CLOSED SIGNUPS Heart of the World

DinoFeather

Depressive Goblin Nightmare Boy
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Evenings, mostly.
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Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I prefer having equal feedback/contribution from all parties involved as I feel it makes for better storytelling.
Favorite Genres
Low/High Fantasy, Medieval Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Victorian-Era, Grimdark, Gothic-Horror, Supernatural (not the show), Limited Fandoms, Magic, Adventure.
Genre You DON'T Like
Strictly Romance, Most Modern, Most Slice-of-Life, Most School-Based Plots, Anime, Zombie Apocalypse
Heart of the World



  • A
    etheria: an ancient world wrought of mystery and magic. It is said that, during formation of the tiny planet, Aetheria was in turmoil. Unbalanced magic tore the world apart, pushing up mountains, shifting continents, and spitting molten rock up from the depths. The world burned, tremored, cooled, and was ravaged by wild magic again and again. And yet, despite the chaos, life endured. Perhaps the world took pity on the struggling creatures, or perhaps it’s simply the way of magic, but the chaotic energy began to coalesce in the centre of the world and from it grew a tiny sapling.

    As the years passed, the sapling grew into a vast tree which would become the very heart of the world, stabilizing the chaotic energy to maintain balance and harmony in cycles of prosperity and dormancy. Civilizations grew and, eventually, all of Aetheria fell under the rule of the Taitellen Empire. Seeking to put an end to the periods of the land’s dormancy, the Empire took away the protective stones that permitted the Heart of Aetheria to flourish.

    Now, the world has begun to wane and rebellion is stirring.
  • As a supportive party of the rebellion, you're well aware of the dangers that await, should you be discovered.

    Two months ago, a celebrated rebel leader was apprehended by the Imperial Guard. The man, Magister Kiernan, was a well-known scholar and one of the visionaries behind the rebel cause and his punishment adequately reflected his crimes against the Empire. An announcement was made, and Kiernan was publicly executed by way of beheading. If his imprisonment hadn't been enough to stifle rebellious tendencies, the execution surely was, and many rebels fled Taitelle to regroup in other territories. Rumours that had been circulating about another task Kiernan had begun were immediately hushed, and for two months no one has spoken of ancient Trees or dying lands.

    Until today, that is, when you discover a curious piece of parchment that could only be meant for a rebel supporter...




    5 Lekthas, 3rd Quarter of the Crone, 192 TE


    I regret to inform you that the rumours are true: the Heart of Aetheria is dying.

    I understand that a letter of this nature seems an unusual method of communicating this, but in the present circumstances, it is a necessary precaution: I cannot risk direct communication at this time. We are reaching a critical situation and action must be taken. As you read this, I am quietly assembling a group of scholars, mages, and soldiers who support the cause, and I must ask that this be kept secret, at least for now.

    We are now beginning to see the effects of our actions those years ago, and the situation is dire. Reports from coastal cities are steadily increasing, bringing messages of failing crops and emaciated cattle. Hunters are taking less prey and rates of wildlife predation have increased far beyond what is common in a dormancy cycle. Thus far, these reports have been kept quiet. The Empire was sending meagre relief efforts to the affected areas, though it quickly became far more than they could handle. The efforts are being halted, as the Emperor has decided the plight of these areas must be due to rebel sabotage and does not merit attention or aide.

    Fatalities are on the rise as magical instability increases- something I’m sure you have already seen. Where possible, these deaths are also being attributed to rebel attacks and, otherwise, ignored. They are refusing to see what is plainly before their eyes, and Aetheria and all her people are going to pay the price.

    As you know, fifty-one years ago, the Empire forcibly removed the guard stones from the Tree. In those fifty-one years, the Tree has been unable to enter dormancy and revitalize itself. The argument was that no dormancy meant limitless prosperity-- but our research indicates that without dormancy cycles, the Tree can neither regulate magic nor support prosperity in the land.

    Without dormancy cycles, I am confident the Tree will die.

    No matter how many times he is confronted with evidence, the Emperor refuses to listen. I worry he is so blinded by the threat of revolution and repercussions of what it would mean if our research is correct (which it is), he refuses to see the truth. The more we press him to take action, the more obstinate he becomes.

    Two weeks ago, our most outspoken scholar, Magister Avelissa, was sent to Portwatch to “observe the conditions there,” and we have not heard from her since… I now fear the worst.

    The crystalline guard stones removed from the tree have been destroyed, save for the sample specimens that remain in our study. I plan to take these pieces, journey through the Forest of the Ancients, and return them to the Tree. Experiments with the crystals and bark samples taken from the Tree have given us reason to believe that even the smallest piece of crystal may act as a catalyst and restore what we so foolishly removed.

    This will not be an easy undertaking, especially when the Empire discovers what I am doing, as I have no doubt they will. However, it is a risk I am willing to take- and a risk that is necessary if we are to preserve the Aetheria we know and love. Should the Heart of Aetheria be lost, so too shall we.

    Please send return word using the same enchantment by which this message was concealed. If you are interested in furthering your support, I will then contact you with the date, time, and location of our first gathering to discuss options and concerns, and determine how best we may proceed.

    For dissolution, harmony, and a free Aetheria!

    - Kiernan


    6-3-1, 193 TE

    If you think we're giving up because of a little public execution, you are sorely mistaken. To those who wish to actually make a contribution to the world that enables your existence, be at the Randy Gander in the Taithros outskirts by sundown on 21/3/1. Request a room with Chasma-- and don't be a transparent fuckass. If you're followed, you're shit out of luck. Bring ideas, a pack, and a can-do attitude. No one else is going to save our asses.

  • Hello and welcome to Heart of the World!


    If you’re looking for a fantasy save-the-world adventure with rebellion, a heist, and hippie communes, you’ve come to the right place! Take a look around and please be sure to read the rules! If you have any questions, let us know!

    GM
    - DinoFeather DinoFeather
    co-GM
    - @Lillian Gray

    Rules and Guidelines

    Adept Writers
    - Please be able to produce several solid paragraphs with relevant content and demonstrate a knowledge of the English language.

    Active Players
    - We're asking for a minimum of one post per week to keep people active and interested! However, if something comes up and you need more time, or if you'll be inactive for a period but are still interested, please let us know-- real life always comes first!

    Respectful Players
    - Drama? In character only! We're looking for good attitudes and respect for others. It’s okay to have conflict now and then, but it will be resolved in a mature and respectful manner, or you’re outta here. If you have an issue, please come to us.

    GMs in Control
    - Please do not attempt to hijack the plot or attempt to spin the story to be only about your character. We aim to involve everyone, and if there is a special plot point you'd like to explore, please speak to us about it for approval. GM word is law.

    Player Autonomy
    - Do not control other peoples' characters! Also, please don't conflate what you, the player, knows with what your character knows.

    All Iwaku Rules Apply
    - If you are unfamiliar, please go review them!

    Creative Contribution
    - Want to help us flesh out the world by adding a bit of your own content? Awesome! Have an idea you think we should try? Let us know! We want to hear from you, but we do need to approve ideas before they're just added in to the world.

    Sense of Humour
    - While there will be serious moments, injury, and possibly even death, this is not intended to be a dark or “edgy” RP.

    Mature Players
    - Preferred* There won’t be graphic sex scenes in posts and what-have-you (PM the person, if that’s your jam), but there will be strong language, violence, and lewd allusions.

    And most importantly-- HAVE FUN!​

 
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DinoFeather

Depressive Goblin Nightmare Boy
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
Evenings, mostly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I prefer having equal feedback/contribution from all parties involved as I feel it makes for better storytelling.
Favorite Genres
Low/High Fantasy, Medieval Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Victorian-Era, Grimdark, Gothic-Horror, Supernatural (not the show), Limited Fandoms, Magic, Adventure.
Genre You DON'T Like
Strictly Romance, Most Modern, Most Slice-of-Life, Most School-Based Plots, Anime, Zombie Apocalypse

Kholas and Linnae
21/3/1 193 TE | Sunset | Raining
DinoFeather DinoFeather | @Lillian Gray


  • The Randy Gander was a large building in the way of taverns, three stories high and built in the traditional early-Taitellen style with dark wood and white-washed stone exterior. In the fashion of taverns all over Aetheria, both the windows and the exterior weren’t routinely cleaned or well maintained, giving the building a slightly dingy appearance. An old, weathered sign bearing only a carved goose was mounted over the door, swaying on rusty hangings in the cold wind.

    The dim glow of firelight through the grime-streaked windows cast small pools of light on the muddy street like small beacons in the growing darkness of the evening. An increasingly steady cadence of rain beat on the tiled roof, though the sound was inaudible to those inside, drowned out by the clamour and commotion of patrons. The warm, lively atmosphere inside was a stark contrast to the utterly dismal weather that had been lingering in Taithros for the past several days. Grey skies and cold rain-- not the most promising conditions travellers could hope for. Whether or not it was an omen of the task at hand remained to be seen. For now, however, the cold and damp were far and away, staved off by warm fires, dry beds, and pleasant music. Most of all, there was privacy.

    Perhaps a crowded tavern wasn’t the place most would seek out for private affairs, especially not one doubling as a pleasure house. And located in the Imperial Capital, surrounded by patrols that could so easily mark the end of their endeavour. But, sometimes, hiding in plain sight was the easiest solution, and wasting an opportunity wasn’t something the rebellion could afford-- not at the moment, anyway. And so, here they were, in a tavern in Taithros, right under the Emperor’s beak of a nose.

