t mean you go looking for trouble. It is standing up when you have to”. Maëlle tilts her head to the side as she fails to comprehend the full meaning of the words, “Huh, guess even lions get scared.”

Asier roars with laughter, swotting her across the back of the head, “You have my tongue, no wonder your mother pines for you to travel with me.” She rubs her head, pouting, then returns the embrace of his hug, sinking into the warmth within those arms. "Everything exists together in a delicate balance. If this tips too steeply, the very thing you are fighting for can fall down. You need to understand that balance and respect it. If we over-hunt, we reduce the availability of meat for the next season, the pests they keep in check start to overwhelm our harvest. We need to respect all the creatures, from the singing rolieiro, to the galloping mare. Even the Eskandr exist within the great balance.”

Present

Asier has secured the flanks for King Arcel as he fights with Hrothgar the Chartreuse, the black armour stained by the green fields of Parrence as he defiles the land he walks on. The battle rages on, and any who enter the proximity are easily overwhelmed by the might and fury of the warriors. He casts his glance as he spots the Laughing Knight attempting to retreat from a rhinoceros of a man. He saddles his bow as he grips firmly upon the reins, “So much for not looking for trouble”, he gallops with great speed towards the duelling warriors, watching in disgust as the rhino breaks through the Parrench defenders like a hot knife through butter, his blood lust fixated upon the Laughing Knight as he tramples all those that get between him and his quarry.

Sons and Daughters of Parrence stand up to the brute, laying down their lives, adding their sparks to the great fires of destiny, each sacrifice hoping to turn the tide of the onslaught against their countrymen. Their lives flickering in an instant, their hopes, their dreams, their ambitions, all disappearing into the darkness.

Asier gallops on ever faster as his fingers grip tighter. The knuckles whitening as the blood is drained from them. Destiny cannot play out like this, this cannot be the will of that man, the cruel master of fate.

Flashback



A dark haired yasoi man stands before the stableman, blowing upon his hands and holding them out towards the stables as if warming them upon the raging fire as the horses whinnied in their torment. Thankfully the horses manage to escape as they flee across the great plains away from the burning inferno. A woman cradling a baby huddled behind the stableman, scared and frightened, tears down her face. There have been reports of pillaging in the area, the Tourrare being requested to stay on their guard.

The yasoi man snarls, “… what an abomination of a blood line. Humans are an error of time...”, he kicks over the feeding trough “When I said I wanted a horse, I wasn’t asking”. The stableman has never seen a yasoi before, despite the people's reputation of being wanderers, they tend to keep to the forests rather than be out in the plains. “You have the wrong place, we are stable folk, horsemen, we know of no grievances against the Yasoi here.” The yasoi man’s face grows wide with a grimace, “As it should be. So let’s return to our chat, give your horses, your coin, and some time with your pretty little wife here.” The man licks his lips as he eyes the stableman’s wife up and down with his lustful gaze.

The stableman clutches upon the pitchfork within his hands, “Not even over my dead body.” Yasoi’s eyes light up at the sound of those words, “That can be arranged.” He raises his hand over towards the stableman, the power of the gift concentrates in his fingertips, causing surges of lightning to engulf the stableman in his tracks. The screams of the man's wife Giselle behind him as he feels the electricity flick across his body, scorching in a pattern similar to that of a whip, the wounds splitting and flaying his skin, the only thing between this monster and the people he loves… and would die for.

The stableman squeezes harder upon his pitchfork. In this moment, there is only silence for him, the pain numbing as he looks up into the Yasoi man’s eyes. Those yellow yasoi eyes, they widen with fury as the stableman is still standing, “Die! Your excuse of a bloodline shall be no more”, the humble stableman Asier pushes with everything he has got as he charges and impales the Yasoi vagabond upon the end of the pitchfork. “No… you should be dead…!” the yasoi man cries. As the lightning washed over Asier's body, this awakened his natural affinity with the gift, harnassing this new power as he uses it to drive ever forward, his eyes shining a bright blue. “I shall seize fate by its throat for I am not its prisoner.” The charge builds up at the end of the prongs, drawing all the lightning towards it before they connect, the raw energy causing an explosion, creating a roar like a lion, ripping the Yasoi man in half as the dismembered body flings in opposite directions, the eruption causing Asier to fly backwards.

“Curse you, Arslan (Lion)… curse your entire bloodline… Vyshta shall come for your pound of flesh from this day.”

