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The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

The realms where magic is the most prevalent. These are the realms of traditional fantasy but includes any setting where magic is the primary focus. Examples: LotR, Harry Potter, Dresden Files.

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Kotorchix » Thu Dec 14, 2017 2:20 am

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The Daughter of the Sorrows
Aurlulent Quay
The Tropics


Rarely was it that the Daughter didn’t rise before the sun, and this warm morning was no exception. Sleep wasn’t a term any would use for the rigid posture she unfolded herself from. Meditation, perhaps, but nothing quite so restful-sounding. In her absence from the waking world, her hands would grasp at nothing, her back arch, her mouth open and close as she muttered dark things. Even occasionally, a muscle or bone would make a gruesome popping sound as she lashed out in her dream state.

Slipping from her broken reverie, she found her way in darkness to the stove where she lit a fire. She did nothing physically, the flame just leaping to life as she fed fuel into the furnace. Her dark hands reached up to the shelf above, taking down a small cauldron. She set it on the stovetop, fingers working over it as water bubbled up from the cast iron in a most unnatural manner.

Hanging from the shelf from whence she collected the cauldron was a bag of crushed leaves. She sprinkled them sparingly into the water, taking a long-handled wooden spoon from a hook beneath the shelf. Idly, she stirred as she thought on her dreams.

The Daughter raised her head at the faint sound.

She uttered a curse, plunging the tiny room into darkness. From beside the slab of wood and stone that was her bed, she collected her horned mask and set it over her eyes to leave only the lower half of her face exposed.

Her home was her world. Oh yes, she set out often at night, but this shack was hers inside and out. She knew it like a lover, not an inch unexplored. She knew the scents of the hanging herbs, the bundled roots tied to the low rafters, easily navigating in the dark beneath them.

And so she swept to the door, her fingers tightening about the knotted wooden staff that leaned on the wall. Setting an eye to the crack above the latch, she peered out. It was too early for even the shadiest of individuals seeking her services. So it should have been no surprise to find an all-too-familiar figure blocking the light of the shoddy streetlamps.

She swung open the door, letting an identical figure to herself in. But this figure carried a bundle in its arms, easily the size of a generous sack of potatoes. It set the bundle down on the Daughter’s bed as she shut the door.

“What is this?” she demanded of the figure.

It turned, smiling her smile back at her before simply melting into another shape – that of a red-headed young woman, dressed well in a beautiful yet practical green frock. Her hair was long and wild, untamed even by the bow holding it behind her head.

“Your charge,” the shifter purred with the girl’s voice.

It threw off the bundle’s covering, a black blanket, to reveal the sleeping form of a child with the same unruly red hair. The Daughter could sense the curse of sleep on him, the hunger in his belly, and she didn’t need any magical affinity to see the cracks in his dry lips.

“He’s finally using me, is he?” the Daughter sighed. “For this? To babysit a child?”

“To raise a child. Like he did you.”

The Daughter stared levelly at the shifter for a long moment. She couldn’t deny Him. No matter how hard she tried, what forces of magic she came to bear, she couldn’t say no. She couldn’t leave. Couldn’t refuse.

“Father hasn’t deigned to make contact in over twenty years. What is this foolishness?”

“It’s time,” was all the shifter said. And then it let itself out, shutting the door firmly behind it with a girlish giggle.
Isles of Aradia
The Runaway
Skyrim: Forged in Blood
The Witcher: Trial of the Spheres
The Blackblood Investigation

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Shakey Jake » Thu Dec 14, 2017 6:10 am

House Sabre, Platinum Gardens, Everglow City.

"Shoes impede my connection to the Earth." Lady Attia swirled her hands around in the air. Plucking her pipe up from the table Attia glanced at a servant who hurriedly came to light it. Deep rasping coughs came from her upon the first puff, by the fifth puff she was done spluttering.
"Sir Druun indeed..." Attia rolled her eyes and wiggled her little finger at Talia "...Do you think so badly of me that you think I would simply sit there and let them slash your throat? How unkind you are." grinning Attia pointed at Kavi "With a word from me my Emerald would rip off your enemies heads. Old names mean nothing here. I know I'd never be able to stop it but sit back silently? Never."
Drunk and chatty Attia waved her hand dismissively when Talia spoke of the senate "I do not care for it. When I remarry I shall refuse to be a part of it. I'd like to unpick this house from it. I will unpick this house from it. It squeaks like an old wheel...."
The rather jovial atmosphere evaporated the moment Talia mentioned Roth, it was as if Attia had turned from a feather to a blade "Roth is the rarest of creatures. A good person. An actual good person..." she leaned in closely to Talia, close enough to kiss "...not like us." Picking up the bottle of Ash brandy Attia swigged at it, she was far beyond being able to feel the burn of it "You're probably thinking that Roth can't possibly be all that good if he's involved with me. Well...I keep him out of my shadows...shhh" Attia giggled and put her left index finger to her lips "Anyone fucks with him and they fuck with me. Do you know what happens to people who fuck with me?....." With a laugh Lady Attia shook her head at Talia, Attia's words were not merely big talk it was a fact that people in her way died, but she stopped short of exposing her crimes to Talia "...so serious you are. I jest. I'm a pacifist don't you know? Ooooooooh! I almost forgot! Rivka has your nephew on board does she not? Not ideal. Not ideal at all. They shouldn't have carted her off so quickly. Poor girl didn't even get a chance to enjoy her widowhood...when my husband passed...ooooh...I partied so hard....still am!"
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Skummy the Kitty » Thu Dec 14, 2017 7:39 am

Kavi, House Sabre

"It is for Rivka's safety that she be taken far out of the Bloodhawk's reaches my Lady" Kavi interjected, politely but firmly after her lady had stopped "Garin Dul-Sansiska has let it slip that Drake the Lizard is to be married into the Accord, such a union between the Accord and the Alliance means that Caybourne is quite possibly the safest place in all of Aradia for her to stay." she shifted her body weight steadily and grabbed a heap of leaves from a gold dish, stuffing them in her lower lip. Her knuckles seemed quite a bit more bruised than normal. "It is good to know that there are two figures who caused such great misery, to be death and gone forever from this world. May the Void devour their souls" she sighed and cracked her neck from side to side and nodded to herself "However this is just the beginning to something far more interesting" she began to chuckle mildly "It will be a bloodbath soon enough, and I can't wait" a flash of her race's penchants for fighting and the thrill of the battle.
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Skummy the Kitty » Sat Dec 16, 2017 3:06 pm

The Void, Divan

"Quite so, and I think that time works at a dilated pace, but due to how elves work at the best fo time sits a toss up. We're strange creatures, not like Aradia's other creations we're attuned to certain things. Magic, nature" he gestured at her knowingly due to the scene of her escape from the Void "And demons" he gestured to himself "Creatures made for a purpose, advancing magic, protecting nature, and fighting monsters......"he took her hand gently and they floated from the island down into the murkier depths "The Vrow are made for no such purpose but are yet fulfilled, it is quite strange how my closest racial relatives are so different from myself" they seemed to become swallowed and they were flat on another expanse of earth and rubble and wood. This one felt denser int he air- but now with Divan's ominous aura nothing dared to come near them.

It was an odd aura yet unseen, only burning brightly due to their short window of time in the void, his body was siphoning power from the area around them as he did with entities of the Void. Passively certainly but it was undeniable his form was unsustainable without a connection to this place and as they went he would grow in strength. But that still cast a shadow on what he could be capable of if he was turned whole once more, he released her hand and breathed in deeply trying to sense his kind, but felt frustrated looking around and only feeling the energies abound.

"It is no use, my sense of familial energies is so deadened I cannot feel her, perhaps you can detect her- an anomaly of sorts in the flow of the Void. Your magic is more intuitively based and spiritual in nature while mine is highly refined and overtly problematic when it suffers failure- if you cannot then we must find another way....the Void is endless and thus to search blindly will reach no end but to tire us for Kraai to strike out for what she believes belongs to her. My power in the Void is growing so for the time being....I should be able to protect you if she comes round again, but knowing my make up soon enough that same strength will become a burden in its own right and Molak will wish to seize control or the other tormented ones I hold within me" it was cryptic but it was clear he meant they were on a timetable to be sure "Our only other recourse I can imagine is for us to venture even deeper to the core of the Void and to find the Shadow Dancers....but I do not think I am ready to come face to face with the people who stole my existence for untold knowledge- not until I know my kin is safe"
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Kotorchix » Wed Dec 20, 2017 7:10 am

A few days ago…
Lord Darcy Piers
Piers Estate
Golden Mile, Everglow City


He’d heard about the man seeking an audience with him. But Lord Piers had made it more than clear (via servants, of course) that if he didn’t have business with him he would not be seen. The stranger then sent messages that it was an important family matter. But Lord Piers acknowledged no family – no one had made contact with him in over twenty years, after all.

So that morning when he found the white-haired gentleman sitting in his poorly-lit study, his hand was quick to the hilt of his rapier. The man crossed the room in a bound, his own golden-gilded dagger pressing to Lord Darcy’s throat in a swift motion. The stranger put a finger out for silence.

In a quiet tone, the stranger began to speak.

“You are a very hard man to get an audience with,” he rebuked with an accusatory glare.

“Pray tell,” Darcy replied in a normal conversational voice, “you are the family member who seeks me?”

The man flipped the dagger about in his hand, sliding it into a sheathe on his hip. There was a matching dagger and sheathe on the other hip. “Darius Black, son of Elsik Piers and Jacinta Heartstone.”

Black?” Darcy paused, frowned, then moved to his desk to begin pouring two glasses of Ash Brandy. “An alias for your life as the so-called ghost of the Sorrows?”

He turned to the younger man, eyeing the white hair. He should have known. His brother’s talent for drama, his penchant for the theatrical, were evident in the stranger all-too-clearly. The impressive body, the elven good looks, the cocksure stance, hubristic clothing style, the scimitars across the back… And the same smouldering stare that would have any woman’s panties about her ankles.

He already hated him.

“My nephew is a fictional pirate,” Darcy laughed, the sound ringing out against the marbled floors. “How quaint. I personally would have gone with Heartstone… bastard child, after all, and a rather fitting name for a pirate. But I remember you at your parents’ wedding. Perhaps you could have brought some meaning back to the name Piers.”

“I had nothing to contribute to the Heartstone name,” Darius replied coolly. “Nor Piers. But perhaps you do.”

Lord Darcy handed his nephew one of the two glasses filled with Ash Brandy. Darius accepted it, but did not drink. Darcy saw the glint in his eye and smirked as he downed his own glass. Suspicious bastard.

“I’m listening. I presume something has happened to my brother?”

There was a pause, an awkward one, confirming what Darcy had already suspected. He chuckled. “He’s been dead a long time, hasn’t he?”

“About ten years after the wedding,” Darius confirmed quietly. “Along with my mother and sister, Angelique. It was an illness, took a few more members of my mother’s side also.”

