Heart of the World

kixinorbit

pigeons in a trenchcoat
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varies
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Prestige
  4. Adaptable
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  1. No Preferences
Genres
low/high fantasy, medieval fantasy, historical fantasy, sci-fi, cyberpunk, solarpunk, grimdark, gothic-horror, supernatural themes, limited fandoms, adventure
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
    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!​



Characters
  • Ilex Cassine
    Nymph | 22 | Taithros
    Name:
    Ilex Cassine

    Nickname:
    None

    Race:
    Nymph

    Age:
    22

    Home Territory:
    Taithros

    Profession:
    A little bit of everything: lockpick, thief, sailor, skald ... He's truly a jack of all trades.

    Description:
    Ilex is a fairly average 5'10", with a frame more suited to running and climbing than lifting weights or clocking chins. His skin is almost deathly pale, his hair a shade darker than paper. Two, large green eyes are the main draw of his boyish face, followed by an ever-present smile. Upon close inspection, his skin is nearly papery, like a thin bark, and it is soft to the touch, but not the consistency of human skin. This is most evident at the bend of his joints, where it somewhat flakes away to reveal a fresh, greenish layer, with a feel almost like thick petals, while the callouses on his hands have a much harder, barklike consistency. He is very humanoid in comparison to his other nymph kindred, able to pass off as a human from a distance relatively easily. Depending on season, sometimes he has small, trumpet like flowers sprout under his hair.

    However, like the rest of his nymph kindred, his body is beginning to fail him. His skin is a less healthy white, instead shading to a shade of gray. It is obvious that this is a sick nymph, whatever his smiling face might say.

    Personality:
    Ilex takes almost nothing seriously. He is puckish by nature, prone to cracking jokes and enlivening others - and distracting them, as well. He is highly charismatic, with a slight flair for the dramatic, and he enjoys a good show as much as anyone else. He is likewise a fantastic liar and prank, finding it fun to watch others deal with the confusion he instills just for kicks. He does understand when enough is enough, however, and he is sympathetic to the sufferings of others. He has a little bit of a wild streak, tending to go off on his own and do a bit of a job solo, especially to sate his own curiosity, a near compulsion to know things which others wish to hide. That said, his myriad of jobs - many of them illicit - has granted him a rather cunning mind, always thinking several steps ahead.

    Bio:
    Ilex Cassine was born in the manner of most nymphs - through their union within a single tree. However, unlike most nymphs, he was not just born anywhere - he was born in the heart of the Empire, in Taithros - not from just any tree, but a datura. From the very outset, it seemed his parents had planned for him a purpose already in mind. That plan, unfortunately, was never articulated, as Ilex was left, orphaned, on the streets. He matured quickly and learned hard the world of the capital city. A nymph like him stood out, and without his parents to guide him, he was left to his own devices. The pecking order was not kind to him, as a sickly nymph with no one to look out for him, until one day he was caught stealing.... and offered a job.

    From that point on, he grew a reputation as someone who had... a particular brand of skills. The underground world of Taithros, of its beggar children, of its night women, of its contraband goods and its nobles with their wants, soon became his playground. To those willing to learn the ropes, so to speak, the doors opened were endless. Always there was crime to be had, needs to meet. He did a little bit of everything from that point, keeping his ear to the ground for better and better contracts, though nothing that would necessitate his hands getting too dirty. It was through this network that he first heard about Kiernan's Rebellion, their attempt to revive the World Tree and right the rocking ship they all happened to live on. Of course, despite his image and less-than-shiny background, Ilex had no desire to see famine sweep the land, for the continent to be plunged into lawless darkness. Instead, he decided to offer his... unique services... to the rebellion instead, knowing that eventually they might need someone who could smuggle them around.

    And on top of that... this may be a way to get back in touch with a people he had never known.

    Magic:
    Elemental earth magic (beginner)

    Skills:
    - Lockpicking/breaking
    - General person-to-person combat, with and without weapons
    - Strategy and planning
    - Networking
    - Juggling (just for fun)
    - Knot-tying (it is a surprisingly useful skill)


    Strengths:

    - extraordinarily even-keel even as plans fall apart
    - able to improvise
    - works independently very well
    - an amazing liar
    - good for morale

    Weaknesses:

    - tends to underestimate enemies and fortifications
    - currently not at his physical best
    - a fan of fancy plans -- which can get out of hand quickly
    - lets his curiosity get the best of him far too often

    Romanceable:
    No. c: Sorry.