Flashback



Asier feels the King Arcel’s blade upon his shoulder. Ever since that day, he has left his home, enrolling in the King’s service, training and fighting, becoming a better warrior, a champion for his family, a protector for his daughter. The awareness of his responsibilities and his lack of power were not lost on him. Only by becoming a servant of the King, he may hope he will become able to fulfil these responsibilities.

“Now rise, Baron of Hierbamonte. It is expected that you take a name and a sigil for your house.” Asier stands proud before the king, “Arslan. The name of my house is Arslan. The sigil will be of the Lion for its courage and bravery.”

“Arslan? A Tourrare name. Well then, Ser Arslan. I am expecting great things from you and your people.”

Present


Asier finally approaches the fight, the laughing knight on the backfoot as him and his illusions are swinging their weapons towards the Nashorn as the rhino strikes back in return, smashing through the illusions one by one. Shockwaves from the aftermath of his blows were leaving a path of destruction all around, the rhino was a tough opponent to be sure, a beast of man who ate at least five bowls of oat porridge for his breakfast each morning at least. He cocks two arrows within his bow, aiming to take the beast down a peg as he arms for the back of his knee caps to halt the monster in his tracks.

The arrows freeze in mid-air as the Nashorn turns to peer back towards Asier. Whilst nothing back be seen beneath his mighty helm, it could be nothing but pure malevolence that lies underneath. The arrows were sent back towards the direction of Asier. The arrows are returned at high velocity, impaling the horse rider in the neck and chest as he topples from his horse. Asier counting his nine lives as the illusion falls down just before him, watching over to the disgust of the Nashorn and the quick thinking of the laughing knight. Monster was the understated description for whatever this vile beast is.

Asier has not even crossed metal with such an opponent before, the fact he would have been taken down without the Nashorn even bothering to turn to attack him was a prospect he has never once considered in a battle. He stayed back a moment, working up the courage to strike again as this time his distraction allowed opportunity for the Laughing Knight and the Warrioress to strike at weak points upon the beast. He has never been one to underestimate an opponent, and targeting a distracted opponent in a weak spot was usually a simple task, like spearing a roast hog, though in circumstance, it is an angry hedgehog with 5ft steel spines. He decided to build up speed as he reached down for one of his throwing spears, circling back upon himself with it raised as he charged at full gallop. With the Nashorn taking a couple of deep blows, he should be able to pierce that flesh this time, and he empowers his throw with the force in his attempt to make it ring true...

An arrow is propelled before him at high speed, if it wasn’t for his magnetic aura, it would have struck true, as the shot sails past him, ruining his charge against the Nashorn. Asier uses thunder magic to try to guide it back to the shooter as the Nashorn, enraged, lashes out towards him, as the arrows are redirected back towards him impaling the illusion copy of himself. He has absolutely no chance against the Nashorn, and he is already down to seven lives thanks to the assist from the Laughing Knight. He knows he is clearly outmatched in this battle with his presence having a negative effect, he redirects his attention to the Eskandr archer champion.

Asier watches as the archer is already redirecting the arrows that the Nashorn used to take out the doppelganger as they get recalled back to her quiver, or he would have assumed until he watches her pirouette into the air, unleashing another barrage back towards him, followed by another shot ladened with a payload. He was able to evade the arrows, though the explosive package caught him off-guard as he was almost unsaddled from his horse from the force of it.

Asier was certainly caught on two fronts, the Nashorn with his immovable defence and his unstoppable offence, and the Eskandr archer targeting her new prey with ever increasing ferocity. The archer adapted so quickly to less conventional weaponry, perceiving the magnetic shell, to get through his defences and countering his ability to counterattack became a very real and present danger. He turns his horse towards her, decreasing his profile, as he starts to fire back an arrow of his own, then adopting an evasive pattern with his riding.

The archer goes into cover as slippery as a snake as his shot misses the mark, impaling into an illusion of her making. She responded with further arrows of her own, the iron with a red hue as they were imbued with arcane energy, the tips molten to cause more permanent damage. Thankfully these shots fired wide as he cocks his bow to return fire himself. It is in this moment he had two decisions, either to retreat and cause the archer to move from her position to come towards him, or to make up the difference, and go in for a lunge within melee range. Whilst typical sense would have been to skirmish, this wasn’t the time or place for that, he needed to halt her advance now. He used multiple arrows within his bow as he fired towards her repeatedly in rapid succession. Accuracy was less than desired, but this was not his purpose, he needed her to stay within the same position, suppressive fire, opening her up for his follow up attack. He charged towards her with great haste in an attempt to close the distance as her counterattack failed to make a mark.