“Hm,” Darcy said, placing the glass down on the desk. “Never heard of Angelique. Lyron has reached my attention once or twice. I saw him compete in the tournament a few months back, and also saw him attending the Senate with young Lady Ludlow.”

“Angelique was his twin. There’s another sister, our youngest sibling at fourteen, Serenity. She is to be wed to General Drake under Xankresh Avani’s blessing.”

That caught his attention. Darcy stared at the young man, the gears clicking in his head. “That serves to connect our houses in a very strong alliance. Yet… you sound frustrated by this betrothal.”

“She is only fourteen. This General has at least several centuries on her and won’t have aged a day by the time she reaches her seventies.”

“An age dilemma?” Darcy chuckled as he sat down behind his desk. “Why do you come to me with this? Wouldn’t it be you who would have agreed to this partnership as the head of the house?”

“It was Mancel Ludlow. I gave up my position when my parents died and I left Caybourne. Now I have no authority to override his decision.”

The pirate seemed almost reluctant to go on. But after a moment of hesitation, he did. “You would still have that power. As would Lyron, but he refuses to see my point. You are the highest-ranking member of the Piers family.”

To be honest, Lord Darcy Piers hadn’t expected that at all. Mancel Ludlow was a non-traditional sort. He would have thought the Lord Admiral to keep Darius’ position in the family sacred to the firstborn of Elsik Piers, not to demote him to some lesser family member for having left – even for a life of crime. So to discover he was indeed the highest Pier… that was surprising. And intriguing.

“You wish me to begin a dispute with Xankresh Avani.”

“Yes. Or with General Drake. We leave for Sylvie Isle this afternoon – Lady Claire Ludlow, Lyron, and myself. Would you join us?”

He thought about that a long moment, then gave a shake of his head. “I will make my own way to Caybourne. I must do some research first, see if this is worth my time and effort to take on such powerful men all in the name of a young girl. You understand, surely.”

Darius’ eyes flashed. “She is your blood.”

“And my blood would be joined with the powerful drow. What influence we would have, my young nephew. I don’t know why you would dispute this. A girl’s temporary discomfort would elevate our name far from the status of ‘minor nobility’. Surely you understand the benefit in this alliance. We would become something greater.”

“Judging by how difficult it is to find you, I’m surprised that’s even the direction you want to be going. You seem to be very intent on keeping a low profile.”

“Until the time is right,” Piers agreed. “And this might be the right time. I will let myself be known to this Drake, and Xankresh Avani, but it will be some time before I announce my intentions with this betrothal.”

He drew open a drawer in his desk, retrieving parchment, wax and seal. He readied his quill, dipping it in the pot of ink at his elbow before pausing to look at his nephew.

“I trust that was all?”

“I’ll let myself out.”

Darius crossed the room to the windows behind Lord Darcy Piers. He swept aside a thick swatch of blue curtain and climbed swiftly out the shattered window. Piers looked at the glass littering the floor as the curtain fell back into place. He sighed and shook his head.

Melodramatic, just like his father.
Isles of Aradia
The Runaway
Skyrim: Forged in Blood
The Witcher: Trial of the Spheres
The Blackblood Investigation

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Kotorchix » Fri Dec 22, 2017 7:04 pm

Characters & Info
The Provenire
Sylvie Isle
Caybourne


The sun had risen in the sky by the time Sylvie Isle came into view. Rasheba stood at the prow of the ship, her arms folded over her chest as she stared resolutely at the cloud-wreathed island. There was comfort in coming home, but not to this. Never to this.

They drifted along beneath the cliffs of the high island, the spires and roofs of the town of Lawaoe the only visible structures above them. Walls of dark grey rock sped past as the ship sailed beneath the first bridge.

No one knew who had constructed the bridges. Only that they had been there years before Keyair Heartstone first found this island, designed by ancient architects who preferred space, wider roads and larger steps than most humanoids were accustomed to.

Just beyond the first bridge the ship swerved into a small port built out the back of the town, in what could only be called a partial cave carved from the rock by millennia of erosion. A few tiny fishing vessels bobbed on the waves the Provenire created as she slid into a berth.

Rasheba asked the Vennets to wait below-decks until she sent Carndas for them. Just to be certain of the situation before possibly endangering them.

The port was quiet, with only guardsmen wearing colors of the Ludlow Accord there to greet them. A young man, shorter than most of the human and high feline guards, stepped out to meet Rasheba as she took point on the boarding ramp.

Rasheba met Casim with an embrace, holding him close.

He had grown in the short time she had been gone. Had he not stepped out she might not have recognized him, to be honest. On his smooth face, some ginger stubble had sprouted. There was something harder in his face. Something resolute. But it also wasn’t common for him to be seen in his armor. The boy had skill with a blade but Rasheba had never seen him wear armor where some fancy clothes might serve the same formal purpose.

They didn’t say anything a long minute, then Casim pulled back from his aunt’s hug. There was much she could have said in that moment, but one glance in his eyes and she found herself mute. This wasn’t Casim in any sense she knew him. Her hand lingered at her waist, hesitating at the hilt of her sword.

“I hate to ask this of you,” she murmured.

Casim gave a short shake of his head. One of the guards stepped forward, removing his helm – it was Elmer. Rasheba found herself equally startled to find him in armour. Elmer knew magics, his usual clothing was enchanted, he didn’t need armour.

“I can vouch for him,” Elmer said. “Both myself and Moxus thoroughly ensured he is indeed himself. He hasn’t been out of my sight since our questioning. Everyone has a partner to vouch for them.”

“Then what of the Shifter?” she asked, letting her hand fall from her sword. “Any news of it or Eason? Any demands?”

“Moxus got a report of… Jenny being sighted,” Casim said. “With Eason, shortly after the attacks.”

She felt her jaw crack as she set it. “And?”

“She paid a vast amount of coin to an arcaneologist in Maria Vale,” Elmer said. “We spoke to him and he said that he had teleported them to mainland Aradia. He doubted that was their final destination as the shifter had much more gold to spare.”

“He’s been sworn to secrecy on what he saw,” Casim added quietly. “Eason was unharmed, and seemed comfortable enough. The shifter obviously wanted to keep him calm by using Jenny’s image.”

“We should not keep the Vennets waiting,” Elmer said, putting his helm back on and concealing his identity. He stepped back into line with the other guardsmen. “It’s about time we meet our new lady.”


Casim Ludlow
Sylvie Isle
Caybourne


He watched as Rasheba walked back up the boarding ramp to fetch the Vennets from below-deck. His tongue touched nervously to his lips to moisten them. But he stood straight, his armour silver and emerald-threaded gleaming in the torchlight of the docks.

As terrible as the situation was, he did want to give his betrothed a strong first impression. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything more important than making sure Rivka knew she was safe.

That he would keep her safe.

He ran a hand through his unruly red hair. He had combed it so many times on the carriage trip down the winding path of the bridges and through Lawaoe, yet it still clung to its curly form. And he hadn’t noticed the ginger stubble until it was too late… at least it wasn’t patchy this time. At least he resembled a grown man in some way, not the usual scrawny kid he saw looking back from the glass…

But what of when the armour came off? When he was left alone with her to consummate their marriage? Of course she would just have to accept him for what he was, but… Will I be enough for her? Will I live up to whatever memory she has of Jaster Blackthorne? Of course not.

He and Jaster weren’t too far apart in age, but the man had experience. He’d lived on the mainland, carried the weight of a legacy… there was no question at all about whether or not Rivka’s former husband was a virgin. The guy likely had conquests all over…

What would she think of his body? Would it matter to her that he didn’t have sculpted abs? That he was lucky to even have a flat stomach? What about his chicken legs?

“You’re ripping your lip, my lord.”

He snapped his teeth together, glancing to Elmer at his side. He took a breath, looking back to the Provenire’s ramp.

Had he even spared a moment to think about her? He had wondered at her personality, whether they would be compatible. But he hadn’t found the time to even fantasize about what he might like her to be.

There was the idealistic side, the one that wished theirs would be a relationship like his parents’… like his parents’ had been. But her actual image, what her body would be like, what touching her would feel like… the thought honestly overwhelmed him. And he couldn’t find it in himself to conjure a true fantasy.

So he waited.
Isles of Aradia
The Runaway
Skyrim: Forged in Blood
The Witcher: Trial of the Spheres
The Blackblood Investigation

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by dinthalion » Sat Dec 23, 2017 10:31 am

Sylvie Isle
Caybourn Rivka


Rivka had dried her eyes by the time they arrived. But the excitement was gone, even the dread had dulled. She felt almost empty as she took her father’s arm as he led her up on deck.

And there he was. She recognized him from the drawing. He was wearing armor, she shouldn’t have been surprise but it only confirmed what she feared. She couldn’t help but study him her heart racing. Somehow seeing her future husband wearing his armor made her mind drift back to Jaster at the tournament. But this boy looked nothing like Jaster. He was much smaller and younger looking, he didn’t look like the ty[e who would win a tournament with his small arms and anything but arrogant stance. She couldn’t help but think he didn’t look like he belonged in armor.

What would she say to him? What could she say? She cast her eyes away as much as was polite as she was introduced.

“My Lord,” she said quietly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you….I’m so sorry…for your loss.”

She had lost a mother once, she knew words could do little to help the pain.

Freyr looked around for Lord Ludlow, but given the circumstances he understood why his host hadn’t come to meet them.

He looked at Casim, compassion in his eyes.

“If there is any way we can be of any service please let us know.” He told him sincerely. His questions could wait. “I can’t imagine your grief. Thank you for receiving us but please don’t let us be a burden to you.”
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Kotorchix » Wed Dec 27, 2017 6:16 pm

Characters & Info
Metheryl Arcaena
The Void


This part of the Void was so utterly different from what she remembered. How could it be that this place felt more natural than the place she was trapped? There were planes, realms, even within the Void. How many levels of this hellscape were there really? Endless amounts?

She gently held Divankul’s hand until they alighted on the next expanse of the Void. She inhaled, the stale air hitting her lungs in a dry cough. She watched him as he stepped away, his energy swirling as it searched far and wide.

In the Void, magic felt so much more amplified. It was like someone yelling instead of the mere whisper that swished about on Aradia’s skin. Like the deafening roar of a heartbeat heard from within the heart itself.

A light smile tugged at her with the mention of ‘familial energies’. How did he know?

“I doubt Kraai will openly attack us,” Metheryl said. “I can feel her in my mind. Just as a constant eye, one I can mostly blind. But she is watching, and she does not have intentions towards us… not yet. She’s preoccupied by something else more pressing than our presence.”

She pulled her long white hair back from her face, summoning a tie so that she could bind it behind her head. She sank to the ground in a cross-legged position, closing her eyes as she soothed away most of the background noise in her mind, muted Kraai, smothered her in some dark crevice for later.