    Here’s to hoping the good fortune lasts.

    An odd insight, perhaps, considering what set them on this path to begin with. Exposure of plans and public beheading wasn’t something Kholas considered “good fortune,” but he’d held his tongue out of gratitude. Sniping at the pub owner who was risking her both life and livelihood to aid them wasn’t worth the details. For the past week and a half, they’d been permitted to stay free of charge, paying only a minimal fee for food and drink. Now, the woman was permitting a full rebellion meeting to take place in her establishment and offering to put the others up free of charge as well. She’d done more than most. Perhaps she’d been wishing the good fortune for herself.

    Stifling a yawn, the goblin shifted in his seat and tugged the dark wool cloak tighter around his slim shoulders and looked up at the nymph seated across from him. She looked paler than usual and slightly wilted, and he was sure that her extended stay in the city was not doing her any favours. Of course, he wasn’t sure he was looking much better. Though not impacted by the waning of the world, he hadn’t slept well lately, even in the warm, secure confines of the tavern.

    While it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake in the small hours of the morning to make notes, or even to forego sleep entirely to revisit plans, the increasing stress and anxiety around what they were about to attempt had taken its toll. Dark circles that even kohl couldn’t hide rimmed his eyes and the tension that had settled on him after Kiernan’s death had only increased, leaving him looking drawn and pale.

    Between the two of them, they would cut an interesting image for those soon to arrive.

    “You’d best perk up, Brambles,” Kholas said dryly, smoothing out a scroll of paper against the table and glancing down at it. “You’re starting to look like an aging bouquet. Doesn’t inspire much confidence.”

    “No, I suppose it does not.” Linnae smiled quietly to herself, nursing a full cup of liquid that smelled far too sweet to be any sort of liquor. “I thought that was why we kept you around, Sunshine. You always know just what to say.”

    The nymph hardly moved other than to tilt her head in her companion’s general direction, letting her eyes shift the rest of the way to give Kholas a look of tired appreciation from behind the hood of her heavy green cloak. She was fatigued, yes, and she’d been confined within the walls of Taithros for too long. With the state of the world as it was, there was always an uncertain threat looming overhead-- manifested as an illness even she didn’t understand.

    Although passable for a human in the dim light, once up close it was more clear that Linnae was something else entirely. She kept her hood drawn at all times, but on the back of her head there were odd angles and folds where the branch-like protrusions on her head met the green cloth. Small leaves sprouted on her skin, although she hadn’t seen any for weeks now. The most notable feature, aside from the literal branches in place of having a head of hair, were perhaps the bright red berries that framed her olive-toned face.

    “Well, you usually know what to say.” Linnae tapped the cup in her hands with her fingertips, the simple noise was immediately drowned out by the clamour and general rowdiness above them. “Commenting on the age of a woman? Oh, Kho. An aging bouquet, honestly.”

    She finally took a sip from the sickly sweet-scented liquid, downing half of its content in one gulp. Linnae knew what he really meant though. It was an appropriate metaphor.

    “And here I thought you preferred honesty,” the goblin mused as he continued to glance over the document spread on the table. How many people were going to show up? Two were expected, maybe even three, but beyond that, he could only guess. And hope. How many people had even received the letter? How many would come with such scant details and, of those, how many would be willing to risk everything?

    Not that there were many options left.

    Above them, Kholas could hear the bustle of the tavern as more and more patrons made their way in for the evening. He and Linnae were tucked away below the main room, down in the spacious storage cellar. Many of the crates and wine barrels had been shifted to make a den-like area around an old wood-burning stove. A circular, scrubbed wood table had been moved down for them, along with various chairs and a large rug. Their few belongings were tucked up on one of the several broken bedframes that had also been pushed aside.

    A few twanging notes carried faintly down through the floor, followed by a raucous cheer from the patrons. A moment later, a bright voice began to sing.

  • The Randy Gander is three stories tall and your standard “ye olde tavern.” The interior is pretty clean and there are several bartenders, all wearing blue tunics or blouses. The main floor is the tavern area and is filled with numerous tables, there are stools at the bar, and there’s a growing number of patrons. Toward the wall across from the bar is a slightly elevated platform where Brandi has just begun playing and singing.

    Floors two and three are rooms for rent and where living quarters for the courtesans and owner are.

    When requested, Chasma will lead you to a basement area where Kho and Linnae are waiting. Those with wards may notice there is a glamour up in the bar, though it is subtle and very well done. If you ask Chasma about the glamour, they will tell you it's to make the occupants more visually appealing. If another patron asks where they are going, Chasma will call it the “basement affair, not open to the public."



    Name:
    Chasma

    Race:
    Horned

    Profession:
    Courtesan and Rebel Supporter

    Descriptors:
    average height, androgynous, willowy, pleasant, soft-spoken

    Magic:
    Subliminal - Soothing

  • 5 Lekthas, 3rd Quarter of the Crone, 192 TE

    I regret to inform you that the rumours are true: the Heart of Aetheria is dying.

    I understand that a letter of this nature seems an unusual method of communicating this, but in the present circumstances, it is a necessary precaution: I cannot risk direct communication at this time. We are reaching a critical situation and action must be taken. As you read this, I am quietly assembling a group of scholars, mages, and soldiers who support the cause, and I must ask that this be kept secret, at least for now.

    We are now beginning to see the effects of our actions those years ago, and the situation is dire. Reports from coastal cities are steadily increasing, bringing messages of failing crops and emaciated cattle. Hunters are taking less prey and rates of wildlife predation have increased far beyond what is common in a dormancy cycle. Thus far, these reports have been kept quiet. The Empire was sending meagre relief efforts to the affected areas, though it quickly became far more than they could handle. The efforts are being halted, as the Emperor has decided the plight of these areas must be due to rebel sabotage and does not merit attention or aide.

    Fatalities are on the rise as magical instability increases- something I’m sure you have already seen. Where possible, these deaths are also being attributed to rebel attacks and, otherwise, ignored. They are refusing to see what is plainly before their eyes, and Aetheria and all her people are going to pay the price.

    As you know, fifty-one years ago, the Empire forcibly removed the guard stones from the Tree. In those fifty-one years, the Tree has been unable to enter dormancy and revitalize itself. The argument was that no dormancy meant limitless prosperity-- but our research indicates that without dormancy cycles, the Tree can neither regulate magic nor support prosperity in the land.

    Without dormancy cycles, I am confident the Tree will die.

    No matter how many times he is confronted with evidence, the Emperor refuses to listen. I worry he is so blinded by the threat of revolution and repercussions of what it would mean if our research is correct (which it is), he refuses to see the truth. The more we press him to take action, the more obstinate he becomes.

    Two weeks ago, our most outspoken scholar, Magister Avelissa, was sent to Portwatch to “observe the conditions there,” and we have not heard from her since… I now fear the worst.

    The crystalline guard stones removed from the tree have been destroyed, save for the sample specimens that remain in our study. I plan to take these pieces, journey through the Forest of the Ancients, and return them to the Tree. Experiments with the crystals and bark samples taken from the Tree have given us reason to believe that even the smallest piece of crystal may act as a catalyst and restore what we so foolishly removed.

    This will not be an easy undertaking, especially when the Empire discovers what I am doing, as I have no doubt they will. However, it is a risk I am willing to take- and a risk that is necessary if we are to preserve the Aetheria we know and love. Should the Heart of Aetheria be lost, so too shall we.

    Please send return word using the same enchantment by which this message was concealed. If you are interested in furthering your support, I will then contact you with the date, time, and location of our first gathering to discuss options and concerns, and determine how best we may proceed.

    For dissolution, harmony, and a free Aetheria!


    - Kiernan

    6-3-1, 193 TE

    If you think we're giving up because of a little public execution, you are sorely mistaken. To those who wish to actually make a contribution to the world that enables your existence, be at the Randy Gander in the Taithros outskirts by sundown on 21/3/1. Request a room with Chasma-- and don't be a transparent fuckass. If you're followed, you're shit out of luck. Bring ideas, a pack, and a can-do attitude. No one else is going to save our asses.

 
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Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both/Either
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Magical
PAN TALL-BONES​
x

Something stank. Something stank very badly. It caused the forehead to furrow, lifting the cheeks and the labial folds around the nose with them, in the body's subconscious effort to spare the mind the olfactory assault. It was strangely earthy, a mix of musk and clay touched with sulfur, and underlined by a putrid essence of days worth of rancid sweat.

Pan Tall-Bones stood unmoving with arms raised, ignoring or perhaps just unaware of the sidelong glances he was receiving from passersby. Whispers followed the looks, people discussing in hushed tones the strange, foul-smelling lad who apparently worshipped the storm itself.

It'd been the first real wash he'd had since leaving his home in the Heights, oh, it felt like months ago. Pan smiled in appreciation as weeks of road filth fell from his clothes and his skin. He stayed that way for an uncomfortably long moment, until finally he relaxed his arms. The rain had saturated everything, but when your life was mine-dust under fingernails and filling your fur, you learned to appreciate a good soaking. There was besides nothing on his person to be ruined by it; everything of value was in his pack. Including Yigwit's metals. And speaking of, they needed delivering.

“'Scuse me, miss!” Pan gestured to a passing woman, a Horned dressed well against the deluge in an oiled hooded cloak. She turned and looked down, bring a full head taller than the Satyr that addressed her in his drawl of an accent. “Yeah, sorry, miss, but I gotta find the ‘Randy Gander’ or some such, and I ain't gotta clue where it is.”