Flashback


“Da, what happens when we die?” Maëlle studied the rabbit being cooked before her on the spit as the rich seasoned aroma was making their mouths water. Asier is amazed at the curiosity of children, always coming out with the big questions everyone seems to always take for granted. “If you ask the Eskandr, they say you end up in Valhalla. A place of joy and feasting. In old Avincian before the Pentad, they believed when they die, they are given wings, to live upon the clouds. Across the sea in Severa, there is said to be a people who worship large snake-like creatures…”

Maëlle starts to pout as she looks towards Asier, not being satisfied with any of these ‘if’ answers. “But what really happens?”, she asks again more affirmatively. Asier strokes his beard as he mulls over the answer. “When we die, we join the earth. The earth grows crops, then this rabbit eats the crops, and now we eat this rabbit. It is all connected like a wheel.”. Maëlle nods as she accepts the answer and the food, her fingers becoming sticky with grease.

“Does that mean the rabbit ate grandpa?”.

Present



The Eskandr archer dropped to one knee as Asier charged. He rode towards her to close the distance, the hooves digging into the rich soil as he travelled at high speed. Naturally the champion has met her fair share of knights and isn’t afraid of what is to come. She crouches before him without fear, poised in her position and her bow raised. He raises his own spear as he lines up for the follow-through attack, aiming to impale the archer with his shaft. He comes upon her with great haste, only to find he has missed his target, feeling the arrow pierce through his chest. He looked around, only to notice that the archer had rolled to the side in a burst of speed, taking advantage of his exposed flank to target him. The next moments take time to register the damage, the fatal error he made to an opponent who had already shown strong improvisation skills.

The horse slowed down as it stumbled forward as it walked into the ambush, the trap prepared earlier. The arcane arrows erupted around him, shot after shot impaled into the horse and his body. Espirito whinnied, crying out in torment as it reared up high in its final defiance of death before falling down backwards upon its rider, the one who raised it from a foal.



Asier in that moment could only see red. The fluttering red hair, the warm smile upon Maëlle’s face as she silently shouted “Da!” out towards him, as he crashes into the bloodied mud swamps of the battlefield. Laying there under the body of his trusted steed, “I failed you…”.

Vyshta extracted her pound of flesh that day.



In The Hourglass Order → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
THE OWL GLASS ORDER

Prologue
This is a story that takes place in Ersand'Enise, a name that sounds like when one sneezes after being brushed by chilly breeze. This is home to the Academy of Thaumaturgy, a place for fancy words and even fancier wizard hats. Across the land of Sipenta, the best and brightest of those born during the double ascendance of Shune the Learner, join the storied establishment's newest cohort. They bring their hopes, their fears, their background, and considerable power in 'The Gift' with them. Into this potent mix of burgeoning opportunity and where lurking peril lies, they step forward, the Magical-Animals known as Magimals.

In The Hourglass Order → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy, various NPCs.
Event: Hugo's task | Location:Bedroom, Tethered Refuge, Torragonese High Desert.

After another late evening and a sermon by Yalen, Ayla spends the opportunity to collapse upon the bed and start to sleep. The girl was barely out of her clothing as she crawled upon the top of it, sinking into the duvet. It seems like forever since she had the luxury of a good night's sleep, and with the promise of further disruption in the morning, perhaps she had a very real temptation to lock herself away completely for the night. Life has taken some unusual turns and in such a small space of time as well. The life of the student at the academy was active in the extracurricular department. Though, for now, she is at home in this room, with this comfy pillow, and nothing to do but rest and sleep for a long peaceful moment.



Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Ayla grumbles as she is disturbed by it. ”What is this noise?”. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The repetitive ticking of a bell and wood coming together was relentless. Begrudgingly, she opened her eyes as she turned to look on the bedside cabinet next to her, peering at a pint-sized Ysilla looking down towards her, the workings exposed as it moved around in a manner similar to a marionette. ”Oh, Ysilla, you surprised me.” She looks up towards her as the marionette puppet shifts its posture and expression as it communicates towards her. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Ayla offers her a questioning look, ”Fine, but it better be important to disturb my sleep like this”. She picks up the puppet within her arms as she makes her way towards the door and steps through it to enter the balcony back in Varrahasta. ”See? Everything is how it should be.”.Tock. Tock. Tock. The puppet cranes its head as it appears upside down as it looks up towards Ayla, its arm rising in a stilted manner as it points in the distance as a dark ominous cloud seems to obscure the sky as it travels towards the docks.