“I know not of these Shadow Dancers nor what they did to you. You will have to tell me your story one day, Divankul.”

She let her mind melt into the Void. For a dizzying moment, she lost all concept of self – the sudden return of an entire lifetime slamming back into her with a force crushing enough to squeeze the air from her metaphorical lungs.

Her mind felt Divankul, searched him with the same delicate touch an animal might use with the pressing of their nose to his offered hand. She felt parts of him distant, parts that tied back to Aradia’s skin, others that dug far deeper into the depths of the Void… but only a few dainty threads led that way.

And then she began her own search. This one was slower, more emotional than the one Divankul had done. There was truth in what he had said several times now, that his magic was a more practiced, clinical type while hers was one of the spirit. There was hardly anything academic to her methods. She followed no map or instruction. Her search was one of wild feeling, groping, sensing.

And then she found the flicker of familiarity. But not only to Divankul, to herself. Not one of blood, but one of venom. The taint of a Spider Queen so far below that of their own territory was suspicious and she focused on that.

She found the shadowed soul that burned that same hatred through its veins, detested the Queens, killed them. Who saw those same boughs above her head, the same hairy legs, the webbing, the silk, silk.

Silkstrider.


She held to the distant thread, tugging as delicately as she could to let that tiny tremble on the string let this Silkstrider know she was there, that she was watching. She felt the flicker of surprise return before the string snapped.

Metheryl opened her eyes.

“I found her.”



Casim Ludlow
Sylvie Isle
Caybourne


He drowned out the titles as Rasheba made the instructions.

Rivka had a plain sort of beauty compared to most noble women Casim had met. There wasn’t that white, blue-blooded look to her, nor the strict aversion of the gaze. She openly studied him and he studied her back in the moment before they would speak.

He felt the dip in emotion when her gaze landed on his armor. Disappointment, sadness, anger… he didn’t know her well enough to distinguish the difference. But he felt ashamed hiding behind that steel somehow.

He noted how the green of her dress complemented the soft olive tone of her skin. She had an oaken look to her, like the faded pastel painting hanging in the dining hall back at the Ludlow Estate. But she wasn’t faded. She was vibrant, alive. Sad, broken maybe, but he saw it in the spark of her face. She wasn’t dead to the world yet, hadn’t given up yet.

But his armor wasn’t putting her at ease. She was expecting to die again here. He saw it in the tired dulling of her eyes.

Who could blame her?

And then, she apologized for his loss. He took a moment, gazing at her. Her voice was beautiful, her words music. Almost too quiet, but a gentle melody.

“I am sorry for your loss too, my lady.” He didn’t mean her mother. He held her eyes for a moment to make sure she knew that.

Then it was Lord Vennet’s turn. “Thank my lord. And in no way are you a burden to us. I apologize for the Lord Admiral not being here to greet you, but he isn’t in the best way to receive any company right now, familiar or not.”

He returned his attention to Lady Rivka. He glanced to his men, giving them a small wave off before taking a knee. Gently, he took her hands in his, holding them like porcelain figures. He waited until only Freyr, one of Rivka’s bodyguards and Rasheba were within earshot.

“I want to apologize,” he said softly.

“We live in an imperfect world where no one should have to go through the pain you have. I don’t know what it is like to join a family only to leave it again, to be wed or even to feel love in a sense that is not familial. I know I am inexperienced. And I want to tell you now I am sorry for when I will inevitably screw this up, not know how to empathize, or just be an oaf because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

He could feel the burn on his face, the embarrassment from this show to not only a stranger, but her father, to his aunt. But he knew now there would not be a private moment to say this for a long time. Maybe not even until they were to consummate the marriage. And that was hardly the right time for this. Even now wasn’t the right time for this… but he could choose the lesser of two evils.

“I want to be the man you need, and deserve. I hope I can live up to Jaster’s promises to you, maybe even surpass them if that’s possible.”
Isles of Aradia
The Runaway
Skyrim: Forged in Blood
The Witcher: Trial of the Spheres
The Blackblood Investigation

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Skummy the Kitty » Thu Dec 28, 2017 11:02 am

Divan
The Void


"Ah wonderful" there seemed to be echoing screams of utter pain as the intensity of Divan's siphons increased tenfold, the energies warping around him began to mutate in their colors and he seemed to be actively eating away at the denizens of this place as nonchalantly as one would breathe the air. Clearly he held no appreciation for this existence, it was food to him and nothing more; a tool for his power underfoot- possibly it was a necessity as they spanned this place they would find creatures and entities that would dwarf their surface level powers and would require far greater feats of destruction.

Even the twisted wilderness seemed to cry out in spasms as it was tormentingly torn asunder and refined into pure and raw energy. An apex predatory omnivore in the basest of meanings. An entity that ate everything from the rocks and the trees to the animals and the spawn of the void. Nature at its cruelest mixed together with a tool of utter contempt of the Void. The Drow were a creation made to destroy this place wherever they went, it was only fitting Divan turned the idea on its head and devoured it. Though he showed not emotion towards it, at least it seemed as though he did not.

"Then we should get moving, and quickly, the deeper we go the stronger the powers of the void awaken inside myself and the deeper I become entrenched in this reality. I can feel the eyes of many upon us and I'd rather keep them wanting, but you'll have to lead the way." He shifted his right arm into living smoke which formed a dense cloud at the wild elf's bottom. Which lifted her lightly and easily, now with his consuming of the Void energies he was growing more powerful in his use.

"Once we get to her, I'll know where we shall go, and I will allow you to witness firsthand through my own eyes who I was and whom I became after my contract. I will keep nothing from you, but I also find this is something that is to be seen to be believed my dear" he of course spoke about his interactions with the Shadow Dancers, while she might've meant someday she'd be allowed to hear him wax on the subject he intended to simply let her pierce through and see the events unfold as he had been forced with her. In at least that way the two could be made equal. "I'll ensure to lock away my mind from Kraai's influences if she wishes to muse upon my years, but I'll leave the door open for your intrusion. Its quite the story, I assure you"

They lept form this place as well, and this time it screamed and groaned as Divan's strength broke it apart and refined it into more energy that he would quite dearly need as they went through.
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by dinthalion » Sat Dec 30, 2017 10:45 am

Sylvie Isle
Rivka wasn’t sure what to say or even what to think when Casim began to apologize for his future behavior. She wasn’t sure what it meant, was it just nerves and humility, was it an admission of incompetence or a confession that their union would be doomed? She didn’t know and so she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to comfort him but wasn’t sure how.

She wondered what he meant by screwing things up and being an unempathitic oaf. He seemed empathetic now, the way he expressed remorse for her at her loss of a husband she barely knew even while he suffered the grief of losing both his mother and sisters.

She liked the feel of his hands on hers. His hands were smaller then Jaster's and softer, not the callused roughness of a trained warrior. His grip was gentle and almost tentative, betraying the nervousness he felt. she wondered how they would feel on her body. But the thought suddenly made her feel traitorous, like to even think about another man was to cheat on her late husband. She almost pulled away at the shame she felt but didn’t for fear of only heightening Casim’s self-consciousness.

Then he spoke of Jaster and she felt the shame rise.

“Jaster never really made me many promises.” She replied awkwardly. A thought occurred to her as she said. She felt her cheeks start to flush as she realized maybe to Casim this was more then just a political match. Maybe he did want her for more then just the alliance between families. She had never considered herself a prize and the idea of being desired by a man made her heart flutter a little. It made her even more conscious of the way he held her hand.

“Maybe…I hope we can get to know each other better before the wedding.” She added with a small smile.
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by IronParagon » Mon Jan 01, 2018 2:24 am

_______________________________________________________________________
Lady Sabre
_______________________________________________________________________


Talia watched, perturbed, as Attia seemed to gloss over her warning as if it were nothing.

Does she already know? Has she been working with him all this time? There was another more disturbing prospect. Does it even bother her? There's the ideal political accomplice--one who can be shown the danger in their actions, but simply does not care.

"Indeed," she said evenly in response to her sister-in-law's proclaiming of her servant's capacity to rip off enemies' heads. She tried to picture the likely outcome of a confrontation between Kavi and the Bloodhawk, and was visited by the amusing image of her uncle holding the Orc back with one hand while it windmilled its arms at him frantically. "Perhaps...your maid had best stay by your side. For her own safety, as much as Lord Blackthorne's."

She leaned back ever-so-slightly when Attia pulled herself in close. Her sister-in-law no doubt considered herself to be irresistibly seductive--but it did not change the fact her breath stank of alcohol and pipesmoke. The older woman asked if she knew what happened to people who "fucked with" her.

"Oh, I can only imagine," Talia muttered, drawing a sudden correlation between that statement and Attia's stated reaction to her husband's death. It did not exactly surprise her. Gordon had told her, years ago, that once you've killed one man, killing your second came easily.

But then, inevitably, talk turned to Jaster's legacy. Once again, Talia had thought herself able for it, but the wounds were still fresh. And they still hurt.

"That is a rumor," she said quietly. "Nothing more. You speak of this with a sort of joviality. I thought you would show more concern for Rivka's welfare, that she was your friend. Do you know how we deal with illegitimate heirs in my family, Lady Attia? Do you know how we deal with their mothers?"

There came a tapping at the window. Blinking in surprise, Talia turned to see a familiar figure perched on the sill. Roland the gyrfalcon tapped the glass again, his manner impatient.

He must have taken that comment about his delivery speed more seriously than I thought. Talia shook her head with a smile, and looked to her sister-in-law. "Forgive me, Lady Attia, but there are matters to which I must attend..."

Lady Ludlow,

Thank you for being kind to Roland. He was reared by my brother, and has been lonely since his master's death. In addition to that, he is the only messenger I trust to pass information without fear of interception. I am not quite sure what you fed him, but he seems positively eager to get back to you, so I shall convey this quickly.

My ancestor, the Black Griffin, forbade the practice of witchcraft in the West and it has since become ostracized. But this alone is not evidence enough to absolve my uncle of blame. Lord Dominic keeps a servant for a spymaster, a creature called Mister Sixx, and nobody knows for sure what it is beneath its mask and cloak, save that it is a powerful sorcerer. My uncle is not above the use of magic to accomplish his goals, then, but even for him this seems unnecessarily cruel. Your mother and sister cannot have had any part in any perceptible conspiracy. The Bloodhawk will seek retribution for this matter, but truthfully I do not think these actions were his.

I am sorry I cannot provide you with the answers you seek. I know that they would bring you consolation in this time of grief. I hope, some day soon, that I will have the power to provide your investigation with further aid. But in my current position there is little I can do.

With my sincerest apologies,
Talia Blackthorne.

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Kotorchix » Tue Jan 09, 2018 4:32 am

Characters & Info
Carndas Rodin
The Docks
Sylvie Isle
Caybourne


“Maybe…I hope we can get to know each other better before the wedding.”