“It's- Why should I know where that place is?” Her face drew up in feigned offense.

“I dunno; kinda figured it might be a popular joint. Meetin’ some frie- freshly poured mugs of ale. Cause I'm thirsty. And nothin’ else.”

“I'm sure.” She gestured down the street surreptitiously. “That way.”

“Thank ya kindly, miss!”

Pan turned on his heel and strode off in the direction his guide had indicated. She watched him leave, slight bemusement on her face. Too many people in Taithros were mean and rude, and the country bumpkin's rough manners had been- refreshing. She touched her cloak where a talisman hung underneath: two stags locked in combat, a holy symbol.

“May your task bear fruit,” she muttered, and turned to resume her own.

Pan reached the Randy Gander in short time. He pushed the door open eagerly, clueless as to what might greet him. Excitement and baited breath seemed to fill the tavern, a cheer having died as Pan entered. He cocked his head, the question that had been birthed in his mind being answered before it made its way to his mouth. A bard, it seemed, had stolen the attention of all within the spacious room.

But Pan had a mission. Steeling his jaw but sailing to prevent an occasional glance toward the musician, he weaved his way to the bar. A person stood behind it. Soft and slight, they looked- well, like a sickly, malnourished Satyr to Pan. His eyes scanned their face, filled with concern. But no; gawking was rude, and he had a job.

“Hey, uh. Sir?” He hadn't a clue whether that was right, but he couldn't just say ‘hey, you’. “Um- I'm trying to find… a room? From a- Chasma?”

“Certainly,” came the gentle reply, and Chasma smiled. Without any to do, they turned and headed away from the main room. Casting a glance backward, Pan followed slowly, still dripping wet from the rain. A short trip down the stairs while Chasma waited at the door, and Pan found himself staring rather obviously at the two figures who yet occupied the space. The hooded figure was as strange a form as ever the Satyr was used to, but the Goblin at least was familiar.

“You Mr. Kholas?” He approached the Goblin, hand presented for a proffered handshake. “I'm supposed to deliver something to ya. If- ya know, if that's ok.”

His gaze drifted to the other figure, and his heart jumped. What were those red bumps all over the creature's face? Was it… sick? He swallowed the question; first thing first.

 
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Spectre of the Fade

Nerd
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Either. I'm very flexible when it comes to plotting, but I'm also willing to take the lead on determining roleplay direction.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Sci-fi, Modern, Apocalypse, Action and adventure, Steampunk, Dieselpunk, People with Powers, some historical eras, lots and lots of other things. Feel free to ask.
Genre You DON'T Like
Slice of life, high school, generic medieval fantasy, roleplaying as animals, pure romance
Malik Shendoa and Rahne O'Braoin
Collab between Spectre of the Fade Spectre of the Fade and SkittlesAndSpike SkittlesAndSpike
The road back to Taithros had been long in both the literal and metaphorical sense for the pair of deserters that were making their way toward the city. Kiernan’s execution had robbed them both of what sanctuary they had found with the Rebellion.

Malik, personally, was worried. About the situation, about the letter, about whatever tattered remains of the Rebellion might still be floating around. He worried about his companion and himself, and he worried that the letter which drew them to the capital of the fucking Empire was a trap. Some gut instinct told him the location was far too bold for a trap set by any agent of Petros, but still he worried. The rain that dripped down the hood which covered his face and soaked into the bunched cloth around his shoulders seemed to suit his mood.

...Well, some might call it rain. Malik called it bird piss, but he’d grown up on the coast of Ventha. He didn’t call it rain until the pitter patter was a constant barrage of noise. Even so, the cold drizzle and the failing light of the setting sun felt apt. A little depressing, maybe, but apt.

How are you feeling, Rahne?” he asked, casting his eyes toward his companion.

Ah’m doing alright!” Came Rahne’s response, quick and cheery, almost, despite the downpour the two of them were trudging through. The cloak she wore in an attempt to protect herself from the rain had long since been soaked. The hood attached had never made it over her head, she never bothered to put it on, and so her face and hair were rather soaked. “But ah’d be lyin’ if I didn’t admit that I was a little worried. I dunno what to expect.” She was worried, and it was evident in both, her speech and her body language.

When she read the letter for the first time, her heart was set on heading to the capital, just to figure what was what. She had faith that there was a good reason to meet in what was by far the most dangerous city for a rebel, there had to be. But it could be something much, much worse. “Ah’ keep thinkin’, what if it’s a trap? What if they catch some ‘a the others.” Keyword being others. She was worried for her and Malik, yes, but she was confident that they could take care of themselves. They’d done alright so far.

Our numbers are small enough. We don’t need ta’ waltz into an ambush an’ end up scurryin’ off inta’ the wind anymore than we already are.

Hard for me to believe any agent of the Empire would have the balls to set a trap right outside the city walls,” Malik offered with smile meant to be reassuring, blue eyes trailing toward that very wall, standing dark and imposing past the city’s outlying buildings. Tree’s Grace, he was glad they wouldn’t have to smuggle themselves past the guards at the gates. With Rahne’s fiercely distinctive head of hair and the scars marking his own face, they’d certainly stand out, which meant glamours, which meant work to find someone who would do glamours for them.

Better to not think about it.

Luring all of us out to some nowhere town for a quick date with a knife to the back is more the Empire’s style,” he continued, but his casual tone couldn’t cover the tension in his voice. Or the tension in his back, and the fist gripping his cloak closed so it covered his armor.

Ah’ suppose yer’ right,” Rahne responded, mulling it over for a brief second, “That’s just askin’ fer’ trouble, right? Ah’ mean, with so many people around, tryin’ ta start a fight wouldn’t go so well.” The point he made did put her at ease somewhat. So maybe it really was a meeting, then. A real meeting.

But then wonder, why here?” She narrowed her eyes at the city walls. It looked so much more imposing now than when she had first joined the military. “Meetin’ under tha’ enemy’s nose is pretty smart, now that ah’m thinkin’ about it. Who’d expect us ta’ be hidin’ in their home?” Her smug grin could be heard in her voice, now. “All we’ve gotta do is not get caught.

With those words, she remembered to raise her hood over her head, now that they were closer to the city walls. If either of them were recognized, then that would ruin everything right away. “Ah’ think that’ll be easy though. Ah’ just hope that others will show up. A meetin’ like this has got ta’ be juicy.

Juicy? Certainly. Especially since, if Malik’s memory served him well, the Randy Gander was both a tavern and a pleasure house. He’d never been inside, but he’d spent enough time in Taithros as a young soldier that he was familiar with the local bars and entertainment.

There’ll be at least three of us.” Someone had to send the letters, after all. “That’ll have to be enough,” Malik affirmed, a stubborn seriousness to his tone. Hard to imagine only three people could successfully journey into the Forest, but Malik was committed. He’d poured all he had into the Empire for far too long; the Rebellion would get nothing less. And the whole Tree business? Well above his head, but it sounded worthy enough.

Right! Three of us will have ta’ do!” The numbers didn’t seem to phase Rahne. After all, as long as there was one able-bodied person to fight, then it wasn’t the end.

We’re looking for a sign with a wooden goose,” Malik reminded as the pair passed the first loose cluster of buildings on the road to the capital. Not too far now, and well before the sun dipped below the horizon. Good.

A sign with a wooden goose. Got it.” Rahne repeated the description Malik had given her aloud several times as they walked, doing her best to commit it to memory as she scanned the many buildings and signs. It wasn’t long until she spotted the sign, grinning from ear to ear upon seeing the wooden gander. “Ah’ found it!” She exclaimed, pointing a finger at the sign.

Rahne’s exclamation pulled Malik’s attention away from the group of passerby who’d been eyeing him - he’d been eyeing them right back, of course. Finding their destination was plenty reason to look away, though, and sure enough, there it was. The Randy Gander.

Good spotting,” he offered with a smile, bumping Rahne with his elbow as he moved toward the tavern’s door. He self-consciously adjusted the hood that hid his face before pushing the door open, only to be immediately buffeted by tavern noise and the playing of the bard claiming the little stage across from the bar. Holding the door so Rahne could step inside, Malik swept one last look over the road. Guards would be hard to miss and he hadn’t spotted any yet, but one could never be too careful.

Rahne stepped inside after Malik, making a small noise of relief. She enjoyed the rain, but only to a point. Between the dry and warmth of the tavern and the song of the bard, the atmosphere indoors was the exact opposite of the outside. Warm and welcoming. She was tempted to take off her hood, and almost did just that, but quickly remembered they were still keeping a low profile, and so left it on.

The door closed with a firm noise, leaving the pair to look over the tavern’s patrons. Malik took a moment to wistfully wish he had the time and coin for a drink, then made his way over to the bar.

My companion and I are looking for a room with Chasma,” he murmured as soon as he grabbed the attention of one of the tavern staff. He got a knowing smile in return, and soon the pleasant Horned appeared to guide the pair down to the basement.

Apprehension wrote itself into the lines of Malik’s face, but that didn’t keep him from following Chasma down the stairs and toward a space that looked to be cleared specifically for this purpose. Waiting there were two figures - one was roughly human-like and clad in a hood, the other looked to be a goblin wrapped in dark wool. Neither looked particularly well-rested, and that fact was what relaxed Malik’s suspicions about this being a trap. He wasn’t particularly well rested, either. These were dangerous times.

There was a third figure as well, a satyr, but he looked to be a new arrival, same as Malik and Rahne, so it was to the seated pair that Malik turned to as he pulled back his wet hood. No need to hide his face, now.