Ayla could feel a breeze upon her face as she swept the hair to the side, as it fluttered behind her. On the dockside she notices something, someone, a figure dressed in an usual blue. She starts to walk off the balcony towards it. As her feet walk through the air, she experiences a strong vibration sensation tickling the skin, the feeling as if she was standing on a piano during a concert. As she makes her way down these invisible steps, instinctively knowing where the next one is, hopping between them with a light bounce. Feeling mischievous, as she realises what is happening, she tries to step off the set route, soon distracted and misstepping to fall flat upon another platform. She looks up to the disapproving look of Ysilla glaring down towards her. Tick. Tick. Tick. ”You don’t have to give me that look. It is not everyday you are walking on sound.” She starts to pick herself back up again, brushing herself down. ”Since you are in one of those moods, let me show you something.” Ayla slams her foot down as the platform erupts in a bass drop, the pair of them propelling through the air, as Ayla waves her hands, smashing through platform after platform, feeling herself accelerating as she flies at increasing velocity. Ysilla cannot contain her excitement as her cog head continues to spin around in circles. ”See? Knew you would like this.” The pair seem to grow heavier, a sensation as if they were turning into a solid lump as they were approaching some kind of invisible barrier, the air whipping around them. The platform ahead was now simmering to an extent that they could not clearly see through the other side. As they impact it their bodies seem to feel as if they were morphing into liquid as a massive eruption of sound breaks around them, then being flung forward faster than the speed of sound itself. At this point, Ayla is unable to communicate at all with Ysilla as the puppet seems to cling onto its hat. The water around her eyes evaporates, everything goes blurry and dark, passing out during the transit.

Ayla suddenly shudders violently as almost falls backwards in her chair. The crowd of people looking towards her in a disapproving manner. King Sancho claps his hands together, ”Glad you have returned to us, Señora Arslan, we still have important matters to attend to.”, the others in the room laugh as she takes stock of what is going on around her. She only appears to know a few of these individuals by their reputation alone, but these are all powerful and influential figures of Torragon, including her own father and brother, positioned near the head council. It appears they are looking over a map of Sipenta, one that seems to shift as seasons pass. From what she can see, it appears that the world is truly at war as the borders are constantly shifting and changing. Tick. Tick. Tock. The last rung is slower and sad. Ysilla puppet is sitting on the map where Virang is, showing a creeping line of a Torragonese advance. What is surprising is the sudden surge from Duque Frannemas, as he waves his hand as he seems to be almost suppressing Virang himself single-handedly, occupying the Hexiac nation. The Duque moves his hand over to place it upon Ayla’s knee, lifting up a glass in celebration, “There is one who should truly take credit for this, my dear Arslan”. She looks up and around to see eyes are fixed towards her, a shadow cast over their faces, her father and brother… even the King. Duque Frannemas removes his hand with a condescending smirk, as he raises his arms as those present kneel down before him. As the Duque gloats in his accomplish, it was this moment the Ysilla puppet starts to wobble, moving in a very clunky marionette manner towards him as it falls apart, a white snake uncoiling and slithers towards the edge of the table, lunging forward to bite right into the man’s jugular, as he begins to wither and collapse upon the floor, gasping for his breath.

Ayla hears sounds around her, parseltongue accent. “Silence brethren”, “Silence.”, “The Sleeper has awakened”, “The Sleeper”. She looks around only to see herself surrounded in darkness. ”Who are you?”, the girl feeling very unnerved, as a rhythmic hissing and rattling permeates the air. The spice of the sand wyrm penetrates her nostrils. “We are those who slither in the dark”, “Slithering”, “Those slithering”, “The dreamer must continue to sleep”. Bright blue serpentine like eyes appear in the darkness, glaring towards her.

Ayla shifts her position as she turns, also turning the pillow over in the process. Pillow had dampness from her mouth as she appeared to be drooling. She sighs as she buries her face into that softness.

She now finds herself in a greenhouse filled with a rich herbal aroma, a cup of Zeno Bucks coffee in her hand. “You'n trippin on me already?”, she turns to face a strange Yasoi woman. “You’re in for a right doozy.” She feels herself passing out again.