“I’d like that.”

He eyed the young red-head as he rose from his kneel, gently releasing Lady Rivka’s hands. The boy was just as nervous as her, maybe even moreso naïve. Though there was a hardness that looked new to the boy’s face, something that hadn’t fully settled in yet – the grief he was holding off, Carndas supposed.

Carndas didn’t remember much of his own mother. He didn’t remember grieving for her, or even his father’s mourning. The day after his mother passed, his father had just announced to him that they were leaving. He had filled Carndas’ mind with so much, kept him so busy with helping him attend to his merchant wagon throughout Aradia.

There had been no time to grieve, no time to even really understand what had actually happened.

The true grief was being old enough to understand what happened with Nimbe’s mother, his step-mother Wynmae. But a death to save her children from the Spider Queens seemed more noble, more fair than a mysterious assassination.

So even in knowing Casim’s grief, he knew he couldn’t understand how the boy felt.




Sylvie Isle differed from the tropical shoreline that those of the Provenire had seen of Caybourne. Although the occasional little nook or cranny boasted ferns or exotic plants or fruits, this place was mostly rock with tiny stretches of grass.

The carriage containing the Vennets, Rasheba and Casim trundled along between the company of Casim’s and Rivka’s guard forces.

The two horses pulling the cart were stockier than those generally found in Caybourne, or even mainland Aradia. Their gray bodies were firmly muscled, their height ridiculous at nearly twenty hands.

These giants of horses made easy work of the steep, winding road that wove up into the small town of Lawaoe. Between the tudor-style townhouses and stores, the main road was wide. Curving around a town square, it meandered up between some larger estates.

Despite the uniformity of most of the buildings in design, the town was a colourful place. Buntings criss-crossed between the street lamps above the roads. Flags at half-mast danced in the breeze on the taller buildings – a church, a town hall, a guard tower and many more.

Early morning in any town generally had its share of busy townspeople. But this one, the streets were mostly still. A few children playing with a ball in the square stopped to watch the procession pass. The powerful scent of pastry from the baker’s had coaxed at least a servant or two to wait outside for the place to open. But the sombre banner strung up on the town hall’s front seemed to have all the power in this town:

Aradia be with Lady Amarika Ludlow and her beloved daughter, Jennifer. Be also at peace, unborn children of Our Lady.

Casim’s face hardened at the sight of the banner. But he didn’t say anything.

Rasheba took a deep breath and pointed out a window at the view just before they were to turn another corner on the road. This turn was barren of buildings, instead allowing a clear view back to Caybourne. But then the carriage had spun about on another winding path and the view was lost.

The road suddenly broke away from town and became much steeper. Casim and Rasheba had to brace themselves for the uncomfortable ride, having given the more comfortable seats at the back of the carriage to the Vennets. But the speed didn’t differ, the horses more than capable of hauling them up like nothing more than a backpack.

Then quite abruptly the road narrowed. Casim offered a small smile. “Don’t look out the window if you’re afraid of heights.”

On both sides of the carriage, the paved road turned to an older, sturdier sort of brick. And beyond that, was air. Straight down was the tiny port they had entered earlier. The Provenire was ant-like below them. And through the fog, looking north, were massive pillars that reached up, up, far into the mists above.

“We didn’t build this,” Casim said softly. “We never met the natives who did.”

The road widened once more, winding again but now tilting sharply to the right. And they were suddenly at the massive gates of a bridge high in the sky. Mist swirled below them – they had climbed right up through into the clouds.

Most of the guard-force broke off here so only two Accord guardsmen remained. The rest filed into one of the towers on the giant bridge. And the carriage continued forward.

The bridge was easily the length of the entire town, stretching over an abyss of sharp rocks spearing up from the Sorrows. The bricks beneath the carriage were ancient and firm, but much larger than any conventional architect would be comfortable working with.

Now and then, vision would be lost as they passed through a bank of misty cloud.



Claire Ludlow
Twicefreed Manor
Golden Mile, Everglow City


She woke grasping the sheets beneath her with white-knuckled fists. Her skin was slick with sweat, chills shivering through her bones as she threw a fresh breath back like a shot of liquor. Her nightgown clung to her in clammy swathes and she flung back the blankets to sit off the side of her bed.

Closing her eyes she attempted to still her racing heart with a few slow, measured breaths.

We should have gone.

She had obeyed her father and Moxus’ order for her to stay put, to not return home for the memorial service. But her dreams were plagued with thoughts that her mother was alive, was coming to visit. Or that she and Jenn were children again, only to witness one horrific death or another.

But now she wouldn’t see them entombed in the family crypts on Sylvie Isle. There wouldn’t be that visual, physical, spiritual confirmation that they were never coming back.

She kept trying to convince herself she didn’t need to go. That she hadn’t been close with either of them in recent years. But her blood screamed at her. That didn’t matter. They were still her mother and sister. She should have gone.

There was a faint knock at her door. “My lady?” Nimbe’s soft voice called. “The gyrfalcon’s back.”

She folded the parchment and glanced across the room where Nimbe was once more feeding the gyrfalcon tiny morsels of meat. The half-elf seemed to have a way with animals without fear of the little beast’s sharp talons or clacking beak as he gulped down giblet after giblet.

“I don’t really have anything to say in response to this,” Claire murmured.

Nimbe looked up, the smile on her face fading. Claire stood, crossing the space between them and gave her the parchment. The girl subconsciously continued to feed ‘Roland’ more food as her eyes darted back and forth over the page. Once she was done, she issued a short sigh.

“What do you think?”

“I think that you can’t correspond with her anymore if you let Roland go without a reply,” Nimbe said with a small shrug. “Perhaps just a note stating you would like to keep contact?”

“But she’s not in a position of power right now,” Claire mused.

“She knows things. Like about that Spymaster. And I think you could do with a friend.”

Claire’s face creased with something that felt like something between a stiff smile and a grimace. “I have you and Lyron. I can trust you both… How am I meant to trust someone from a house like Dominic Blackthorne’s?”

“Doesn’t it give you any consolation that he didn’t do it?”

Claire blew air from her mouth and sat down heavily at the table beside Nimbe. She flicked a piece of meat which the gyrfalcon caught easily.

“Not really. If I could find someone to blame, I think this might be easier. Better than just… the wait. The wondering. I’m so scared something truly bad is going to happen to Eason. That maybe he’s even dead… That murderer could just be toying with us by taking him.”

Nimbe was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her tone was even softer than usual. “I don’t understand politics.”

Claire’s laugh was explosive. Far too loud. And then she cried. She felt Nimbe’s gentle hand on her arm but her eyes scrunched shut against the stupidity of all this bullshit. It was barbaric. Raw, primal, but wrapped up in pretty dresses and polite Senate meetings.

“Fuck!”

She lunged from her seat, grabbing ahold of the nearest object – a book – and slammed it across her dresser. Brushes and small pots of makeup and perfume scattered, but none broke as they hit the thick carpet below. The gyrfalcon gave a startled squawk and hopped nervously.

Her hands closed on one of the poles of her four-poster bed and she gripped it until her knuckles were beyond white, just transparent. She watched her blood jump through her veins, pulsing like the racket in her head.

She was overly conscious of her teeth, the way her jaw clenched and tightened. Her eyes pounded like living things in her head. And she screamed.

She screamed until Lyron was there. Until he had wrapped her in his arms, muffling her scream into his shoulder. She pounded weak little fists against his chest in protest, but the scream devolved into helpless sobbing. She heard Darius asking panicked questions from the door, then everything fell silent – only her sad little whimpers filling the room.

And an impatient chirp from the damned bird.

Lady Talia Blackthorne,

Thank you for your prompt reply. My maid Nimbe seems to have a way with Roland, so she will have to be the one to take credit.

I’m not certain what else other than witchcraft would be capable of shapeshifting. I suppose some forms of sorcery might cover such a practice, but I admit I know very little about magic. My next suspicion would be something more demonic. But I still can’t find a way to rationalize why them.

I will send Roland back to you now. Thank you for your guidance and understanding. I hope to sometime contact you again in the future.

- Lady Claire Ludlow
Isles of Aradia
The Runaway
Skyrim: Forged in Blood
The Witcher: Trial of the Spheres
The Blackblood Investigation

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Skummy the Kitty » Thu Jan 11, 2018 6:52 am

Xankresh, Twicefreed Manor

He wrapped his knuckles on the door, loudly so, despite the time and his choice of dress. While the Blackthornes were well aware of the tragedy that had taken place over the course of the last day, Dul-Sansiska was not so keen as to have been spying on their potential allies. However the Resonance had been activated, the Resonance was an emergency beacon that was designed by Divan originally as a trinket to ward off nightmares- or in his case visions of the void. Now it was an insisted upon tool for all members of the Drow Alliance nobility and, oddly, Rivka Vennet who was unaware fo the trinket's use when Divan had gifted the device to her.

The tiny bracelet of craved rocks would resonate a beacon signal to a receptacle held in the Azure Box, warning of threats to a member of the alliance. Mossa's had been activated due to it being in Drake's possession. So Xankresh wanted answers and he wanted them alone lest one of his children appear and put words in his mouth. Divan had vanished, Argavir was off doing who knew what, and Mossa was still in recovery and unable to leave for home. Maria was currently throwing a tantrum at the fact he uncle had essentially routed his exile and used the house as he saw fit only to vanish once more; Xankresh knew Divan was not truly going to accept the ruling his King made, but he cared not.

He was aware of the Ravensyell between the two locations of the Accord, and if Drake was activating the beacon it meant something had gone catastrophic. Xankresh stepped back and waited patiently, he had never actually spoken with any of the Accord; He doubted any of their local nobility had even seen any of the elves outside of passing glances. This was not how he wished to make introductions but if one of his were in jeopardy he wished to know.

If there was an emergency he could only gather that these folks would also be in a state of turmoil, the thought kept him gorunded that Drake was probably not in danger really- it was that something beyond him had occurred and he wished for the family to follow up with an investigation while he was obstructed. He wore a plain white shirt and dark pants, he was unarmed, and his eye patch was removed with his runic eye sitting still in its socket. His bald head almost sheen in a way, it was perfectly smooth and without an ounce of hair, betraying his former flowing mane of white waterfalls of locks.

He was of a standard size of an elf, standing six feet tall and of a good one hundred and eighty pounds. He also didn't appear to be the oldest living Drow on record, but you could tell by his eye he had lived so many lifetimes that it had almost gotten boring. The longer it took for an answer the greater time he had to dwell on the fact that perhaps it had been a more personal matter that Drake had bore witness to and that, more than anything, he could be feeling responsible and wishing to use the power of their communications to request assistance from his King and enforce the fact he was betrothed as a means of helping the Accord.

If that was his plan it would work, as long as Drake was actually serious about the union then Xankresh would treat the members of the Accord as family to a point up until they truly were bonded together and he really would see them as an extension of his own.