Malik Shendoa, reporting. Got the pack and the can do attitude, but I’m not exactly an ideas man.

Seeing Malik remove his hood, Rahne did the same thing, wasting no time in introducing herself. “Rahne O’Braoin! Reportin’ for duty!” Counting herself, Malik and the three strangers, that made a total of...five! Five people so far! “Glad it’s more than just the two of us.
 

Jorick

Magnificent Bastard
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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.
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Horror, western, pure slice of life.
The rain pitter-pattering along the roof made for a soothing background noise, barely heard beneath Brandi's song and the chatter of the patrons of the Randy Gander. Kacius had been surprised but quite pleased when he saw that the meeting of the rebels was to take place in one of his favorite taverns in the city, and he'd decided to take a bit of time to enjoy the place before getting down to business. Whenever he was coming back to Taithros from the northwest and had coin to spend and time to waste, the Randy Gander was his venue of choice. The ladies there all appeared more enticing than in other taverns, which had been explained to him more than once before as some kind of magic but he hadn't bothered to remember the details, and that certainly made it more fun than similar taverns. He'd pick elsewhere if he was just after a good drink, of course, but it wasn't often that Kacius would choose just good booze when he could have decent booze and a romp with one of the gorgeous courtesans instead.

As the song wound down, Kacius tossed a coin into the tiny pile of tips for the singer that had only started to build for the evening, then downed the last two mouthfuls of ale from his mug and made for the counter. Moving around inside with his pack and full traveling gear still on under his cloak was less than comfortable, but he made do. He caught the attention of one of the bartenders, one who he recognized but wouldn't have been able to name if his life was on the line, and flashed a crooked grin at the man. "I'd like a room, my friend. With Chasma, if she's available." The bartender looked mildly surprised, though it was impossible to tell whether it was because he recalled that Kacius never asked for a specific courtesan or because he didn't expect a semi-regular patron to be part of the special meeting. Chasma herself was a somewhat familiar sight once she appeared, though he didn't recall spending any personal time with her in the past, and Kacius busied himself with flirtatious flattery as she led him down to the basement. The little smile on her face could've been anything from pleased satisfaction with his words to amused confusion, but by the time she left him at the bottom of the stairs he was absolutely certain she enjoyed his chattering and was at least a little smitten with him.

The basement meeting room was nothing special, in fact a little dingy and depressing compared to the lively atmosphere upstairs, but Kacius supposed that was fitting for a clandestine meeting. The people already present were an interesting lot, not exactly the shady looking folks he'd been expecting when imagining the meeting, but he'd take new and interesting over the thugs and crooks he normally worked with any day. There was a goblin that he didn't recognize sitting in the room, a satyr who looked oddly familiar standing and looking at the goblin, a human fellow who he'd never met but looked like he could handle himself in a fight, a human lady with vibrant orange hair who also looked like a fighter of some kind, and...

"Linnae!" Kacius brushed past the assorted standing strangers to plop down into a chair next to her. He'd done some jobs for the nymph in the past, generally acquiring seeds from some sort of rare or exotic plants and smuggling them back to her, but it had been a little while since the last one. "I figured you'd be here, and I found something you might like. I don't think it's rare or anything because I got it from this field in Ventha that was FULL of them, but they've got purple and yellow petals and they're very pretty. Also very large thorns, but I only got cut maybe three times. I think it's a kind of rose maybe? They might look nice in your garden." As he spoke, he reached around into his pack and pulled out a little cloth pouch, which he set down in front of Linnae rather than waiting for her to take it. "It's some of those, uh... I don't know what they're called, you probably told me before, but the little fruit things with the seeds inside."

Kacius gave her a proud grin, satisfied that she would be happy with the gift even before he saw any glimmer of a reaction, and turned to observe the rest of the room with curiosity. "Hello there, new friends. I'm Kacius. Nice to meet you!" His sudden exclamation was boisterous and earnest, certainly not the kind of mood one would expect from a secret meeting of rebels, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from being himself. Kacius had already decided that he would have to be the heart and morale booster of this dour lot, even before he'd seen any of them or confirmed their dourness, and he would stick to that plan no matter what.
 

Doctor Jax

Lord of the Mice
BITE Fall Managers' Pick
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Romance
The ceiling was tiled in intricate patterns, the apartment well-furnished, the accouterments cozy though too tidy to be a place someone spent time in for long. A set of eyes traced those patterns above her head, laying upon her back in her bed, and though they registered the swirls and floral patterns, her mind was far elsewhere. Tonight was to be that fated meeting with the rest of the rebellion, though the likelihood of that being a trap was... increasingly high, the longer she ruminated upon it.

As well it should be. Eyes meeting hers, unreadable. The ax swung again. A deafening, solid thump. The soft shh of a head inside a reed basket. Applause. Numbness. And drink. So much drink. Yet, perhaps it would be better for the ax to finally fall, rather than abide with bated breath for its coming.

But there was much to lose, a head foremost. And other things besides. No, she would act with not undue caution, for several reasons. Aetheria as a whole, for one. And for two...

She rolled onto her side, facing the high, stained-glass window framing the alcove in which her bed rested. Another body, male, young, stretched out in a nap. Her eyes fell over him with fondness, from black curling hair to thick shoulder to light skin. His beard was trimmed tight, his face slack with slumber, a far change from his usual cool but assessing expression in class. A pang of guilt raced through her. She sincerely hoped their discretion proved true this past year. Should she be found out, alongside his association with her... It did not bear thinking about.

Cloven hooves met the floor soundlessly, and she moved to dress in evening clothes. An oiled cloak fell over her slender proportions, becoming swiftly a shapeless mass. She forewent her typical jewelry in bid for anonymity, walking back towards the sitting area to pen a short note --

"Goin' somewhere?" a quiet, bass voice asked, colored by a strange accent, and she turned to see Blaine propped on an elbow, looking her over. She smiled warmly, walking back to him. She bent down to give him a gentle peck, their gaze lingering.

"Nowhere special," she assured. He caught her by the wrist, with sudden fervor. She kept her gaze neutral, as he softly took her hand. He did not look at her as he squeezed it. Bright black eyes knowingly traced her face, and a spike of realization speared her. He knew. Not everything, but enough. He was frightfully perceptive.

"Stay safe, Mel."

"... Should I be offended, in that you think I would not be?"

His last scoff at her parting joke had rung in her head, a small warmth to carry out into the cold, rainy night. The Randy Gander was easy enough to find, a hotspot for gossip, for Academy students lacking taste, for all manner of unsavory doings. Her sort of place, if she was honest. She walked in as if she had been here many a time before, asking for Chasma lightly. Her request was filled shortly, and she inclined her head politely to lead the way. Her eyes continued to survey her surroundings, the tavern seeming to slow as she took in the milieu. Not a single person out of place... And the exits were plenty here. Not a good place for an ambush. However, as they headed for the basement, Mel quietly quailed. One entrance - one exit. A predicament of a rendezvous...

Her paranoia was quickly allayed. The group sitting at the table was ragtag, but a few she recognized. She was surprised to see Kacius, her some-time guard and guide, among those in attendance, though the familiar outline of Kho's small form gave her a measure more of confidence. The others were less known - two soldiers, from the look of them, one of her kinfolk who... frankly stank to high heaven of wet fur (she was practiced in maintaining a neutral expression), and a woman she had not met but seemed familiar with Kho. Kacius was, of course, introducing himself loudly to the rest, and she had to quirk a smile at that.

"Well-met, sir, again," she stated as she strode to the table, sitting down in a vacant chair. "I would prefer I keep my name private for the time being, at least until I hear what we are here to meet about. I will understand if others wish the same." She was aware that such would perhaps produce paranoia in the others about the table, but it was for their benefit as well. One could not give up a name they did not know.
 

Nemopedia

Always tired
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For over a year now Pyre had returned to the city, but not once did he seek out his friends in the Randy Gander. In part it was because there had been too much swirling around. A decade long travel was bound to bring a boatload of work upon his return, both in administration as in life. Added to it came a stern warning from his physician to stay away from alcohol. And then there was a lack of urge to seek a warm body. However, the tavern had deserved better attention from Pyre, much better after a decade of absence.

“Thought I’d hop by and try some fresh meat. Heard that Chasma is good,” Pyre smirked, leaning against the bar as if no time had passed at all. The face behind the counter wasn’t one he recognised, but the mood was all the same. Despite the time that had lapsed the tavern had hardly changed at all. If it wasn't for the note Pyre would have quickly forgotten what his purpose was here and slipped right back into his old habits.

A smack to the back of his head brought him back. “You’re late and you offer no drink or story. I’m hurt, Pyre.”

Turning around Pyre didn’t have to guess to know who this was, a broad smile playing on his face as he opened his arms for his old friend. “Another time,” he promised after the hug, slipping a pouch of money to the other.

A horned glided over to Pyre, interrupting the meeting. A mysterious smile was seen on their lips as they extended a hand. Offering his arm Pyre pulled the horned close, a wink on his face. “I’m here to enjoy my youth. Treat yourself, or the rest!” the professor called over his shoulder, nodding to the money he had slipped over, before slinging an arm around Chasma.

“Haven’t seen you around, you must be new,” he questioned, but the horned didn’t answer as he was led to the basement. Once out of sight Pyre let go of Chasma and proceeded alone through the door the horned pointed at.