Ayla is walking through the dark cloud as she is overlooking the world below. “Nid yw pethau byth yn newid”, a strange blonde woman, the one from the docks earlier, is standing next to her seemingly taking observations below her. She turns to face Ayla, briefly examining the female before continuing on, “Mae'n ymddangos eich bod yn anghywir”. Ayla is unfamiliar with this language, trying to indicate and return her speech in Avincian, “Who are you?”. The woman pauses for a moment, seeming to be almost as perplexed as Ayla looks yet somehow able to hold a stoic quality to her expression, as she seems to be pressing on some kind of board in front of her after this development. “Aeronwyr. We have not had a speaker in here before.” The blonde continues to press upon her board as the glass below appears to disappear into darkness as she walks off to the side. ”So… where are we?” as she looks expectantly towards her. The woman, Aeronwyr, seems to show the briefest of smiles before adopting a formality in her posture. “Who, What, Where, When and Why”. She moves over as she seems to continue examining a strange array of all weird and wonderful objects. What Ayla notices most of all is a persistent buzz in the air, a sound that is ever present and unrelenting. “The short answer to your question. You are not meant to be here.” Ayla rolls her eyes as the woman seems to state the obvious, ”We were down there.”, she gestures towards the blackened windows, the Ysilla puppet twirling its head around as it is sat upon the desk, its features missing vital panels though it appears as if it had tried to partially re-assemble itself. Aeronwyr puts down the board, as Ayla can see the colourful moving pictures upon it. “You never existed. Because of the meddling, you came to be. All is not lost, the breach can be repaired”, Aeronwyr seems to be pressing upon the board in a rather enthusiastic manner. “You have to ensure the traveller doesn’t succeed. You have to take his towel. I cannot explain further.” Even the Ysilla doll looks terribly confused with its expressionless face at this revelation. “May the Tridecagon be preserved. Sister protect.”, Ayla tilts her head to the side to ask the most important question, “The Tri-what?”.

Ayla is amongst a field filled with flowers, a canopy of colours similar to that of a rainbow. However, Ysilla has now fallen beyond repair next to her, the bell is not even giving its chirping ticks. She feels sad as she starts to brush away the dirt, making a hole where to place the disassembled pieces. ”Thank you for always being by my side.” The puppet looks up with her expressionless face, though emotion in the air is sombre as the world responds to her. As she covers the puppet up, the remaining pieces unfold to reveal a seed which is watered and the earth patted down. The seed sprouts as a green shoot rises up into the sky, the stem forming bark as it grows width and mighty with the tree sprouting seven branches. Jocasta moves next to Ayla, looking up to admire the sight with her, “This is the earth tree, Ysdrasilla”. The girl moves her hand to point towards a little bud blossoming into a flower adorning the third branch. ”That is you, my dear Ayla.” Ayla looks up at the tree in amazement and awe of its size, especially as five great trunks weave and intertwine amongst the branches. ”What do those represent?”, as she points them out to Jocasta. The blonde seems to demonstrate a blush as her cheeks grow rosy, ”Well, a girl is allowed to have secrets.”

Ayla shifts her position yet again as she senses the light already pouring into her room as the rays lay across her face, turning her back on them. She curls up under the sheet as she pushes back against the world.

Yalen is sitting there reading a book as she looks up towards him, ”How long have you been there?” she questions. The blonde boy continues to read after seemingly his chapter has finished, placing in a bookmark between the pages and closing it. “I have come bearing a prophecy.” The boy makes the sign of the pentad hourglass, placing his hands together in prayer. “You must eat your greens. I have spoken.” The door opens as an oversized tree of broccoli bursts through it. “TOOO LATEEE….!”, if Broccoli had a mouth, it would show a very menacing right now, especially as she could feeling the murderous intent as it is now charges towards her, the world fading into darkness

“What is it with you and the blondes, kitty cat?”, Zarina stands there looking towards her with those wide eyes and glossy thick black mane. Ayla moves over to stroke the horse along its neck in gentle affectionate caresses. ”Apparently to save the world, one needs a towel and a stick of broccoli”. Zarina the horse gestures with its head for Ayla to heat up the coffee jug as she continues to listen. ”It is a problem. Where are you going to find a stick of broccoli in the desert?”, Ayla has never considered this possibility before, turning inwards with her thoughts for the briefest of moments. ”Don’t stress too much, otherwise I would need to carry you on my back again.” Zarina gives a big neigh as she bumps her head into the side of Ayla. ”Get pouring that coffee.”