Divan, The Void

The darkness was consuming, and then they broke into this new layer, and the sky was basked in eerie light and the imagery was confounding. They had followed the fain echo of Reynis to a place of spiraling waters and haunting songs. Fires danced along the air and earth reconstructed itself frequently. Also within this area were more horrid aberrations who met their end at the hands of Divan's ever growing tendrils, now formally visible sprouting form his back and racing to destroy and an all creatures it came into contact with.

"I feel her, faintly, this place is fueling her. I can feel the reverberations of a powerful source of the Void coming from her location now" he broke through the elemental parade into a grove of hellish barked trees topped with magenta leaves and ovular fruit. There were stronger monstrosities attempting to safeguard its center. Being sof flaming tongues and blackened eyes, moving suits of armor.....A corrupted elf, not a Vrow but a corrupted High Elven sorcerer. However with a twist of the wrist, they were burned away in agony and despair.

In the silence Divan heard a rustling, and a black foot came bolting from the treeline and sent the elf spiraling out of confusion. Before he could get a bead on the creature it had vanished and soon an arrow came striking out towards Metheryl's head. However its movement ceased as Divan exerted a suppression field. A way of slowing everything down. The item was soaked in poisonous bile and thus it was under Divan's effects. Though she was unaffected the wild elf could feel that Divan was exerting his amassed strength. The black being fell form her perch clutching her stomach in pain, behind her an impish entity fell away as we, wielding what Divan could only surmise were Reyn's bow and her quiver of arrows.

A pulse and the creature imploded leaving the three of them in eerie quiet. Reynis bolted upright, her armor was in tattered chunks and she was covered in the filth of this place's touch. In some spots her skin was even beginning to bleach from her void exposure. Drow and Vrow were fundamentally opposites as the Vrow came from Drow practicing demon worship. All in all only Divan could remain immune due to how his soul was trapped alongside his true body in the Void and thus left unaffected by the taint of demons.

Reynis was in terrible shape, snarling almost, and grunting as she strained against her own father's power and began to stand. Dandling around her neck was a crude necklace bearing an amorphous liquid that shifted and shuddered in Divan's powerful radiance, encased in a vial. The Stygian Phylactery, an artifact of such great strength it would even bring down Divan if it amplified the correct user. Logically Reynis should have been dead from the tremendous force this entity was capable of producing.

However she was Divankul's daughter and a partial demonspawn, at least that was the assumption.......She charged him through his suppression, and tackled him in full force. She began trying to tear him apart but all she managed to do was to force his body into smoky wisps as he studied her features. He sighed in embittered resentment of his tricksters, and raised his arm. Reynis was flung to the side as a spell of light hit her in the side of the head which was honestly more effective than his void powers. Before she could recover fully, being more animal than elf, Divan bound her feet to the world and placed her in a high level sleep that siphoned much of his accumulate powers to fully overwhelm the powers of the phylactery. without pause he snatched it off her neck and opened up a tiny portal, gently placing the living thing inside and snapping it shut from reality.

"This.....is my daughter, I am ashamed of the pain I have caused her by conceiving her while myself a demon. As a drow her body constantly fights for one sense of domination over the other. Before she probably just had night terrors and sweats, now she's begun to be overtaken by the void. IT may be reversible if a fraction of her soul is snipped away, the one retaining Molak's Eye, but that's something for myself and his kin to address. I'm sorry you must be terribly confused"
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by dinthalion » Thu Jan 25, 2018 3:33 am

Rivka felt her stomach flutter as the horses careened up the ever steepening road. Maybe had things been different she would have thought it fun. She did keep her eyes out the window even as they entered the cliff side road. She made no comments about the scenery. When they reached the gate to the fortress she couldn't help but think it looked like something she'd imagine from a story. A castle in the sky. Like a fairytale. Except her life didn't feel like a fairytale.

She glanced across the seat at Casim. Was this boy her prince charming? But she couldn't see any happily ever after for either of them. Things were so much more complicated then she had imagined them. She didn't look down as they crossed the bridge, just out at first. But now and then she turned her head slightly to let her eyes land on Casim, trying to look away before he could look back. She wondered what he thought of her now that they'd met. It seemed unfair, all the tragedy and death around them both.

Finally they reached the main entrance to the fortress. Rivka and Freyr were helped out of the coach first. She looked down at the ancient stones beneath her feet, then up at the structure before her. She wrapped her arms around herself a little chilled. It was much cooler up here then it had been at the docks.
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by IronParagon » Thu Jan 25, 2018 3:44 am

_______________________________________________________________________
The Drowned Man
_______________________________________________________________________


Jaster awoke, again, to the sound of the crackling campfire. He lay still for a moment, eyes closed, reveling in the sense of blissful peace that only a man who'd just come out of a long slumber possibly could, that momentary absence of the anxieties and worries that plagued the waking mind.

Until it all came flooding back. Which it did, with interest.

He ground his teeth together and focused on the present situation. He did not open his eyes--he did not want to see yet--but used his other senses to construct an image of his surroundings. He was lying his his back, on a thin bedroll over grass. He heard the fire, but no river. They'd moved away from Brackensbridge, then. He felt no bandages on his face, and could not smell the healing herbs that the Feline insisted on smearing his scars with. When he made a fist, he found the brace on his arm was no longer as restrictive. He moved, once, and felt a jab in his abdomen where the knife had pierced it. No surprises there, or in the fact that J'Zara had been able to mend the wound with her magic. Treatment from a skilled haler had done him some good. He felt strong, for the first time in weeks. And now he had purpose.

At last he opened his eyes. It was night, and the only light came from the fire. They were in a clearing amid a copse of trees, and appeared to have set up in the ruins of one of the stone tombs that peppered this region. J'Zara and Ogden were absent. The Elf sat propped against a rock, her long legs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankle, her bow laid across her lap. The flickering light made her scarlet hair, tied into a high tail, glow like embers and was reflected on her pale skin. She appeared relaxed with her eyes fixed on the fire, but her long ears had perked up attentively, and he could tell she was aware of him.

"Have you noticed your life seems to be going to circles of late?" She asked softly, chewing on the stem of her pipe with her picturesque white teeth. "Sleep for days. Wake up. Sulk. Get beaten up. Sleep for days. Wake up. Sulk. Get beaten--"

"Where are the others?" Jaster sat up with some effort. There was a constricting ring of bandages around his midriff, visible under his unbuttoned blue cotton shirt.

"It was their turn to hunt. We lost most of our inventory in that fire you started, you see. Had to make do with what we could scavenge." Arianne turned her gaze slowly to regard him coldly. "I told you not to wander off. Gave you one instruction, and you fucking bungled it anyway. It's quite an achievement, lad."

"Did you know who he was?" Jaster asked, with a measure of calm he did not feel. "The man you shot on the roof."

She laughed prettily, humorlessly. "I don't care, boy. You burned an inn, burned our food, our equipment, just to pick a fight--"

"It was Preston Knox. He killed our father."

Arianne took a long drag from her pipe, exhaled the blue smoke, and took a moment to watch it dissipate in the air before her. "I suspected as such. Well, he's dead now. Got what you wanted."

He blanched. "What I wanted--?"

"It was a good shot." A crow had alighted on a log near where Jaster lay. The Elf casually plucked an arrow from the quiver at her side. "Saw something happening on the roof. Scaled the wall. Popped up over the side. Fired from the hip." Her arm snapped to motion with the bow on her lap, and the crow was smacked off its perch in a burst of feathers, impaled right through the head by the shaft. "Dropped the fucker in a second, and you walked out with nary a scratch."

"He killed Gordon. Ruined my entire family. Without him, father never would have...to mother..." Jaster clenched his fists. "It was my kill to make, bastard."

Her lip curled in a smirk. "And when were you planning to accomplish this kill? After he cracked your head open? Generally that leaves people with no brains, but you've never had much use for those anyway--"

"Shut the fuck up." Jaster rose to his feet in one fast motion, ignoring the jolting pain in his side. "Everything's a fucking joke to you, isn't it? Nothing means anything to you. The world could die around you and you'd just sit there making snide remarks, rattling your coinpurse--"

"Right. And I don't have much of a coinpurse left. Because of you." Arianne gave him a sullen look. "You see my difficulty here?"

"It meant something to me!" he snapped, advancing a step towards her. "I know you have no family, no concept of it, but it was my life--he took it from me, he took everything from me, and killing him would have given me some peace but you..."

"Think of it from my perspective." She looked away from him, dismissively, and back to the fire. "Bringing you to your uncle alive is worth a mountain of Blackthorne gold. Killing Preston Knox for the Bloodhawk is worth twice that. I'm going to be very rich, very soon. Which makes it all the more annoying that you've reduced us to absolute squalor in the meantime--"

"HE WAS YOUR FATHER TOO!" His sudden roar echoed around the clearing.

She ignored him.

A sudden black rage seized Jaster and he lashed out, seizing a blade from the pile left by the edge of the camp, and trained it on her.

The flames were reflected in the Elf's grey-green eyes. "You should put that down before you hurt yourself, Kitten."

"I've had enough of this." Jaster's knuckles were white, clenched against the sword's handle. "I've had enough of you. I can't give Preston what he deserves. But I can rid the world of the Griffin's Bast--"

She blurred to motion, and his blade was knocked back. He reversed quickly, opening the space between them. Arianne had gone upright and drawn her own sword in the span of a second.

"I've been in this business for a long while," she said, tracing one slender finger down the length of her blade. Her tone was wistful, but she was already wearing her distinctive playful smirk. "And I've never met anyone so willing to take a beating as you, lordling."

He did not bother coming at her quietly, for the rage was in him. With an animal snarl, he barreled at her full-force, angling his blade for a low swing but faking it out and going high at the last second. The Elf's sword snapped up to meet his with a mighty clash, and the flicker of concern that passed her features gave him immense gratification. He was stronger than she'd thought.

He pulled back, spinning the blade, and pressed his advantage, lashing out with quick one-handed cuts like a carriage-driver's riding crop. Low, high, mid, mid, high, his steel flashing in the firelight, driving her back along the edge of the rocks, and though he was fighting well he began to notice...most of his cuts were not merely parried, but never found their mark. The Elf moved with supernatural grace, not dodging so much as dancing out of the way of the blade, her bare feet skipping nimbly over the grass in a pre-calculated route, her thin limbs swaying out of the sword's path like river-reeds against a gale, her hair arcing out behind her with each maneuver like a fan of flames. And she was laughing. Laughing whole-heartedly, as if this were all a fun little diversion, an amusement. She still did not understand it, and that made him angrier still.

"Careful there," she grinned savagely after he'd forced her to parry. "You almost hit me."

