Arcane Archaeology (Jorick & Turtle)

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Jorick

A thought often makes us hotter than a fire.
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Usually aggressive, but can switch to passive if it makes sense for the character/scene.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy is my #1; I will give almost anything a chance if it has strong fantasy elements. Post apocalyptic, superhero, alternate history, science fantasy, some supernatural, romance, and a few fandoms (especially Game of Thrones) are also likely to catch my eye.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, western, pure slice of life.
#1
Though it was bustling with activity, the road was eerily quiet but for footsteps, one man's questions, and the rare monosyllabic replies. Darren was more accustomed to the affluent areas of Renaissance, where any crowded place was also busy with chatter and often laughter, so seeing these broken and downtrodden people was wearing heavily on him. It was so easy to forget that most people in the city were forced to live in squalor as they tried to scrape by as best they could. This particular road was the main route between a few of the more populated ruins, the frighteningly tall structures that had been made by people from before the world ended, and the mud-choked river where they got their water. The path was a winding and twisting thing, weaving between the huge chunks of stone and piles of rusted metal that remained from one of the ancient buildings collapsing long before Darren had been born, and he stood atop one of those piles trying to catch the attention of those passing by.

"Have you heard anything about where magic came from?" No response from anyone in the crowd. "Have you heard any legends about how the world got this way, about what happened to the people who built these structures?" Nothing. "Would anyone like to help me seek out the true answers to these questions?"

This one did get a reply, from someone he couldn't place in the crowd: "Piss off." It was a disgruntled grumble rather than an angry shout. Darren sighed and settled in to wait for more of the crowd to shuffle by so he could ask another group.

"How'd you get those scars?"

Darren jumped and looked around for the source of the inquisitive voice. It was a child, somewhere around eight years old at a guess, impossible to tell its gender thanks to malnutrition and straggly long hair that could be intentionally long or just left to get that way due to neglect. They had climbed quietly up onto the lower part of the pile of scrap to ask their question. He ran three fingers down the scars that marked the left side of his face and put on a smile. This was a common question from new kids he dealt with working for the Glorious Future Society, so he had a ready response.

"Ever heard of a midnight rat?" The child's eyes grew wide, as well they should. An infestation of hyper-aggressive rats that had attacked people in their sleep many years ago, before widespread efforts to exterminate them proved successful, had been the seed for the legend of the midnight rats who would devour naughty children who didn't obey their parents, particularly in matters of going to bed on time. "Not one of those, I always followed the rules."

The child laughed, and though it was a noise of genuine amusement it was also a weak and hollow sound. Darren guessed from the sound that it was in fact a young girl, and his heart ached for the lack of life he saw in her. Just like the others, she was just barely hanging on and scraping by as best she could, with no real hope except to develop useful magical abilities. He'd been one of those lucky few, else he would likely be among the river of ragged humanity flowing around this pile of rusted metal and shattered stone. Darren reached into the satchel hanging from his side and pulled out the half loaf of bread he'd brought as something to eat while waiting and hoping for someone to give him useful answers to his questions. The child looked at it with an almost predatory hunger, but she turned wary when he held it out to her. He leaned toward her a bit and dropped it into a slab of stone that was just out of his reach from his perch atop the pile, then held up his hands and offered her the mantra he gave to children newly brought from the ruins to the care of the GFS who were skittish about accepting anything. "No tricks, no pay, no scam."

The girl clambered up the scrap heap cautiously, and when she got in reach of the bread she snatched it and skittered back down. Darren expected her to flee entirely, but she paused near the base of the pile and looked up at him with the sort of seriousness only a child could muster. "Mama told me a story one night. She said her mama said the sun rises where the end fell. I dunno what it means, but she said it was where magic came from too." She flicked a finger and a sparkle of lights appeared in the air. Pretty as it was, it broke Darren's heart; if that was the extent of her power, she was going to be stuck in this life forever. The girl turned and took off into the crowd, arms wrapped protectively around the bread, and he couldn't be sure she heard his shout thanking her for the information.

It wasn't anything he hadn't already heard himself, but that was fine. Darren knew his search for clues among the poor folk of the city was likely to be a waste of time, and that scrap from the girl was the most he'd gotten so far, but he couldn't let that get to him. Once the girl was away he stood up and repeated his questions, searching the crowd for anyone who looked even mildly interested in responding. If nothing else, he was stubborn enough to stick to it for the rest of the day, and only then would he be content with considering calling the effort a failure.
 

Turtle of Doom

The Monster Under Your Bed
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Either works for me. And would prefer if the story was gently led by all participating parties.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Magical, Romance, Dystopian, Religious, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombies (but the plot has to consist of more than just mindlessly murdering the undead), Steampunk
Genre You DON'T Like
Yaoi, Furry, Incest
#2
Wren wrestled with her coat, pulling it down and getting settled with it. She was just smoothing it out when her father happened to stroll by.

“Not going back down there again, are you, darling?”

I am,” she said with an annoyed determination. Gathering up the papers from the table in front of her, Wren looked back to her father and nodded before heading to the door.

“The Peacekeepers are not going to tolerate your insolence forever, girl. You need to come home, take up an appropriate position, and live your life instead of spending your life advocating for people who don’t want an advocate.”

Wren’s mouth formed into a thin line and she took a deep breath before taking the last few steps to the door. She would not engage with her father; the argument was always the same and it just wasn’t worth it. She could just end the argument by admitting that she was considering not going into the slums anymore. It wasn’t for the reasons her father would let die though. She was just getting tired of not finding anyone willing to do anything. The people down there were all so disenchanted, and many of them were afraid.