“Sand Wyrm’s use chemical magic to create a psychoactive dust cloud to confuse prey and predator alike”, the mysterious figure walks around the bed as he seems to be pointing out various features of Ayla’s body as she is lying there asleep. “It is my belief that this specimen is suffering from short term exposure.”, one of the others seems to be taking a closer look, “This one does appear to be healthy. At these levels of concentration, it shouldn’t affect her”, “Now that may be conventionally true, this one appears to be drug-naïve.” Other individuals appear to be taking notes as Ayla is watching the demonstration from afar in an out of body experience.

Ayla grumbles as the morning bells within the refugio are ringing as her senses start to demonstrate some clarity, the vivid nature of reality overloading as everything appears to be crystal sharp and in focus as she drags herself from the bed and starts to make her way to the bath to prepare for the day. As the plans are starting to unfold, she does find herself in the centre of things to come within this facility. ”Perhaps the children will distract me from those bizarre dreams…”, as she walks out she notices something, a gift, seemingly left out for her on the bedside cabinet. ”Huh.”

In O R I F L A M M E → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Event: Defense of Relouse | Location: Battle on the Beach, Parrence.
The battle is in full flow even as King Arcel himself joins the battlefield. The Eskandr number in the tens of thousands, sweeping across the plains of Parrence like a plague of locusts. It was fortunate that his worst fear didn’t come to pass as the Eskandr stopped short of turning Cape Redame into a second beach-head, but the explosive assault upon its rockface will impact the terrain for aeons to come.

Asier led a group of Tourrare horse riders with him as he swept the battlefield, rerouting the defenders from Redame into the reserves for the beach defence, plugging up holes left by those reinforcing the attack from the Witch Wood. His bow repeatedly releases that twang as arrow after arrow plunges into the waves of bodies advancing upon the Parrence defence. “Maintain the shield wall! If they flank us, they will overwhelm the defences. By Echeran, we will get through this day.”, Asier rides along behind the defenders, his horse archers stemming the tide as much as they can.

It wasn’t long for the most shocking news to start spreading across the battlefield, "Le roi tombe!", the words were chilling, the man he was only speaking to moments before, the one they all pledged themselves to, the one who promised salvation, has fallen. He could feel the coldness sink into his muscles, that sickening feeling, the shock lowering his blood pressure and heart rate, the exhaustion overwhelming as it feels like he was about to fall into a pit of despair, teetering upon its edges… then there was a light, like a dim star in the darkness, he feels himself drawn to it, no, he moves himself towards it, charges himself towards it, he forces everything he can into it.

Asier releases a massive roar, a fierce guttural shout, the power of the force flowing through him as his words bound across the battlefield. “Parrence! We do not fight this day for glory or honour, we fight here today for our children, and our children’s children!”, the storm clouds continue to roll as lightning shoots down, thunder booming, outside of the cries of battle, silence grows along the battlefield. This is no petty dispute for riches or trivial gain, this is an assault on our very people, our home, and our very Gods of the Pentad themselves., the importance of this battle is clear, the endless ships on the horizon spoke of this being no ordinary Eskandr raid, but something far greater, and more sinister. ”We stand here with all our might and the strength of our Gods can give us not for any man whoever it may be that orders us, but for us, as Men of Parrance, to surpass a monstrous tyranny that threatens to salt the very earth beneath our feet, rape our mothers, wives, and sisters, to enslave our children.”. This battle is not about King Arcel, for such a battle would have already been lost. This is a battle for Parrence itself. “We will not withdraw, we will not concede one inch, we will push these Eskandr one step at a time back into the very waters they love.”

The speech did what it was intended to do, the wavering battalions starting to rally around, routing forces were starting to turn around and starting to rejoin the reserves, preparing to do their part. The shouts of panic are now being replaced by a sombre tone as men and women pray to the Pentad, knowing their part in what is to come.

It was at this moment that something quite unexpected started to occur, a tune started to play throughout the battlefield, the rhythmatic thuds amidst the fighting. A shout erupts as a battalion with their shields raised, make their charge against the Eskandr shieldwall. “For PARRENCE!” with a resounding cry of “PARRENCE!” as the others follow the charge. A voice shouts up, as in answering in response, “Where man has his wine and bread!”, a few chuckles as further chorus “PARRENCE!” is yelled. This starts to cause a chain reaction, as others start to yell what they love about their motherland. “The hearths are warm”, “They heat my home”, “the fields are green”, “my road is built with stone!”, “The forest is filled with game!”, though a few of the offered suggestions such as the daughter of old Bill having a shapely bosom did not make the final draft in the history books. It was said in these moments a bard was inspired and brought these to script, and as a new song started to spread amongst the men, the song of Parrence marching to war.