With a shout, Jaster whirled his blade up into a mighty overhead strike that would have cleaved her down the middle, but her sword flicked at his like a bee's sting, knocking it off course so it missed it's mark. Her technique, he realized, was of a different sort than he was used to. Her lean arms masked a deceptively whip-like strength, unparalleled for fast-twitching movements. He would never outpace her. And judging by the pins and needles crawling up his side, and the leaden feeling developing in his right arm, his time to overpower her was growing short as well.

Changing tactics, he moved his blade in wide arcs, like a scythe cutting grass. It forced the baseborn to give ground quicker than she might have liked, and soon he had her pressed against the side of an old tombstone. He expected her to stop and fight him back-to-the-wall. Instead, in one fluid motion, she scaled the side of the tomb with catlike quickness and balanced, one-legged, casually on its pointed headstone. Jaster stared up at her, blinking in surprise.

"Well?" she said impatiently. "Keep up."

Shaking his head, he stepped up on the shattered rock nearby and used it to spring himself onto the tomb. The impact of landing jarred the wound in his side, unsteadying him briefly, and now the Elf was on the attack, lashing out with quick stabs aimed at his head. He just about managed to bat them aside with a sweep of his blade, then arced a second cut for the leg she balanced on, but she anticipated this and sprang into the air, and he had to parry upwards to prevent his head being split in two. They locked blades, and were face-to-face.

"Did some Sir teach you to swing a sword, lad?" Arianne's blade scratched off his as they struggled, and he could feel her physical strength was greater than he'd suspected. "Teach you be chivalric and polite? Not how it works in the real world."

She shifted her stance, and before Jaster could realize what was about to happen he felt her fist collide with the wound on his side. It drove the air from his lungs, and when she drew her blade up he could barely counter it in time and it knocked him spinning, and then he was falling, and the ground rushed up to meet him. The grass would've made it a painless impact if he had not landed on his arm. The brace splintered, and Jaster choked back a scream. He barely had time to rise again before the Elf's blade was already scything towards his face, and as soon as he went to bat it away, his foot caught on a rook and he went to one knee. Arianne's sword lashed thrice--the flat of the blade to his other knee leaving him prone, one to his sword sending it flying out of his hand, until at last it whipped up and came to rest at the soft flesh under his chin.

There was a long pause, and Jaster waited, with the cold steel pressing against his neck and the heat of the flames washing against the scars on his face. They tingled, as if they remembered what had caused them to be there.

"It's funny. Lordlings have always been trying to pick a fight with me since I was old enough to lift a blade." She was smiling at him serenely. "But they always seem to end up where you are now, Kitten."

With a practiced flourish, she withdrew the weapon from his chin, spun it in one hand, and dropped it point-first on the ground. It buried itself blade-first in the earth and stayed there, quivering.

"Tell me something, lad." The Elf leaned against the sword and examined her nails casually. "You're awfully keen to hang on to this idea of your father."

"Your father." Jaster bowed his head, tearing up a handful of grass and gritting his teeth. "Your father as well. You...could have at least...understood..."

Arianne tossed her hair dismissively, like she was warding off an irksome fly. "You were so intent on killing that Knox man. Like you think it'd solve anything. It wouldn't have made you feel better. And it wouldn't have made your father any prouder, considering the hash you made out of lordship--"

A curious feeling descended over Jaster. Not anger. He was past that. It was more like a kind of clarity, a rawness, like the inhibitions of his merely flesh body and mind had been lifted from him. He had not been lying when he thought he'd wanted to hurt the bastard, wipe that smug look off her face, make her understand. But only now he felt he had the means to finally do it. And so he swung his bandaged left arm into the campfire, knocking the central wooden structure out of its place and scattering the burning embers across the ground.

Caught off-guard, Arianne tried to dart backwards, but flames were more difficult to predict than a lone opponent's blade. She stepped down on a burning branch. If she had been shod in just about anything it might not have been a problem. Instead, she shrieked, clutching her foot and hopping on the spot. During this brief moment of imbalance Jaster came rocketing through the flames at her, ignoring the flames lapping at his skin, striking her shoulder-first. She was not heavy. The charge lifted her off the ground and he rammed her straight into the stone behind her. Her head cracked off the rock. He caught sight of one grey-green eye, and from its look of muted shock, he could tell she finally comprehended the severity of the situation. That was good, but it would not stop him. He closed that eye by ramming his fist into it, and then doing it again, watching blood from her split lip spray across the tombstone, then she was hitting him back, her fingers digging into the knife-wound, and he felt his knees go weak but this would not stop him and he dragged her down to the earth with him.

There were impacts, impacts against the side of his head, splitting open the scabs on his face, and was vaguely conscious he was being punched repeatedly. In this state he could barely feel it. After a minute it stopped, and in his blurred vision he saw a tall figure standing over him, holding something, Arianne had one foot resting on his broken arm as he lay on his back, and clenched in her bruised hands was the bladed shortbow. There was an arrow notched in it and it was aimed for his face.

"You little shit," the Elf whispered, her eyes wide with indignant fury. Her pretty mouth was drawn into a snarl, and he saw there was blood in her teeth. "I could skin you for that, and no-one would know, no-one would care, the only reason you have any meaning anymore is me, it's ME, and I could wait to watch your uncle swing you from the fucking gallows but right now I think I don't have the fucking patience to wait for it anymore--"

"Do it then. Kill me."

The rawness, the clarity that had powered his attack had not gone away. It seemed he could not stop himself from talking either, even though his mouth was swelling from where she'd broken it.

"Kill me," he repeated, and the more he said, the more the words tumbled out. "I don't mean anything. I'm a failure to my people. I'm a failure to my family, to my sister, to my wife. To my father. None of them loved me. I only had to do one thing. I only had to be a good lord. To be strong. Like Jason, mother always said. But I failed. Gordon died and mother died and Cletus died and uncle Roderic died and soon the demons will come and then everyone will die and I could've stopped it but I didn't I'm a failure I shamed the Blackthorne name I'm nothing so just do it just finish it just KILL ME!"

His shout echoed around the clearing in the ensuring silence. He could no longer see Arianne's face as she stood over him, silhouetted in the dying firelight. Something hot was blurring his vision, and his breath was hitching, and the words echoed around in his head like they did around the tree,
kill me kill me kill me, and the more he thought it the worse it got.

Crying, he realized. I'm crying. In front of my enemy, like a little girl.

Pathetic, he heard his father's voice saying.

The pressure came off his arm, the bowstring relaxed, and the figure stepped back from him. Jaster curled into a ball, head in his hands, struggling to control himself. The tears from his eyes rolled over the scars on his face as they dripped into the grass.

He did not know how long he lay like that, feeling wretched. But when he looked up some time later, he saw the Elf seated with her back to him by the now-dead fire, drinking from a wineskin. One ear perked up slightly as he did so, and she half-turned to regard him, her face speckled with bruises. Without saying a word, she offered him the wine.

Jaster sat up, pushed himself forward gingerly, accepting the offer and taking a long pull from the skin. Then he sat beside her. They stayed like that, in silence, passing the drink back and forth between them without a word.

And that was the sight that greeted Ogden and J'Zara when they returned.

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Skummy the Kitty » Thu Feb 01, 2018 3:34 pm

Somewhere along the coast

He was a strapping young dark skin, dressed in travelers clothing of a simple dark poet shirt, with brown breeches and sandals on his feet. Basic traveling fare for a sailor in these parts. Except he wore an odd ring on his middle right finger, this ring stank of magic and intrigue and thus most of the degenerates around him noticed it instantly as a prize to be taken. He was in the bad part of a small coastal refuge, far enough from the docks to stumble into the shanty works but close enough to the main township that if one were to run they might have a chance.

He wasn't meaning to run, he was with the Dama Slavers, a group who largely made their funds sailing around and grabbing up key targets on contract for the Vipers to traffick around and abouts Aradia's black markets. They also liked to pick up randoms for off shore camps and farmlands to the east and south west, they were careful to avoid Blackthornes in the areas and with the Knoxes at war the displacement of folks was on the rise and thus easier pickings.

Maru Portais was here for a specific orc who had been avoiding paying debts back to the Vipers, as well as his crew mates who helped him get out of dodge. However he had no quandary with rounding up everyone in the shanty village for a sugarcane farm off to the east, or a relief island out in the southwestern sorrows. The only problem was he was outnumbered, for now, some other Damas were prowling the township and his boss said she'd come over with some of the crewmates to get started. So Maru was meant to only observe and to keep it to himself why he was sniffing around a dangerous neck of the woods. He was trying.

The orc in question was Roki na Kasun, a cousin of the famed wrestler Kavi ko 'The Green Bitch' Kasun and so the fact that the vipers were after him made sense regardless of if his debts were real or fictitious. The orc had stopped an attempted assassination and wrecked the Vipers' shit, then there were rumors circulating she was responsible for murdering the Captain of the Guard Barris and his protection detail. If it were true the Vipers would be taking a high risk wanting to abduct one of the fighter's relatives. Even if it wasn't the fact she was a famed wrestler and the lady in waiting to the heiress of one of the Big Three Houses.....it made this job reek of political motivations.

He honestly couldn't give a shit what the Vipers wanted the mark for, but they were throwing heavy funds. As Maru looked around he noticed that most people were shutting up their doors and bringing their kids inside. the bums were stiffening and beginning to form up a little bit as he got into the 'center' of town.

"We know who you are Dama, you're well known and highly infamous in our circles. You won't be taking the women and children, and by our lady we will make sure to put your head on a pike especially Birhor" a scarred human, leather armor with a sword and shield bearing the emblem of Falmar, a ram's head, and he seemed to be shifting his footing. A deserter perhaps? Maybe he just happened upon the shield when he was looting. Certainly someone who had seen some terrible things and lived through a battle or two in his life judging by the claw marks across his entire face making him look like a man put back together wrong.

"You runnin from Bloodhawk? Scared of a few demons?" Maru openly mocked the 'veteran', who was flanked by an assortment of makeshift warriors and adventurers all bearing missing limbs or pox scars, poorly stitched wounds and retired weaponry only recently re-purposed. Maru was no expert, not by any sense of the word, he was a snide little shit in his mid teens who saw a rag tag group of seven standing between him and a silent and lonely looking house. Behind him he heard the clinks and giggles of his boss's jewels and her bosom.

Behind him was the feared Captain Nevi and her four Enforcers, the kinds of crewmates who would kill runners on site and had more brawn than brains. Two tough orcs covered in scars from battles long since won and a drow/human halfer and finally a common elf, the orcs wielded hammers and big iron shields. The drow had a long barbed spear and the common elf was spinning a ball and chain.

The captain had two flintlocks that sat on her hips, and a basic looking cutlass. She was a brunette and showed her piracy in a plain way, a longcoat, with blue breeches and black boots with etchings. She had a diminished look on her face as she withdrew one pistol and shot the soldier through his torn face letting him fall backwards as the others charged. Maru chose to step back as the orcs took up a dual defensive stance interlocking themselves as the rabble tried to pelt their superior iron shield with beatings from out of commission weaponry. In moments the fight was over as the two orcs broke through by bashing out their shield and braining the sorry excuses for fighters.