Brazing himself for what was to come Pyre waltzed into the room, boots sounding heavy on the floor. He had never been known for his brisk and light steps. “Goodday you lot,” the man waltzed in, hands resting on his back. Scanning over the group that had already arrived the man felt amused at the variety of them. As if a teacher had wondered what group would be most unlikely to interact with each other if not thrown together for a project now. Humans, Goblins, Nymphs... None were familiar, until...

“Kholas?” There was surprise as Pyre recognised his colleague from the Academy. Surprise and at the same time it wasn't. Kiernan and Kholas were known to be friends.

Grinning Pyre went straight for the goblin, his steps once more booming. “Now I’m sure this isn’t a bust. With someone as careful as you!” he expressed himself elated, as if greeting an old friend.






Professor Moysei Pyre
 

Kuno

Django Jane
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School life
There were far too many people in the ballroom. Far too many gowns, far too many perfumes, and far too many varied food dishes intermingling and coalescing to create one ungodly mix of scents that offended one’s senses. A beautiful scene no less, but...pungent.

Almost as pungent as Captain John’s breath.

Phineas blinked as more spittle from the captain’s mouth flew at his face and chin. The man had worked himself up into a drunken tirade and somehow found Phineas to be a suitable listening ear--as well as a few other hapless victims. Not that he was disinclined to stay. The good captain drew plenty an eye with his antics, which was exactly what he wanted. None could say that they had not seen the youngest de Pemos entertained at the captain’s party. None would be able to remember him leaving either.

“Outrageous! I say, the very idea of some vagabond in my bed--”

“The very idea,” Phineas echoed, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief.

“--with my wife. Can you imagine--”

“I can scarcely imagine.”

Indeed, he could not imagine such a thing; not when the captain’s wife already had a young bard to warm her backside. And it was the captain’s own daughter who had told him that. Intimacy made gossip flow freely, he supposed. Or perhaps they were a family foreign to the simple concept of loyalty, like so many other nobles. Phineas took a generous sip of his goblet, eyes flickering towards the three moon’s ascents. The hour was growing late. It was time he went on his way.

Thankfully, the Captain had alighted his eyes on a new victim. Phineas slipped away behind a passing servant and down through the back hall, his shoes clicking on the floor. The Captain’s estate was similar to his own in Portwatch. The servant’s hall was bound to be in the left wing, around the corner from the kitchen. Phineas intended to leave through the servant’s stairway. With any luck, he would reach the meeting before it was over.

“Where are you going?”

Phineas whirled around to face a young woman silhouetted by the wall hangings and candlelight. At closer examination, he recognized her. Enmai: the captain’s youngest daughter. And a voracious gossip.

Shit.

“I’m sorry,” He began warmly, “It’s just...I’m terribly exhausted, but I’d hate to offend your parents by leaving early. Do you know another, back way out perhaps?”

Enmai walked towards him in measured steps. A pace away, she stopped, an unreadable expression on her face. Phineas waited with bated breath.

“Yes,” She finally breathed. Phineas smiled encouragingly, before noticing the color filling her cheeks. He squinted. “Yes...I know a way out. Through the back hall. You can...climb down from my bedroom window and--”

Her words sang of entrapment. Another night, and he would’ve been inclined to humor her. But now?

“No, nevermind, my dear. That’s alright.” He cut her off, brushing past her. “I’ll simply go down the servant’s stairway. Good night!”

She was so stunned by his abrupt dismissal that she stood rooted to the spot, gaping after him. At length, she apparently mustered the courage to go after him. But by then he was gone, not trusting her naivete alone to keep her from chasing after him. The rain came down in torrents while he stepped out into the night. He made sure to pull up his cloak before stepping away from the protection of the walls, out into the cobblestone streets.

The Randy Gander was an establishment he was hardly a stranger to. It was not lost on him the brazenness of the rebels meeting there. Certain traitors all congregating under the eyes and ears of the Emperor’s men; should someone discover them, the guillotine would be waiting. Or perhap something worse in his case. The Emperor feelings towards nobles had grown worse in the passing years, the problem no doubt excarberated by his eldest brother’s ceaseless ass-kissing. Maybe he would be drawn and quartered if discovered. Or something far more sinister, concocted from the depths of the mad man’s mind. Either way, he had to doubly cautious.

So, he’d chosen to wear a glamour Guion: a bedraggled, lazy-eyed, snaggle-toothed fishman who haggled oysters and other prized wares with Phineas’ head chef. He moved as if he dragged the weight of the world on his right shin and spat wherever spit could fly. Phineas had only imitated him once before, but it’d been enough to convince his head chef. Good enough for a ruse, then. Phineas-Guion entered the tavern with little fanfare and immediately followed the letter’s instructions. When Chasma approached him, he saw a faint glimmer of suspicion in their eyes. Though smiling, Chasma’s jaw tightened at the glamour.

Ah. But of course.

For the briefest of seconds, his glamour gave way to reveal his true form, causing Chasma’s eyes to widen with recognition. He quickly snapped the glamour back into place, lest one of the glassy-eyed patrons have a better memory than they think. He spat to to the side, to get back into character.

“A simple precaution. I didn’t want any unwanted company to interrupt us.”

Suspicion gave way to understanding, and the Horned nodded once before turning away. He followed with a signature limp as Chasma led him to the appointed room. He was surprised they were meeting in the basement, but made no commentary on it. When he reached the bottom step of the stairs, he paused, eye and lazy eye alike taking in the many faces gathered around the table.

“What a fine assortment of creatures here tonight,” Phineas-Guion rasped, turning his head about the room. More people came than he thought would come, and he was inwardly pleased at the turnout. When his lazy eye fell upon Melsindre, he couldn’t help himself; he gave her a rotten-toothed smile.

The glamour fell away. Phineas smiled as himself, winking at the taciturn satyr before addressing the others. “Good evening. I apologize for the act, but I couldn’t risk being followed. The Empire has yet to attach a spy to my good fisherman Guion...I believe.”

He was only half-joking.
 
Last edited:

DinoFeather

Depressive Goblin Nightmare Boy
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Kholas and Linnae
21/3/1 193 TE | Dusk | Raining
DinoFeather DinoFeather | @Lillian Gray

  • For a brief moment, Kholas lost himself in the singing that was drifting down to them from the rooms above. What he wouldn’t give to just slip away into a careless oblivion, heedless of the situation of the world. His best friend was dead, his research was gone, the land was dying, the Emperor was a madman, and their probability of their success was...well, not good. He had never been one for high spirits and good cheer, but he could feel the morose shift in himself. Which he, largely, ignored. He was in better shape than Linnae, and she seemed to be holding it together well enough.

    Coming back to himself, the goblin had just opened his mouth to inquire as to what exactly the nymph was drinking when the sound of a door opening caused his ears to flick up briefly. Turning toward the stairs to see a tall satyr descending, Kholas glanced at Linnae, then back to the approaching stranger. They had received word from a mining village a few weeks prior, notifying them that a young satyr would be delivering an unusual new metal to them. What Maester Yigwit had failed to mention was that their delivery boy seemed to lack any concept of acceptable hygiene. The satyr absolutely reeked of sweat and wet fur.

    Wrinkling his nose slightly as the satyr approached, Kholas stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before finally taking it. “I am,” he replied, retracting his own hand and wiping it on his cloak under the table. “Seeing as how you’re already here, I suppose it doesn’t matter-- but yes. We were informed by one Maester Yigwit that you would be attending and bringing with you something of interest to the rebellion.” The sound of more feet on the stairs gave the goblin pause. “But for the sake of privacy, we’ll discuss that in further detail at a later time.” That was, of course, once he was sure everyone attending was truly committed to their cause, and if they survived their task at hand.

    Watching as the two others proceeded down the stairs and began their introductions, Kholas inclined his head in acknowledgement. At Malik’s mention of not being much of an ideas man, Kholas bit his tongue and merely nodded once again. Looking at the young woman, Kholas got the distinct impression that neither of them were much for ideas, though he felt that perhaps opening with that wasn’t the most amicable approach. Besides, he wasn’t about to turn down two former soldiers. “Yes,” he agreed, then nodded in the direction of the broken bed frames. “Anything wet can go over there for now.” Including the satyr.

    Gesturing to the various chairs scattered around the table, Kholas then scratched off the names of the newcomers on the parchment in front of him on the table. It was a list of twenty-three people they’d sent letters to over the past weeks. He did not expect most, if any, of them to actually show up. He did not, however, have to wait long for a boisterous horned man to appear, launching into discussion with Linnae about plants. Well, at least she’d have like-minded company. Sort of. He was glad to see enthusiasm, though he had a sneaking suspicion this one might be quick to grate his nerves. “A pleasure, Kacius,” Kholas said flatly as he scratched off that name as well. “But do keep in mind this is a secret meeting. Please don’t announce us to everyone upstairs.”

    That aside, this was already more promising that he’d originally hoped. He had no idea how many people would respond to the letters, but his expectations had been exceeded-- and more footfalls announced yet more people. Perhaps it was a bit early on, but a tiny flicker of relief sparked somewhere in his chest.

    This time, it was the familiar figure of Melsinde who approached them. Careful as usual, she declined to give her name. Curling his lips into a half-smirk and exhaling the ghost of a laugh, Kholas glanced over at the woman. “It’s a bit late for that,” he said dryly. Once they put their plans into motion, names weren’t going to mean much-- they would all be wanted. Or dead. But that could wait. More footfalls were sounding on the stairs, and a moment later Moysei Pyre was striding toward him with an exuberance Kholas couldn’t quite return.