Asier continued to ride towards the river, the last known location of King Arcel. Despite what he announced so far, he wasn’t sure how long the Kingdom would last after the battle without their King leading them.
Interacting: Ser Percy Perpignan
During one of the last bends of the battle, Asier starts to slow down as the smell hits his nostrils, a foul lingering smell that can put a hog farm to shame, the rich ammonia starting to irritate his lungs as he starts coughing, pulling back swiftly. As he looks around, he notices corpses with raised hideous puscles, black mottled skin, watery dark liquid which at some point could have only been blood. “We need to go around… by the Pentad, something ungodly is happening here…”, before Asier could charge off, a menacing laughter is heard.

”Mon ami, are you leaving already, why, the battle has just begun. Égorge ces Eskandr comme des porcs. Oink oink oink.”. Coming out of the mists was no other than the blond nobleman from Viennes, Ser Percival Perpignan. He gives a grin as she pinches his fingers together, flicking them apart as he blows a kiss, mwah. “C'est beau, the way their bodies just quiver and twitch, the last of their élément vital oozing out through their skin.délicieux”. Percy raises his blade which appears to have a thick coating in the blackened blood of the foes around him, moving to lick his tongue along the flat side of it. “I was saving this one for you, Dear Arslan. L’empoisonnement à l'arsenic.”. Asier couldn’t help but spit towards the ground in disgust at the Parrench nobleman’s actions. “Inhumain, they’re Eskandr but they are still people.” Percy simply laughs loudly with a chuckle, his fellow cronies joining him in the chortle, “Oui oui, I told you, Man of Arcel, so easy to rile up. I tell you what, Chevalier Cabré, you may have your fancy speeches, oui, I heard you, but you won’t do what is necessary for Parrench to win, this around you is how Parrench wins, real men with guts.”, Percy thumbs upon his stomach to place emphasis upon the point. Asier waves off the comments, “Chevalerie, honneur, these concepts help keep us humans, not turn us into sauvages.”. Asier pulls away with the horse riders to the jeers of Ser Percy and his fouteurs de merde. “Oui, there goes the lion, tail between his legs”.
Interacting: Gerard @Pantothenic
Asier pushes into the river upon his horse as the body of Gerard was floating upon its back, along the side of its banks, still twitching with the signs of life. He pulled it to the back of his second horse, bringing him over to the shore. Once laid upon the ground, Asier puts the man upon his side, and thumps his back. He could see the recoil and spasms as the water sputters and drains out from Gerand’s mouth upon the ground. “It appears that both Queen Eleanor and Dami favours you this day, Magician. Tu as du culot après cette manœuvre."
It appears that Echeran has given Asier good timing as well, as he hears the battle cry of none other than King Arcel himself. It appears that both the royal figures have decided to make their stand opposing each other on the battlefield directly. The bards are already recanting this incident to memory, those more savvy have the inks wet and write down the details vividly. How heroic this match-up will be documented in the history books, this is not a clean duel, both men surrounded by warriors and champions alike as they battle for glory.

A band of Eskandr armed with bows were in this position for this moment, the harbingers of the final moments of King Arcel himself. “Horsemen, intercept!”, they gallop along the river bank as Asier and his riders start to harry the warband. Their bows twang repeatedly as arrows fire towards the enemy position, as the shieldmen line up formation to block their way, shields raised high as each of the round shields begin to turn into hedgehogs as they are repeatedly being studded by the arrows. The defensive formation holds the ground, forming a barricade around the archers. The field of vision is clear, the bows readied. The Eskandr warband leader barks his orders, “Spidd gullgåsen - Skewer the Golden Goose!”.

Asier sensing the storm to come draws on the abundance of thunder energies upon him. “We must protect the King!”, one of the Tourrare horsemen uses the opportunity to sprint heroically ahead, able to provide in his fateful last moment a temporary shield as arrows pierce through his flesh, the horse neighing wildly as it falls down upon the floor in its last protest to this cruel world.