Then an arrow pierced the back of the common elf's head and had him stumble his hold on the ball and chain before collapsing. A wood elf of all people was behind them racking up another arrow, and before the drow halfer could properly turn to face her he felt a sting to his neck and gasped before he allowed the momentum to carry his now frozen corpse to the ground. The arrows were clearing poisoned, Nevi had enough time to fire her other shot form her hip and cause the elf to scurry off. She regrouped with her remaining enforces and Maru who charged the power of his ring into a black coalescing shot of pure density.

"Fuckin elv'" the strong accent was fresh on Nevi's breath as she scanned "Ee as an elv, another elv, and himself bein here no' where be them?" the answer was clear as a high elf shot out a firebolt from around a corner. He was blind firing really, didn't matter the carbon bolt impacted it and broke it apart before smashing the corner apart. Another shot charged as three more arrows came flying through into the orc's shield, bouncing back from the impact. Then an axe which stuck into the plating of iron and held onto the wood, that had knocked him into an unbalance where he was shook enough that he had to right himself as another orc with dark braids of black came barreling after the thrown weapon, grabbing the handle he wrenched it and dragged the enforcer towards the berserking greenskin.

Before Maru cold turn the hrow showed his face again and cast a chain lighting boldly, he fired another bolt which displaced the lightning, and before the battle buddy could help his friend in need an arrow stuck the soft flesh of his collar and made him dizzy before he collapsed. By this time Nevi had reloaded a shot, but it was too late so she took her cutlass and ran out form behind he remaining enforcer who was wrestling halfway with the berserker.

Nevi took a swing but the orc just batted her away like nothing, and as Maru turned to help he felt a sudden chill up his spine and turned his body to hardened stone just in time to resist a freezing ray. His last ally had wrenched away from the maddened orc but the opponent has gotten his axe free and sung lo knocking the enforcer off balance enough to be tackled and his chest stomped hard enough to crack the sternum, again and again until he was not breathing.

By this time Maru was regained enough to charge at Roki, the maddened berserker orc who had just stomped his crewmate to death. It wasn't a matter of having any strong feelings for the dumbshit but more of pride of not letting a greenskin win this round. Roki lifted an arm to defend himself bu he wasn't expecting how hard Maru could hit with his body strengthened like this. however he reeled back and hit Maru with his axe sending him stumbling and skidding along the ground. Nevi fired her primed flintlock shot and could have got Roki if he hadn't twitched his axe arm. The axehead exploded violently and he nodded, throwing the handle hard enough it impaled the captain's abdomen and left her stunned and in horrible agony

Now the wodd elf and high elf came out of hiding with a primed bowshot and another magical spell primed against Maru who had let his augmentation run out. He fired out a collar that hit Roki square int he throat and sent him into a coughing fit form the impact. It wouldn't kill him but it hurt like hell and the weight was enough to knock him off his feet. However the high elf must've known about the Carbon Road before he made a gesture and his spell dissipated as an arrow shot went into Maru's left should and intense pain swelled in his young body more than he had ever felt.

Before he could think of an idea his right hand was gone, sliced by the wrow's dagger. He was now in a state of shock, he couldn't recognize his own screams of pain and agony as the ring was pried off his now released finger and the magic was instantly broken. The costly piece of jewelry was flung at the hrow who donned it smiling and then Maru's world went black from the slowly acting neurotoxin in his bloodstream and the extreme loss of blood. He fell backwards and was gone.

Only Nevi remained still in torment before a shot to the face from Roki's foot caved in her face, he looked to his companions and nodded "The trap worked, the scavengers bought the line and we got them killed for the most part, going to have to let the others go though, they scattered once the shot was fired. We also killed a bunch of Damas slavers and got Meroth a new fancy ring, god going Shaki"

"Yeah, that ring is worth platinum amounts, how'd a young neo birhor get one?"

"Stole it off a drow no doubt, those aristocrats can get a bit cocky y'know, or just a wealthy adventurer who got unlucky" Meroth shot out of his quick mouth "Think Damas will survive this one?"

"No chance, townsfolk'll string them by the arms and beat them to death, best loot what we can before the scavs get back here. We got the kills so we get the spills as they say" Roki muttered happily before plodding through the deceased belongings, distant riotous shouts and the begging of hardened slavers could be heard as townspeople and soldiers began executing them by public beatings and other stranger torturing reserved only for the lowest criminals and heretics.

The Damas Slavers were no more.
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Kotorchix » Sun Feb 04, 2018 10:22 am

Characters & Info
Metheryl Arcaena
The Void


“Confusion is too mild a term, Divankul,” Metheryl said wearily.

She eased down into a crouch beside the drow’s unconscious daughter. She examined the girl’s features, old and tired eyes washing over the contours of Reynis’ face, taking in the shattered armor, the bleaching skin.

Her mind went two ways. In one breath, she thought of how easily this could have become her. The primal, spitting animal laying on the ground. But in the next, her mind went back to an ancient memory. And with that memory, she looked to Divankul.

How could he love a small creature such as his infant while in the grasp of such a vile being?

It had been difficult enough just being mortal with that precious responsibility.

“Regardless of what brought her to be this way, I know getting her out of this place is the best thing we can do for her at this point.”



Lyron Piers
Twicefreed Manor


Claire was in no state for visitors, so as Lyron skipped down the stairs to answer the door he recited excuses. No, she was ill. Not today, perhaps tomorrow. Then again, it could just be a messenger. Very few people upwards of the Golden Mile visited without announcing themselves, after all.

So to say it was a shock to find Xankresh Avani on their doorstep was something of an understatement. He stood, framed in the door, a stark contrast to Lyron’s bright white skin with his own ashen complexion. Lyron’s gaze stuck on the runic eye.

“My lord,” he stammered. Fuck, Darius. “What an honor to have you here. Please, come in.”

Nimbe was already hot on his tail, rounding the corner into the kitchen as Lyron stepped back to allow Xankresh passage. “Can I get you something? Tea? Ash brandy?”



Casim Ludlow
Sylvie Isle
Caybourne


She was eyeing him. He could feel her gaze dancing on and off him but he kept staring steadily out the window. It was a strange feeling, to be examined like that. He couldn’t call it desire like that he had seen in the eyes of some girls before, commoners from Caybourne. There wasn’t that uncomfortable, lustful intensity. This was… sweet.

But he still didn’t know how to deal with sweet. Any other time than this, he would have been honoured, maybe even embarrassed. He might have blushed. But all he felt was that same numbing anxiety.

When the carriage stopped, he leaped out ahead and offered help to the others as they climbed out. Rasheba, last, waved him off with an irritated shake of her head.

There was still something of a path to walk into the mists, up the paved road. Casim hesitated, realizing that nobles from the mainland likely were taken right to the steps of a destination. But already the driver was turning the horses about, striking the carriage back down the bridge.

He offered his arm to Rivka as they began the short walk. He noticed Rasheba slip back in the procession of guards to speak quietly with Elmer, but other than their hushed murmurs there wasn’t much other sound.

The path curved steeply upwards, but the misty scenery was beautiful enough to distract from the strain in everyone’s legs. Small white flowers dotted the roadside, then abruptly fell off as the road ended in a chasm. This bridge that connected the gap was much less ancient than the stone one of before. It was also much smaller, only allowing four men to walk abreast.

But beyond the bridge was the Heartstone Estate, finally. Behind walls the height of ten men stretched steepled towers and buildings of grand design. The bridge led through the thick gates of the estate’s walls and emptied into a paved courtyard. But where paths and buildings weren’t, the gardens were illustrious. The trees were still young, younger than Freyr, but the flowers and ivies bloomed and flourished. The soft babbling of a fountain nearby filled the court.

Accord guards closed the gates behind them, resulting in a solid thud that echoed throughout the fortress… or perhaps palace. It was difficult to decide on a name for this place, but ‘estate’ certainly was too underwhelming a title.

“Welcome to the Heartstone Estate,” Casim said to both Rivka and Lord Vennet. “This will most likely be your new home, my lady.”

Elmer separated himself from the guardsmen, removing his helm. He bowed low to both Freyr and Rivka, his long ears dipping gently in respect.

“My name is Elmer Twicefreed,” he introduced himself. “I fill several roles in this house: you might call me a warden of the Ludlow Accord. My main duty has been as Lord Mancel’s advisor. He will join us later for dinner. I do wish to apologize in advance as I know he won’t be his best self.”

He tucked his helm beneath his arm, offering a polite smile. “Lady Amayl Heartstone-Rodin will be hosting dinner this evening. She has lived here the longest. I might also mention that General A’Draak of the Redoran House will also be joining us, as he is betrothed to young Serenity Piers.”

There was a confused sound from one of Rivka’s guardsmen but Casim couldn’t locate the offender at a glance.

“Please, follow me and I will get you settled into your rooms,” Elmer said. “If you gentlemen would be so kind…” He motioned Rivka’s guards to the luggage brought up from the ship. How it got there, Casim didn’t know.
Isles of Aradia
The Runaway
Skyrim: Forged in Blood
The Witcher: Trial of the Spheres
The Blackblood Investigation

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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Skummy the Kitty » Mon Feb 05, 2018 1:42 am

Divan, The Void

"Agreed" he allowed himself to brush the hair out of his daughter's face and scooped her into one arm gently and with the practiced graceful strength of an elf such as himself "We should get moving quickly now, if I can find the Shadow Dancers I can reclaim that which is mine, and with my daughter now safely in my possession I may finally be able to do away with this place" He gave a solemn smile and chuckled bitterly "I can almost feel Molak's shattered focus rising up at the proximity of his family- we must go far deeper and far closer to Kraai's allies. We should try to be as ready an accommodating as possible that she'll wish to pay us another.....'visit' and yes I know you can hear me Kraai and you might just come right about to reprimand my juvenile assumptions of your notions, it matters not."

With that he offered his hand to Metheryl so that they could leave this tainted grove land and venture even deeper still to finish Divan's excursion to battle back for his mortality "When our business is concluded you shall be made aware of all that I am, so that you may understand the choices I make here and the reasons I did so."

__________________________________________________________

Xankresh Avani, Twicefreed Manor

He smiled warmly "Apologies for my intrusions, oh and don't worry I won't use it on you- your brother maybe, but not you Sir Lyron" he meant it more as a joke as he noticed how the accidental fixation came upon his magical artifact lodged in his socket "I can see with it by the way, as for you young lady I require nothing as I am a pest in this fine homestead" he waived any sort of refreshment from Nimbe despite how thoughtful he felt it of the offer. As he came in he removed his shoes and gently settled them at the entrance so as to not dirty the floors of the home and gently bowed.