It didn’t matter, because she had made up her mind to go, and go she went. The walk was a decently long walk, but she enjoyed the time to get herself ready and practice her speeches again in her head. Some day, she’d say the right thing. She would say the thing that would get people to start advocating for themselves. The squalor and misery were bad enough, but the worst part about going down to where they lived was the sense of hopelessness that filled the air.

As she walked, the newer buildings, the stuff that had been rebuilt since the First Fall of Man, began to get harder and harder to spot. Instead, the dilapidated old buildings that had been there for centuries were hurriedly put together to create makeshift shelters. The idea that people were living in this sort of squalor just served to reignite her fire. She was going to help these people, whether they wanted her too or not.

People walked to and fro, heads down, minding their own business. Many of them wore rags, basically. One particular child stood out to her as she passed though. He was a boy, maybe nine or ten, with a huge grin across his dirty face. In his hands he held a handful of rocks. Wren stopped to watch him for a while. He’d created a game sort of like one she’d played as a child. He would crouch down and slide the rocks across the pavement, in an attempt to hit one of the other rocks that were already on the ground. Every time he succeeded a tiny, shrill, joyous shout erupted from his small frame and he’d do a little dance. Despite the squalor, despite the disenchantment, that child had found some sort of enjoyment. Wren smiled at him and shook her head, waving her hand and calling him to her.

I like your game,” she said and the boy just nodded shyly from the distance, not daring to get any closer. “All that hard work aiming the rocks just right, I am impressed.” The boy continued to eye her warily. “Would you mind if I tried?” Wren was constantly trying to get these people to trust her and so far she’d only managed to isolate herself from them even further. The boy continued to watch her, a spark of something flickered across his face. He wanted to show her his game and tout how clever he was, but something was holding him back. And then, without a sound the boy turned on his heels and took off running full speed down the alleyway he’d been playing in, leaving Wren, once again, dumbfounded as to how to get the people to at least do something other than run from her.

With a sigh and a quick shake of her ginger curls she continued on towards the main thoroughfare. That’s where she’d reach the most people.

It didn’t take her long to get there either. Just a few minutes walk from where she’d seen the boy, and there were a fair number of people on the street too. Wren cleared her throat and straightened the stack of papers in her arms once more before stepping out into the street.

The first person that passed her caught her attention and she marched alongside them as she spoke. “Excuse me, but have you ever felt like you were worth more than this kind of life? Don’t you feel like this,” she gestured around her. “isn’t fair when just up the hill there are plenty of rebuilt houses. It’s unfair that you are forced to---

“Shove off, lady. I don’t have time for your prattle.”

Wren stopped in her tracks for half a moment and frowned before realizing she could give him the literature she brought with her. “Here, at least take a pamphlet. Give it a look over when you do have time.

“Can’t read.” The man shoved past her outstretched hand and continued walking. That was always a risk she took when she brought the papers. The schools in this part of town weren’t exactly the best, and often times children would be pulled out of school to take care of siblings or household chores while both the parents busted their backs working the most menial of jobs.

As she turned away from the man, something caught her eye. A man, who did not look like he fully belonged, was standing up on a pile of stones talking to a small child. Wren watched as he tossed some bread down to the girl and she scrambled forward to pick it up, piquing her curiosity further. She moved closer, close enough to hear what they were saying.

She managed to catch a little bit of what was said before the girl ran off. Feeling somewhat offended that he was able to make a connection even a little one the first time she’d seen him down there, and she had been coming down for months and people still wouldn’t give her the time of day. She thought about marching up there and demanding that he tell her how he did that, but instead something about the story the little girl mention nagged at her.

I’ve heard that story before, too. The one the little girl mentioned. Only, when my Nan told it to me it was like a nursery rhyme.
 

Jorick

A thought often makes us hotter than a fire.
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Usually aggressive, but can switch to passive if it makes sense for the character/scene.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy is my #1; I will give almost anything a chance if it has strong fantasy elements. Post apocalyptic, superhero, alternate history, science fantasy, some supernatural, romance, and a few fandoms (especially Game of Thrones) are also likely to catch my eye.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, western, pure slice of life.
#3
Darren turned in surprise when he heard a new voice addressing him, and the surprise remained as he looked at the woman who had spoken. She was clearly an outsider in this area too, lacking in the ragged clothes and grubby face that were the common features shared by the sea of people flowing by his pile of debris. Something about her was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Possibly she was one of the people who helped out with one of the houses for kids fresh from the ruins and he'd seen her in passing through his work, or maybe she was just someone he'd seen walking around a few times. His brain provided no further answers, but a more immediate question came to the forefront anyway.

"A nursery rhyme? I don't think I've ever heard that version. Do you remember it?" Darren picked his way down the rubble to get a bit closer and a good ways down, just to be in less of a position of lording over her from a lofty height. "I don't know how much of that you heard, but I'm seeking some answers as to the nature and source of magic. That girl was the first person who bothered to say anything to me other than some form of 'shut up' or 'go away,' and I'd already heard that scrap of information myself. Anything you know beyond that would be much appreciated."

As he got a little better look at her face, Darren could swear he knew this woman from somewhere. He had some vague notion of a name, maybe something starting with an R, but otherwise he was still drawing a blank. In all his time working with the Glorious Future Society, he'd met so many people and learned so many names that some weeks he'd had trouble remembering his own, and she very would could have been one of those. There was nothing for it but to ask, so he stooped forward to reach out and offer his hand. "I'm Darren, by the way. Have we met? I could swear I've met you or your body double somewhere before, but I can't for the life of me remember where or when."