    They had never been more than colleagues, and honestly, Kholas was surprised to see the professor actually turn up. They had no way of knowing the note had actually reached him in his travels. He was not, of course, unwelcome; his knowledge of the Academy would be useful, should he decide to stay. “Moysei,” Kholas returned, extending a narrow hand to grasp the other’s. “We’ll see,” was all he said as he indicated an open chair. Perhaps he’d been careful with their contacts and escaping the Empire long enough to have a meeting-- but they were about to try something incredibly stupid.

    When there was a considerable pause in arrivals, Kholas scanned his list once more, crossing off the final names. Eight in all. Not horrible, all things considered. Crimson eyes lingered for a moment on the small block of names he’d circled toward the bottom of the page. Nymphs-- Linnae’s friends, who’d they heard nothing from at all. He’d hoped that, for her sake, at least one of them would have made it, but it seemed they hadn’t fared as favourably as some. The goblin glanced up at his hooded companion, then turned his attention to those crowding around the table, briefly taking them in. Two former soldiers, both of whom looked to be highly capable fighters; two satyrs, one brilliant and careful, one muscular and a potential physical force; a skilled mage with knowledge of the Academy, and horned he knew little about but looked to be fit enough. It could’ve been a far worse assembly of people.

    Clearing his throat, Kholas began to get to his feet when the irregular clump of feet drew his gaze toward the stairs once more. Tensing at the appearance of the man, Kholas flicked an ear in annoyance as he observed the newcomer. Chasma wouldn’t have let them in unless-- ah. With the glamour down and his identity revealed, Kholas heaved a sigh at Phineas, frowning slightly. “You’d best hope not,” he said curtly, before turning his attention back to the rest. It was time to get started. Any stragglers could be caught up later.

    “Well then, good evening,” Kholas said, gazing at them each in turn. His voice was low and sharp with a slight scratch, but his tone was even. It was his “lecture” voice, which was the most polite he could offer at the moment. “Thank you for coming. Forgive my lack of ceremony, but I prefer to get straight to the point, as I’m sure most of you have questions. For those of you who don’t already know me, my name is Kholas Abalyshevska. I am a former researcher and professor of restorative magics at the Magisteria Academy, and I worked extensively with Kiernan on researching the connection between the guard stones and the Tree. I am going to assume you were all prudent enough to read the letter that was originally from Kiernan explaining the dilemma we are now facing.

    “If you didn’t, here’s what you need to know: the world is fucked. If we don’t manage to reunite the stones with the Tree, the land will continue to wither until it can no longer sustain life. I’m sure you have all seen at least some degree of this blight that’s taking hold, and it’s only going to get worse.” At this, Kholas paused and briefly fixed his gaze on Melsinde, then Phineas. “Before we continue, I’ll address the wyvern in the room. We had no indication that Kiernan was going to be arrested. When they came for him, I fled at his insistence. If you have further concerns or questions, see me later. What is need-to-know is that I was unable to leave with the pieces of the guard stones, which we need in order to further our plans. If you’ve pieced together what that might mean, congratulations. No one in the Academy has the balls to steal the pieces themselves, so that leaves the task to us. That’s why you’re here. If you are not prepared to risk your freedom and your life, leave now.”

    Linnae thumbed the cloth pouch Kacius had given her, the repetitive motion being quite soothing after having spent most of the day beneath the floorboards in preparation for a highly illegal, incredibly dangerous, absolutely treasonous meeting. Her ruby eyes panned from left to right, only vaguely recognizing the individuals based on correspondence from Kiernan from before. The odd gaggle of Taithros elite in their midst was a bit of a surprise. While she knew of other scholars and well-connected citizens assisting in the rebellion, she never imagined seeing Phineas de Pemos. She knew the name, Kiernan had told it to her many times, but the connection was only being made now-- a bit late for that revelation.

    And Moysei. Her eyes narrowed with great disdain. Hard for a nymph to trust anyone who dealt in fire.

    A quiet hum passed her pale lips. While she had meant it earlier, Kholas certainly knew what to say during difficult times, perhaps the stress of the world had his tongue in a knot. He certainly wasn’t alone in that regard. Not that he wasn’t always a bit blunt, or profane, but hadn’t he said something about inspiring confidence? She placed her hand on his arm beneath the table, hoping it might provide some small amount of reassurance.

    “I know many of you weren’t expecting this kind of call to arms. I understand that.” Linnae’s voice was much softer than Kholas’, though it still demanded attention from the newcomers. She continued to fiddle with the cloth pouch to soothe the feeling of restlessness in her entire body, though nothing in her face suggested she was apprehensive about the meeting at all. “But the Tree, this blight, we are nearly to the point of no return. I can feel it with each passing day, like some kind of sickness, something is not right. Without dormancy, without the natural order, this land requires, it will die. We will all die.”

    Inspiring, Linnae thought, telling people they’re going to die is truly inspiring.

    “The risk is incredible. There’s likely no reward, and you’ll have a bounty on your head the moment the Empire discovers what we’ve done. But if we don’t take back those shards, then Petros Taites wins. Long may he reign.” Linnae’s face hardened. The more she spoke, the more heated she became. “And if that petulant tyrant wins, then that means Kiernan died in vain for nothing more than the truth, and we’ll all be meeting him soon enough.”

    Too much. That was what the brief touch from his companion had told him, and Kholas stood quietly by as Linnae spoke to the group. Her words, though not exactly inspiring, did seem somewhat more appealing, and Kholas was grateful. Everything said seemed melodramatic, but it was the unfortunate truth. No point in dressing it up.

    “That in mind,” he added, tempering himself as Linnae trailed off, “we’d like to know why you’ve chosen to dedicate yourself to this and what strengths you bring. While we know some of you, understanding everyone’s abilities is integral to effective planning. And, before I begin laying out finer details of the plan, we need to know you’re fully committed.”

    With that, he slowly sank back into his chair, his eyes again flickering between faces.

  • The Randy Gander is three stories tall and your standard “ye olde tavern.” The interior is pretty clean and there are several bartenders, all wearing blue tunics or blouses. The main floor is the tavern area and is filled with numerous tables, there are stools at the bar, and there’s a growing number of patrons. Toward the wall across from the bar is a slightly elevated platform where Brandi has just begun playing and singing.

    Floors two and three are rooms for rent and where living quarters for the courtesans and owner are.

    When requested, Chasma will lead you to a basement area where Kho and Linnae are waiting. Those with wards may notice there is a glamour up in the bar, though it is subtle and very well done. If you ask Chasma about the glamour, they will tell you it's to make the occupants more visually appealing. If another patron asks where they are going, Chasma will call it the “basement affair, not open to the public."



    Name:
    Chasma

    Race:
    Horned

    Profession:
    Courtesan and Rebel Supporter

    Descriptors:
    average height, androgynous, willowy, pleasant, soft-spoken

    Magic:
    Subliminal - Soothing

  • 5 Lekthas, 3rd Quarter of the Crone, 192 TE

    I regret to inform you that the rumours are true: the Heart of Aetheria is dying.

    I understand that a letter of this nature seems an unusual method of communicating this, but in the present circumstances, it is a necessary precaution: I cannot risk direct communication at this time. We are reaching a critical situation and action must be taken. As you read this, I am quietly assembling a group of scholars, mages, and soldiers who support the cause, and I must ask that this be kept secret, at least for now.

    We are now beginning to see the effects of our actions those years ago, and the situation is dire. Reports from coastal cities are steadily increasing, bringing messages of failing crops and emaciated cattle. Hunters are taking less prey and rates of wildlife predation have increased far beyond what is common in a dormancy cycle. Thus far, these reports have been kept quiet. The Empire was sending meagre relief efforts to the affected areas, though it quickly became far more than they could handle. The efforts are being halted, as the Emperor has decided the plight of these areas must be due to rebel sabotage and does not merit attention or aide.

    Fatalities are on the rise as magical instability increases- something I’m sure you have already seen. Where possible, these deaths are also being attributed to rebel attacks and, otherwise, ignored. They are refusing to see what is plainly before their eyes, and Aetheria and all her people are going to pay the price.

    As you know, fifty-one years ago, the Empire forcibly removed the guard stones from the Tree. In those fifty-one years, the Tree has been unable to enter dormancy and revitalize itself. The argument was that no dormancy meant limitless prosperity-- but our research indicates that without dormancy cycles, the Tree can neither regulate magic nor support prosperity in the land.

    Without dormancy cycles, I am confident the Tree will die.

    No matter how many times he is confronted with evidence, the Emperor refuses to listen. I worry he is so blinded by the threat of revolution and repercussions of what it would mean if our research is correct (which it is), he refuses to see the truth. The more we press him to take action, the more obstinate he becomes.

    Two weeks ago, our most outspoken scholar, Magister Avelissa, was sent to Portwatch to “observe the conditions there,” and we have not heard from her since… I now fear the worst.

    The crystalline guard stones removed from the tree have been destroyed, save for the sample specimens that remain in our study. I plan to take these pieces, journey through the Forest of the Ancients, and return them to the Tree. Experiments with the crystals and bark samples taken from the Tree have given us reason to believe that even the smallest piece of crystal may act as a catalyst and restore what we so foolishly removed.

    This will not be an easy undertaking, especially when the Empire discovers what I am doing, as I have no doubt they will. However, it is a risk I am willing to take- and a risk that is necessary if we are to preserve the Aetheria we know and love. Should the Heart of Aetheria be lost, so too shall we.