"May I know of your name?" he faced Nimbe as he spoke, his aura was retrained behind dedicated power but that didn't stop him from being physically intense especially since he nearly loomed over top her. Once she spoke he smiled, keeping some thought to himself in a way she could tell by the mild break in his features. A flash of some thought racing through his brain, before being dismissed. "Nimbe is quite a beautiful name, I sure do hope the family treats you as well as you should be"

He faced Lyron again who was able to sure himself up on the elf eye to eye, it was a welcome thought "I'm here because Drake used his emergency beacon- it's an invention from my son, Divankul Dul-Sansiska. He only gave them to Rivka Vennet, Myself, Mossa, and Argavir. I gave Drake mine- as a formality. He activated it and I don't know why or what is going on, he legitimately would've only been there a single day by now." Xankresh seemed a little bit confused as to how a bad situation could have already arisen the moment Drake had got his feet on the ground.

"I inferred that he's not so much in danger, considering who he is, but that he wanted me to follow up with an investigation into the matter. I know that Elmer invented the Ravensyell so if anything came out of Caybourne you would all know" he softened, almost apologetic in a way he would have to dig up fresh wounds "Was there an attack in Caybourne?" the words seemed to have a weight to them, a king making a solemn request of a young man and feeling as though he was flinging arrows despite him.
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Credit to Sammy and Nicodemus; one created my set for me, the other drew the source image as a request.
Thank You Both!

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Kotorchix
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by Kotorchix » Fri Feb 09, 2018 10:53 pm

Characters & Info
Lyron Piers
Twicefreed Manor


He tensed. Nimbe didn’t know who this man was. Only the most powerful drow- man, whatever, in all of Aradia. There was something awful humbling about looking death in the face and watching a smile spread over its features, to feel warmth. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Hopefully the girl’s naivety would be enough.

Nimbe was delighted for a reprieve of the sadness that held the house in its vicegrip. Claire’s breakdown had shaken her, Lyron knew. She was mature for her age, but she was still young. She likely didn’t have any sort of experience to prepare her for this. Despite her delight, there was still that nagging caution that kicked in whenever she felt something was too good to be true.

“Nimbe, my lord,” she said with a delicate curtsy. With the compliment on her name her cheeks colored and she smirked sheepishly.

Then it came to the crunch of why the drow was here. Lyron felt his jaw click solidly in place as he clenched his teeth. But his face betrayed surprise with the realization that Xankresh didn’t know what had actually happened over there.

“Yes, your majesty,” Lyron said. Nimbe’s face flashed with alarm. He took the drow through to the living room, offering him a seat before taking his own on the dark green upholstery. “Your General is well, as is his bride, my sister Serenity.”

Nimbe hovered at the door, peeking in at them. She made a vague motion so the Pirate King wouldn’t see, mouthing ‘Claire?’ as she pointed at the ceiling. Lyron gave a subtle shake of his head.

“My aunt, Lady Amarika, was murdered. She and my cousin Jennifer’s bodies were found by members of the family, both mutilated to some degree. Lady Amarika was pregnant at the time of her death, with twins. So four murders occurred. And my youngest cousin, Eason, second heir, was kidnapped. No demands have been made.”

It all sounded very clinical and he felt his face twitch with irritation. “I… Lady Claire is grieving the loss of her mother and twin, hence her absence. I apologize.”


Daughter of the Sorrows
Aurlulent Quay
The Tropics


Black dye had etched itself into the prints of her fingers. With slow, repetitive motions, she ground the substance into each lock of the little boy’s hair to hide the brilliant red.

As she worked and he played with the bubbly water in his tub, she wondered about him. Who was he? Where was he from? She had never seen a Stormlord descendant – could something so cheerful, so button-nosed, come from that line? Regardless, the hair was a dead giveaway if anyone was out looking for a red-headed infant with curly locks.

Once the dye had set, she restyled his hair. He cried at the snipping sounds of the shears about his head.

It was necessary. Despite the wildness, those curls still held enough form to show wealthy parents as an origin. At the end of the task, his dark hair resembled the natural fuzz of a curly-haired dog rather than that of a cultured noble.

There was one last issue. Despite covering her face, it was obvious she and the child were nothing alike. She couldn’t pass herself off as his mother… not unless some liberal minds were willing to believe his father was as pale as the moon and bore some incredibly strong genes.

She idly wondered whether the Stormlords had that sort of power over their seed… of course not. Though there were stranger magics in this world.

A sigh hissed through her helm as she helped the child dress in something more befitting of a Tropics boy. His pale skin bore another issue – how he would peel when the sun struck him.

“Mammi, dink.”

She stared at the little boy. He sucked on two of his fingers, smiling up at her. “Dinkth?” he spluttered around the sloppy digits. “Pees.”

“We don’t have peas,” she said, readying his shirt over his head. She watched with some surprise as he raised his arms for the sleeves. She shuffled the garment down over him and straightened it on his tiny form.

“Pees dink, Mammi,” he said again, the smile fading fast.

“Uh,” she stared at him a long moment. “Drink?”

“Dink!” he beamed. Then as an afterthought: “Pees.”

“Drink, please. I understand.” She nodded, turning away to ladle out a cup of water.

She placed the clay mug in his tiny hands, watching as he greedily gulped down the water. With the tilting back of his neck, she noticed the heavy freckles splattering his white skin. Plenty of sun exposure already… but not one to tan. The ointment would be necessary for him to even leave the house-…

The door burst open, slamming against the wall. A spell danced on the Daughter’s hand, a curse already on her lips. But it was the shifter, dancing in with its new form of the red-headed girl. It snickered, shutting the door behind it. The little boy dropped the mug, beaming with happiness. “Enn!”

“Why must you announce yourself in this way?” the Daughter hissed, dismissing the spell. “To what do I owe the displeasure of your company once more?”

Ignoring the child, the shifter threw itself down on the room’s only bed, sprawling in such a heap as to reveal long, shapely legs beneath its skirts. With a dramatic sigh, it turned its head towards the Daughter.

“It has been such a long time since I had a new plaything,” it purred.

“And what does this have to do with me?” She put out a hand to prevent the boy from going to this obviously familiar form. “Who is she to him?”

“Attached already, are we?” it giggled. Rolling onto its side, it seductively tugged its skirt higher, hitching it over its hip. “This beautiful body was his sister’s. I am yet to… put it through its paces.”

“Far be it from me to discourage your dalliances, but… would that be a good idea? This boy was entrusted to me for a reason. Won’t the presence of his dead sister in beds all over the Quay raise questions?”

“Nobody’s looking for a dead girl. Nobody’s going to be thinking about some crummy noble while they’re with her. Nor are they going to… survive the ordeal.”

“Then why are you here?”

The shifter’s smile widened. “I heard a rumor. That you sell love potions.”

“You hardly need such an item,” the Daughter scoffed.

“Ah, but… I’ve always wondered what it would be like to… mutually share a bottle with a target. I may get pleasure from giving them such treatment, but to feel desire for them in anything other than their death… than the excitement of receiving another skin to wear… It has been far too long since I felt love.”

The Daughter rolled her eyes beneath the mask. She took the young boy, lifting him up onto her hip and turned to her potions shelf. She selected a black syrup from the vast selection then turned and offered it to the shifter.

“I thought it would be pink.”

“Love is black and tastes like death. Now for the gold.”


The Shifter
Somewhere along the coast


Mortals were so prone to rash violence, murder without reward. Why siphon a life only to throw it back in the dirt? Frankly, that was what made the shifter feel was perhaps what made a mortal that – mortal. So perhaps it was the scavengers, the looters, that excited its ichor. The vultures of the mortal races. What they couldn’t take from a life, they took from a corpse.

Now, another potential obstacle. Mortals were funny about their races.

So with its slim, shapely human body, the shifter approached the elven men as they looted their kills. Its steps were slow, its gaze washing up and down each individual. Picking the best mark… oh hell. Opportunities presented themselves most times.

It played with a lock of curly, wild red hair as it purred: “I’ve never known anyone to kill Damas slavers before…”
Isles of Aradia
The Runaway
Skyrim: Forged in Blood
The Witcher: Trial of the Spheres
The Blackblood Investigation

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dinthalion
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Re: The Isles of Aradia (IC/New Settlers Welcome.)

Post by dinthalion » Sun Feb 11, 2018 6:17 am

Sylvie Isle Rivka

Rivka took his arm silently as Casim led them up the path. Your new home. It made her stiffen, want to yell that this would never be her home, that she wanted to go back to her real home. But she knew she couldn’t do that, her life had changed, she was no longer a little girl who could make demands that her father would meet with a laugh and shake of his head. She was a woman, soon to be a mother. And as she looked around it was beautiful. She liked the pastel of the flowers, the smell of the flowering trees. The safety of the walls, they were tall, ancient, safe. She and her child would be safe here in a fortress far from the mainland.

“It’s lovely.” She told him with a smile though it wasn’t one that lit up her face. But the smile made her feel better. This wouldn’t be a bad home and Casim wouldn’t be a bad husband, she told herself. She would make things work.

Then Elmer introduced himself both Freyr and Rivka listened but it was Freyr who replied.

“Your lord will not offend us if he is grieving.” Freyr said softly, “Make sure he knows that if he cannot show up to dinner or cannot offer all the courtesies he would consider appropriate, giving the circumstances, I will not interpret it as disrespect to my daughter, my house or myself.”

He looked a little guilty as he added, quietly just to Elmer, “I would like to move forward to finalizing the marriage contract as soon as he is able however. I have pressing business on the mainland.”

--------------

Rivka and Fryer rested a little in the quarters that had been provided. It didn’t seem like long though before Rivka was preparing for dinner. Her hair had to be touched up, and her dress padded with more petticoats. She looked in the mirror. She still saw a girl not a woman grown and wise enough to be a mother and a wife. She felt more nerves now then she had earlier. Was it that she wanted to impress her soon to be family? Was it fear that if she didn’t present herself just right Casim wouldn’t want her. She didn’t even know what he wanted, he wasn’t the type of man she’d heard gossip and stories about, his family had some notoriety and her father was convinced they would soon be growing in their stature and power, but of Casim she heard very little.

They had said general A’Draake would be there, another soon to be member of their family. It didn’t seem a good omen to Rivka. Surely it meant the Ludlow accord was preparing for war that they sought an ally like that. She wondered would Casim be the type of man like Jaster who would lead the charge, or would he be the type to stay home and let others do his fighting for him? He seemed more the later to her and she wondered if that made him a coward. Did she want another hero like Jaster or would a coward make a better husband? Did any of that matter though? She would just have to see what came and live with it. She felt a mix of guilt and fear and even some anticipation.

But a lady should keep her emotions to herself so she put on a polite smile as she and her father were escorted to diner. Despite the butterflies in her stomach she felt a resolve to make them like her, a quiet but confident hope that things could still turn out well.
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