    Artist:
    awanqi


  • Kholas Abalyshevska
    Goblin | 33 | Taitelle
    NAME

    Kholas Abalyshevska

    NICKNAME

    Kho
    Sunshine (Used exclusively by Linnae)

    RACE

    Goblin

    AGE

    33

    HOME TERRITORY

    Taithros, Taitelle

    PROFESSION

    Healer; Organizer of Rebel Remains

    DESCRIPTION

    Tall for a goblin, Kholas stands just over five feet in height, though he still is comparably small to most other denizens of Aetheria. His complexion is green-toned with darker markings over his head and back. Vast, bat-like ears protrude from the sides of his head, with his right ear bearing several piercings. Though he has a flat and rather serpentine nose, the rest of his features are sharp and angular, giving way to dark, silken fur around the edges of his face and jaw. Bright crimson eyes are often lined with kohl, a trend shared by many goblins from Khal Miras.

    Possessing a small and lightweight frame, Kholas highly favours dexterity over strength, though he certainly doesn't look the part of an athlete. Perhaps somewhat unbefitting a healer, he wears his clawlike nails long, though they are kept meticulously clean. Generally well-groomed, he is fond of darker, heavily-saturated coloured garments, which are sometimes accented with small "souvenirs" from his work. A large, carved wooden skull can generally be found lashed to his right shoulder, the enchanted stone inside serving as a magical reservoir of sorts.

    PERSONALITY

    Though not as callous as he might have you believe, Kholas isn't exactly overflowing with warmth and generosity. Perhaps the kindest word one would use to describe him is "incisive," though most would settle for something closer to "acerbic." Results driven, Kholas is tireless in his work, be it his practice of healing, his research, or his efforts with the rebellion. With a record of achievement he has no intention of relinquishing, Kholas is relentless in pursuit of his goals. Shrewd, clever, and confident in his own abilities, the goblin can sometimes come off as conceited, though he has the ability to back up his claims. He has little patience for those he perceives as close-minded or melodramatic-- and even less patience for those who cannot say what they mean. Though not the kindest or most morally upright individual, Kholas can always be relied upon for honesty or a practiced hand in matters of healing.

    BIO

    Born and raised in Khal Miras, Kholas was fortunate to discover his magic abilities early on. Tireless study and relentless practice saw him rise quickly through academies and gain entrance to the prestigious Magesteria Academy in Taithros, first as a student and again as faculty. While his main focus was magical medicine and healing, he also began extensive research in channelling abilities. Afflicted with an unknown ailment that causes periodic pain, fatigue, and weakness, he was sometimes forced to rely on others to provide him with magical energy when his skills as a healer were needed. Wishing to be more self-reliant and to contribute to the collective knowledge of the Academy, Kholas threw himself into his work on developing methods of storing magic.

    With a partial success, his research was deemed to be of great interest to the Empire, and he was given extensive resources and a team to help him further develop his magic "reservoirs." It was through his research that he discovered shards of the guard stones were still preserved in the Academy, and also how he first met Kiernan. Academic interest turned to friendship, and Kholas began aiding Kiernan in his efforts to better understand the guard stones' relationship to the Tree and its magic. When messages of blight and fading lands reached Taithros, Kholas was quick to back Kiernan's claims and support his rebel cause. Because of his staunch and outspoken support of the known rebel leader, Kholas was forced to flee the Academy when Kiernan was arrested, leaving his work behind.

    Though it took some time to regroup with Linnae, an unlikely friend introduced to him by Kiernan, Kholas vowed to carry out Kiernan's vision of restoring the Tree and eliminating the Taitellen Empire.