    Please send return word using the same enchantment by which this message was concealed. If you are interested in furthering your support, I will then contact you with the date, time, and location of our first gathering to discuss options and concerns, and determine how best we may proceed.

    For dissolution, harmony, and a free Aetheria!


    - Kiernan

    6-3-1, 193 TE

    If you think we're giving up because of a little public execution, you are sorely mistaken. To those who wish to actually make a contribution to the world that enables your existence, be at the Randy Gander in the Taithros outskirts by sundown on 21/3/1. Request a room with Chasma-- and don't be a transparent fuckass. If you're followed, you're shit out of luck. Bring ideas, a pack, and a can-do attitude. No one else is going to save our asses.

 
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Spectre of the Fade

Nerd
DONATING MEMBER
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Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
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A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
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Primarily Prefer Male
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Either. I'm very flexible when it comes to plotting, but I'm also willing to take the lead on determining roleplay direction.
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Fantasy, Sci-fi, Modern, Apocalypse, Action and adventure, Steampunk, Dieselpunk, People with Powers, some historical eras, lots and lots of other things. Feel free to ask.
Genre You DON'T Like
Slice of life, high school, generic medieval fantasy, roleplaying as animals, pure romance


Human
Neutral Good
Aries
Stubborn as a motherfucker
The party's cool uncle - empathetic and warm, lots of stories, A+ storyteller, and he will laugh at you if you get yourself hurt then offer you a beer afterward

Runic magic - Defensive and Warding.
Defensive is his primary - he's got tattoos on his left arm to allow him to easily summon a round shield that goes where his arm does, and tattoos on his hands so he can easily summon a much larger area-protecting half-dome that requires both hands and c o n c e n t r a t i o n.
Warding is the nerdy thing his instructor touched on for like 2 secs in training but Malik was like "yes, this, I like it" and just. stubbornly decided he was gonna learn it properly.

Warded stone - a smol smooth blue circular rock hangs from a leather string around his neck, usually tucked directly against his skin. It's warded - vibrates intently whenever something moves in a couple-meter radius around Malik. He made it after Kiernan's death, as he felt supremely unsafe without the relative security hiding with the Rebellion offered. He doesn't sleep well unless he's got it active...or someone he trusts is on guard duty.
*He must deactivate it and reactivate it periodically.*

Born in Stillharbour, Ventha. Port city. Destroyed by a volcano 117 years before roleplay time - rebuilt.
2 entire living parents, 1 younger sibling, all currently unnamed.
Him and Rahne are acquainted and friends - she used to be apart of his squad and they ended up deserting together.

Equipment: 1 cloak, brown and plain. 1 set of armor, blue in theme, with all the emblems of the Empire removed. 1 longsword, plain but sharp and functional. 1 stylus, in case he gotta mark a ward or some such.



M
alik
S
hendoa
Mood: Determined Location: The Randy Gander, basement level Tagged: @errybody, except Day, sorry Day
Character SheetThe Art Credit
As per the goblin's instruction, Malik unclasped his cloak and tugged the damp brown fabric off his shoulders, then laid it across the end of one broken frame with care. Sitting down was a decidedly more noisy process given the clanking and rustling of his armor and belt as he settled down. Luckily, it didn't take him long to get comfortable, and he sat quietly to watch the rest file in. First impressions weren't all that important, by Malik's estimation. He'll judge these people off their mettle in whatever days might come. Still, keeping an eye on things was never a bad idea.

There was the satyr he'd noted before, a sociable horned, a second and much more mysterious satyr, an energetic human, a man who dropped his disguise with a certain flair. A certain familiar flair. The face was familiar, too, now that Malik was thinking about it. He gave that last man a more heavily appraising look than the rest, trying to work out where the familiarity was from.

The goblin started speaking before he got anywhere significant with that chain of thought.

Malik shifted his full attention to him, folding his hands on the table and leaning in to hear more clearly. Kholas. Alright, he could remember that. Guy was definitely leading things here, and he was direct enough. Good. The world is fucked, and the Academy has the tools to fix it but certainly won't. Less good. Kholas owned up to fleeing after Kiernan was arrested - admirable - and pressed on the risk involved in everything he had planned. Which, sounded like theft. From the Academy. Malik let out a soft breath at that, attention shifting to his hands folded on the table. He was, honestly, more amused than anything. His freedom was already gone. His life was already at risk. He hadn't seen his family in far too long and the only proven ally he had left was the woman he walked in with. What else could the Empire possibly do to him?

A soft voice from the hooded figure he noticed when he first arrived grabbed his attention. Upon this closer inspection, he noted the odd way her hood laid on her head. Nymph, then? Hm. Her expression was all grave seriousness, and she spoke of death. Her words made him glad he and Rahne had made the journey, taken the risk. Though he still worried if all those gathered were as serious as he was.

Kholas spoke once more, requesting the strengths and commitments of everyone gathered 'round. Malik had plenty of both.

Shifting to lean further forward and dragging blue eyes over the others gathered around, he spoke. "I gave my all to the Empire for far too long. Spent too many years doing terrible shit -"- and babysitting nobles -"- until I finally broke." He gave Rahne a brief but significant look, then. Certainly she remembered. His eyes shifted over the rest once again, as he felt it was important he convey his own seriousness on this. "I'm here because I refuse to give any less to the Rebellion than I gave to the Empire. Got a lot of trust to earn, I know, but I'll earn it. I'll do what it takes. Not like I'll get any mercy from Petros' dogs either way." That finished, he nodded and leaned back in the chair, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm a runic mage, defensive and warding. Lotta years of combat experience, and I know the Empire's tactics like I know the back of my own hand."

With a second and much more firm nod, Malik waved a hand, indicating he'd spoken his piece.
 

Doctor Jax

Lord of the Mice
BITE Fall Managers' Pick
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week
My Usual Online Time
3PM CST - 9 PM CST
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Androgynous, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Aggressive
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Scifi, Urban Fantasy, Horror
Genre You DON'T Like
Romance
It seemed that there were others still to join the merry band, and both of them were at least somewhat familiar to her - the latter very much so. The first fellow left her with some lingering annoyance she couldn't quite place, despite being unable to put his name to his visage, but from his walk, the way he talked, the general carousing air he sported... well, she merely squinted her eyes momentarily before lamenting she had not gotten herself a drink before heading down. At de Pemos, she merely rolled her eyes with mock long-suffering. At the least, he had the good sense not to refer to her by name.

However, Kho was quick to state that the time for caution was over. They were in the end stages of the disease crippling the continent. Her gaze, direct and unbridled, bore into either leader as they spoke of the withering and wasting that had taken hold. She had seen it with her own eyes - had seen it for some years. The task they would be put up to was no small one, as the Academia Magisteria was not one left foolishly unguarded and open to any wadwallop who chose to stroll in. They would need an insider's knowledge, and a thief's cunning. Her eyes scanned those around the table, and she carefully managed not to grimace. A quiet looming satyr, two soldiers, a goblin, a nymph, a Horned caravan guard, de Pemos, herself, and this other man Kholas was familiar with... They weren't working with much by way of stealth, though she knew by fact that Finn was an excellent sneak. Yet, heists were not won by a singular thief, and they would need coordination as well.

She had been so lost in thought about how to go about such a task that she almost missed one of the soldiers speak his allegiance. She turned her gaze and respectfully drank in every word, and a small ember did spark in her skeptic's heart. These people were dedicated to the task at hand. That may outweigh any lack of talent. With the table falling silent again, she answered Malik's profession adroitly.

"You have a commendable background. I, for one, shall feel all the safer for a runic mage in our midst, especially one well-versed in defense," Melsinde stated softly in encouragement, her voice carrying despite the low volume of her alto. Looking about the table, she sighed through her nose and removed her hood. Horns and ears were on display, her face no doubt recognizable to any who had been to a public function - a face often without a name, without a voice, but nearly always present.

"Kho, I believe you are right. Trust is earned, and to earn it, sometimes trust must be given first."

Her eyes remained on the table.

"My name is Melsinde Blackfinger, scribe to the Emperor Petros Taites, historian for the Academy. I describe the major events, political and public, which occur in the Empire as best I can, as impartially as they shall allow me. I have... special access to the libraries, in particular maps and other information of imperial security. You understand my hesitance to speak my name."

She paused.

"I myself also pledge life and limb to this endeavor. For several long years, I have traveled our vast and beautiful continent, only to watch as... as famine sweeps whole towns under its brown cape. Babes, left to die for want of milk, bread, a house with not enough rooms and not few enough mouths. Forests and arable land, turned to the locusts, the blight. Magic, uncontrolled, bursting out and killing innocents from what should be normal spells, average in potency. And the things the Empire did to maintain such order as needed when those driven by hunger and fear were at their wits end... I have broken the code of a scribe by penning that which is not true and disseminating it. I have lied for the Empire, to paint its conquests in fair light, and I cannot any longer. This venture must not fail, and should it... well, our children, should any survive, shall know exactly why it did," she spoke gravely, giving a shudder. "As soon as there was a man willing to do something about it, I followed him. To the end."

She looked across to Kholas and Linnae, her expression stricken.

"I see no reason to stop now."
 

Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
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A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
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Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both/Either
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Magical
PAN TALL-BONES​
x

Pan shifted uncomfortably, the fractured bed frame on which he sat as uncomfortable as any stone on which he'd ever sat. Anything wet, Kholas had instructed. Well, obviously that had meant him, as well! It was just a shame that the circle of conspirators was so far away; it felt like he was eight years old again, sitting at the kid's table while the adults gossiped about who-knew-what. Close enough to hear, but not enough to interject without it becoming awkward.