Warband leader barks his orders more fiercely. ”igjen og igjen - again and again!”. The Tourrare arrive in their position, dismounting in their own positions to provide a shield wall between the Eskandr and their king. Spears cross with spears as the walls meet, as the exchanges occur between the men of the north and those of the south. Obscuring any direct line of sight to the King. Asier and a couple of his best riders do their best to exploit any openings within the enemies shield wall, those this is few and far between given the veteran nature of these forces. The warleader continues to throw curses where his blades fail, "Gamla lombungr, sugandi toti merr madr - Thou art morons, sucking at the teat of your mare mother.". Asier could only laugh at the man’s frustration, not understanding a single word being spoken, but clearly having some idea of his intent. “Il est issu d'une lignée infidèle et vile - He clearly comes from an unfaithful and vile lineage.”. He gives the signal to target the foul-mouthed Eskandr, the horse-archers line up their shots as they adopt the Cantabrian circle, each of them using the power of the force as they fire shot after shot towards the Warband Leader. The Eskandr grunts as he raises his shield, continuing his taunt as empowered shots repeated hit the wood as it starts to chip and crack, and as he realised too late that this was their plan, the shield snaps and breaks, leaving him completely exposed as Asier himself fires the arrows which stick him like a pin cushion as he falls upon the ground in his final breath.

With their leader down and the Tourrare putting up a fierce defence, the archers move to a volley stance, ”Volleyskudd!”. If they cannot attack through to the target, they will rain arrows upon the King instead. Each of the shots firing true in the air, as they rise high above the battlefield. However, this was the moment Asier was waiting for, to force them in this situation as he uses the magnetic properties of his Thunder magic to control and guide the arrows onto a new trajectory, as they curve up and around, heading straight back to the archers who fired them. “Mort d'en haut - Death from above!. The rain of Asier came down with such force as the archers were shish kebab with the very arrows they fired themselves.

This left an opening, the fatal one, which allowed Asier and the remaining Horseriders to charge through the lines to break the Eskandr formation, scatter the survivors, and allow the infantry to put the final nails in their coffins. “Now for the next lot. Let’s support his Majesty the best we can”.

In The Hourglass Order → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy, Kaspar @Wolfieh, various NPCs.
Event: Hugo's task | Location:Tethered Refuge, Torragonese High Desert.

As Ayla is at the stables, she finds the children eagerly coming to meet the group again, though the tales of excitement are more muted than their initial arrival. It is no surprise that Laëlle, the tall Miattanese girl, was in the crowd too. She approaches her with her arms wide to take her within for an embrace, then pushing her back gently with her hands placed upon her shoulders. "Now, what is your name?", the other girl with an embarrassed blush, “Laelle... It is Laelle”, "Laelle! That is better, be proud of who you are." as Ayla takes her in once again.

Zarina chuckled at the sight. Daoud the camel had to be tended to so she handled that while witnessing Ayla’s infinite affection be poured onto the poor kid, ”She’s always like that,” she reassured the Laella, ”just go with it. I promise this lion doesn’t bite.” she then shakes her head and snorts, letting the two get to know each other.

Ayla smiles widely as she playfully shushes towards Zarina, "Alchemist once told me that every time you hug someone, your body naturally produces a happy chemical. A free happy drug.”. She gives Laelle a grin, taking the girl by the arm as she moves towards the door of the Refúgio. ”A little Rolieiro told me that you are a sonic mage…”, Laelle looks puzzled, “We don’t tend to get birds, it was I who said...”, Ayla simply smiles, conscripting the girl, "Then you must play, we get your instrument".



Around the Naranja tree, the pair of them play for the small gathered audience of those who returned and those already in residence. They were offered refreshments in between playing their duets, free flowing and full of musical improvisation.

"By the Pentad, that was needed." Ayla leans back as she hears the relaxing sound of dripping water around the pool, chilling after the jam session with her new friend Laelle. “I never played like that before”, Laella smiling with her guitar, fingers lingering as they continue to idly pluck upon it, “I would love to travel the world playing like this, in every town and village, the new Leon Solaire!”. Ayla gasps loudly in a playful manner, getting a cushion and throwing it towards Laelle, "Is being the next Ayla not good enough for you?". Laelle squeals out as she was hit by the cushion, throwing it back ”But he plays the lute! Besides… he is far more famous than you.”, sticking her tongue out teasingly towards the other. Ayla smirks, "By chance, he attends my academy, and a thought occurred by introducing you to him… perhaps that was in error.", “No! Ayla, you are the coolest, please introduce me to him!”...

After curfew is called, Ayla travels with Jocasta, Marceline and the others to attend the meeting. She is now mentally refreshed and prepared for her presentation before Amanda, de facto leader of the Tethered at the Refúgio.

Next: It is time to meet Amanda (for real)...

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