A few of the people had also followed the Goblin's instructions regarding their wet things, and as first Kholas and then Linnae droned on about boring topics like rebellion and the death of the world, Pan found his attention wander to the cloaks beside him. He examined the nearest; the large dark man, a soldier? had dropped it there. It looked like a soldier's cloak: worn with weather and travel, it had certainly seen better days. As had the lot of them gathered there.

The world was dying, they said. Pan had guessed; his journey South had shown that much, if in fact the nature of the Heights location didn't lend itself to exhibiting it well. Most of their food was traded for, as were most of their textiles. The Heights was there to mine, so mine they did.

Reaching into his pack, Pan lifted out Yigwit's metal. It was ordinary, its natural gray hue having been purified with the heating process into a vague luminescent blueish silver. This was supposed to help the Rebellion, right? But it amplified runes, and they had another job first. Replacing the metal within his bag, Pan raised his hand as Melsinde finished.

“Sorry. Uh, sorry, ma'am. Were you finished? I didn't mean ta interrupt.” With no challenge from his fellow Satyr, he stood to continue. “Maester Yigwit sent me here a’purpose, ta help you all. And I've a right mind to, cause Pa says I should and he's real smart.”

He paused, his face contorting in an obvious effort to translate thought to word.

“But if the Empire is wrong, and we wanna be right, shouldn't we do the right thing? Pa always said that stealin’ was- well, wrong. Didn't matter if that swine-face Raths took your best mallet; didn't give you no right to break into his house and just take it back.

“Anyway- that's all I got to say about that. I'm with ya; I just felt like it needed sayin’, is all.”
His piece having been said, he sat down.
“Oh! I'm Pan Tall-Bones, by the way. Nice to meet you all.”

 

Jorick

Magnificent Bastard
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.
With the greeting given and Linnae seeming more or less pleased by the gift, Kacius sat back in his chair and watched the proceedings with keen interest. The goblin said something to him about keeping things secret, but he wasn't paying attention and just nodded as he continued to peer at the others in the room and those who entered after him. He almost greeted Mel by name, but he managed instead to bite his tongue and give her a conspiratorial nod. An older human came in next, and he looked like a guy who knew how to enjoy everything a tavern had to offer, but both of his friends (and business associates) gave the man less-than-friendly looks. He mentally noted that he would need to work to patch up whatever rift existed between the old fellow and the ladies in order to make sure the group worked smoothly together. The last to show up was at first highly interesting, a ragged-looking man with a heavy limp, but he turned out to be just some nobleman in disguise. Kacius lost interest almost immediately, though he did notice that he and Mel seemed to know each other and might even be friends, so perhaps the man was more than just a rich snob.

All the talk about the world being doomed and the mission to save it droned on long enough for Kacius to need to suppress a yawn, but he made an effort to pay at least half attention to Linnae's part of the speech. He got the gist of it: steal some things, bring them to the Tree, save the world... or die trying. Seemed pretty straightforward to him, at least. Could've all been put in the letter really, but he supposed the meeting was a good thing for getting acquainted with the group. The thing that finally piqued Kacius' interest was the call to prove their commitment and explain their strengths. He'd always loved showing off, and this would be the perfect chance, but he let some of the others go first in order to make his go even more impressive by comparison.

One of the soldiers said some stuff about making up for working for the Empire, which was interesting enough by itself, though the fact that he was also a runic mage was more interesting still. Not just a runic mage, but one who worked with the two aspects of it that Kacius himself hadn't spent much time with. Having someone specialized in defense, as well as Kholas' mentioned restorative magic, was definitely reassuring. Mel went next, and he was surprised to hear the details of what she did. He knew some of it, that she was some kind of scribe and worked for the Empire, but Kacius wasn't sure if he'd known that she worked directly for the Emperor himself. Had she declined to mention that, or had she told him and he forgot? Didn't make much of a difference either way, he supposed, but it was nice to hear that even someone so closely tied to the Emperor was willing to work against his foolishness. The large satyr spoke up next, and he was apparently even more of a simple fellow than he looked. After Pan finished his piece, Kacius decided that was the perfect moment for him to jump in.

"Sometimes you've gotta do a little wrong thing to avoid a bigger wrong thing, friend." As he spoke to both the satyr and the room at large, he pulled three of his daggers out of their sheathes on his belt and started juggling them idly, as if not even paying attention to the action. "Which is more wrong: stealing something, or not stealing something and letting everyone in the world die? Seems like a simple choice to me." Kacius directed his attention to Kholas and flung a dagger at one walls without stopping the juggling, but before it struck wood a runic mark glowed on the hilt and it flew right back toward his hand and joined back in the flipping and twirling with the other two. "My biggest strength is that I am always the life of the party, of course." Kacius gave the goblin a wide grin, brimming with self-confidence at the sheer truth of his statement. "The knife tricks are good both for fun and for dealing with unpleasant people, and they can pack more of a punch than you'd expect. I'm a runic mage as well, like our soldier friend who spoke up first, but I focus on the offensive side and do some enchanting."

Kacius threw the three daggers in rapid succession, boosting both his speed and strength with the runic tattoos hidden under his clothing, and each of the blades drove into a wooden beam hard enough that their crossguards slammed into the wood as well. If not for the singing and noise in the tavern above, the thunk of metal slamming into wood surely would have drawn attention and questions. "Haven't had any need to throw them at armor yet, because nobody has come at me with a full helmet, but I'm pretty sure those would go through a breastplate." One by one, each dagger was tugged back to his hand with the enchantments on them, and he spoke with the easy confidence of arrogance as he continued speaking. "Aside from that, I've done some work as a thief in my time here in the city, so I'm your man when it comes to sneaking in somewhere and retrieving something, which just so happens to be what we need to do first. Good thing you've got me here, don't you think? Oh, as for my commitment, I've seen what has been happening to the world and I know it needs to be stopped. Simply put, Linnae was mistaken. There is a reward: our lives, and the lives of every person, plant, and animal currently suffering from the Empire's foolishness. I quite enjoy living, so I can think of no better motivation for taking on such a dangerous mission."

With his longer than expected speech concluded, Kacius sat back in his chair and looked expectantly toward each of those who hadn't yet responded to Kholas' challenge. He was absolutely certain his would end up being the best, but there was plenty to be learned about his new friends by how they chose to follow up his marvelous performance.
 

Nemopedia

Always tired
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Posting Speed
Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
GMT +1/2 | CET/CEST | Random, mostly on my phone
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both, depending how much there is going on already.
Favorite Genres
Tragedy, Psychological, Historical, Steampunk, Mystery, Thriller, Sci-fi, see tag list for more...
Genre You DON'T Like
Romance
Kholas provided Pyre with a sparse greeting, naturally holding the other at a distance as the man was gestured to a seat. Taking it Pyre's attention went to the companion next to his colleague, sending a wink into the direction of the cloaked figure. A slight chill came from her, but nothing he wasn't confident in warming up. Or so he believed as he wasn't sure what he had done to deserve such a reaction in the first place.

After a brief word from Kholas and his friend the introductions started. First another human, a soldier it seemed to which he had the build for as well. Pyre didn't catch the name, but that didn't matter for now.

The way the man spoke and carried himself fit with the image he carried. Pyre would have risen a glass for the soldier if he had one, impressed with the passion and zeal of the fellow rebel. It almost surprised him to have such a respectable and straight-laced fellow amongst them.

Following that was yet another cloaked figure revealing herself to be a satyr. Mel, Pyre recognised her name and her position, having written and received numerous notes to and from her desk. It was nice to link a face to the name, and a voice to the words. Yet another surprise as he wouldn't have guessed someone so passionate stuck in such a dull job Though, he supposed that everyone wanted to brighten up their lives once in a while.

Then another satyr followed, nervous and clumsy. He sat an odd way apart from the rest, having seated himself to the 'damp' corner Kholas had assigned earlier. Surely he didn't think?...

Pyre didn't doubt that the poor satyr, Pan, had sent himself into the corner. Not after hearing the man speak, which amused him all the more. Sincere. Pyre decided that he liked this rebel as well, even if Pan didn't seem all that clued in.

A flash of the blade took Pyre's attention once more, a horned was juggling three knives putting his ability to show for all. Confident and sure, but with a smugness within that the man recognised from his own youth. This group was proving itself to be promising, with all of its members likable so far.

"Moysei Pyre, professor at the academy," Pyre finally started, straightening himself up as he looked everyone in the eye. "I have been travelling for a decade, so I'm still adjusting to the city-life," he continued with a smirk and a longing sigh, as if missing something. Which he did, returning to the academy was terribly boring, as well as dangerous now that they had started this undertaking. More so than any of his wild adventures.

"I specialise in pyromagic. You can imagine how much I rely on the tree," he spoke with a shrug and a chuckle almost as if he didn't care otherwise. Unable to stop himself he gestured for the satyr Pan to come to him, a small flame flickering in the palm of his hand. He couldn't leave the poor thing alone, cold and wet as the satyr was.

"I rather not lose my fire, yet." The wink this time was sent after Mel. How often she had to deal with declaration notices and damage reports from Pyre. He tried to keep them at a minimum, but fire had this feral quality about it, or so he always claimed in his notes.

Satisfied with his introduction the man fell quiet, a triumphant smile on his face as he slumped back. There was more that Pyre could say and offer, though he found that the reasons given were plenty to show his support to the cause and his usefulness to the group.






Professor Moysei Pyre