    MAGIC

    Restorative - Healing & Channeling

    SKILLS

    • Anatomy and medicine
    • Planning and information-acquisition
    • Innovation and problem-solving
    • Potion and poison-crafting

    STRENGTHS

    • Exceptional healer
    • Resourceful and quick-thinking
    • Relentless in pursuit of goals

    WEAKNESSES

    • Lacking physical strength and periodically enfeebeled
    • Routinely overworks himself
    • Sardonic and abrasive

    ROMANCEABLE

    Yes

    Artist:
    Nicholas Kole


  • Laceae
    Nymph | 45 | Taitelle
    Name:
    Laceae Magnolia Obovata Asiaticus

    Nickname:
    Lia
    Buttercup (by family)
    Maggie (by family)

    Race:
    Nymph

    Age:
    45

    Home Territory:
    the woods west of Thaemar

    Profession:
    Herbologist, Healer

    Description:
    At a quick glance, this nymph in her outerwear is easily mistaken to be human, though perhaps a short one. Her smooth, blush skin and her meager height, just a few inches above four foot, have tricked many into believing the young nymph to be a human adolescent. But just beyond her neckline, her petal-soft skin transitions first into a sensitive, leafy green and then into a rough, flaky bark around her extremities. Laceae's fingers are twiggish, with bark that splits around her joints to reveal the pale pith inside, and her bowed calves are even darker in color and somewhat thicker skinned. Like an exoskeleton, this bark also follows up her spine to the base of her neck. From there grow the thin branches framing her scalp from which bulbous blossoms grow in pale pinks and oranges. The flowers and their leaves weave through her white hair, which grows sometimes so thick that it smothers the flowers with its volume. Smaller flowers bud and bloom along her hands and legs, the same pale tone of her hair. Her eyes are amber in color.

    Laceae's bowed legs are only one of several physical defects she possesses, though they're perhaps the most obvious. Her spine has a slight curve and her shoulders uneven, though not enough to affect further affect her gait. Several of her fingers also lack the flexible interior pith and are instead tough, immovable bark. She suspects that she would be a few inches taller had she a straighter back and legs. Additionally, the greenish skin on her upper left arm and shoulder are dark and tough with scarring. She prefers to dress in lightweight clothes, as scratchy fabrics irritate her softer skin, and heavier ones damage the flora around the upper half of her body. One allowance she makes is for a gifted, sleeved cloak which she wears into large cities and cooler climates.

    Personality:
    At her core, Laceae is a mother. She carries strong maternal instincts that carry into her medical career, resulting in unusually fierce, protective behavior over her patients. Over time she grows to feel similarly about companions and friends, and treats those close to her like an extended family. This extended family is massive, and ever growing. Her interest in travel has shown Laceae all around the world, and she adds each new friend to her mental connections catalog, many of whom she loves like children, siblings or aunts/uncles. She loves easy, and hard, and takes betrayal very personally.

    What Laceae lacks in body she makes up for in zest. Shes an outrageously joyful spirit and a loud personality, which often manages to make her seem bigger than she is. Her strong presence is largely attributed to her confident manner of speaking--without yelling, she manages to project her voice in an authoritative way that manages to avoid sounding rude or commandeering. A bubbly and typically positive attitude give her a few more inches to boot. Since she was young Laceae was always an outspoken individual, even sometimes to her own detriment. She sometimes lack the foresight to hold her tongue, and holds the belief that honesty is always the best policy, even when the truth hurts. Abundant with confidence, she is fearless pursuing her beliefs and goals.

    Bio:


    Laceae grew up in a small grove near the woods west of Thaemar, occupied by herself, her mother and her many siblings. Her mother, unusually involved and maternal, was the glue that held their family unit together, teaching her children to garden and grow the many herbs she'd gathered on her adventures across Atheria. She would tell stories to Laceae of great adventure, where Laceae herself was always the heroine saving her mother's fictional worlds. When she began to grow ill, their family began to grow apart. Several of Laceae's elder siblings moved on to live more solitary lives, while her siblings with youth grew more separated from their previously tight knit family life. Their grove garden began to wilt. Desperate to heal her mother, Laceae first tried to use her weak healing magic to treat her mother, and when her efforts failed, enlisted the help of Thaemar's greatest healers, but none could slow the progression of her mother's illness, and she eventually died.

    Laceae was riddled with misplaced guilt, and helplessness. What good was her magical gift if she couldn't save her own mother's life? Distraught, she impulsively decided to return to Thaemar with one of the healers, who took her on as an apprentice in the city. Though he couldn't teach her much in the ways of magic, he began her traditional education in medicine. Not long after her arrival in Thaemar, she grew thirsty for more knowledge, and for more opportunities to help others in need. She began to travel from city to city, learning from the healers as she went and catching rides from caravans and messengers to save her the exhaustion of walking the roads with her ambling gait.

    Eventually her travels brought her to Tórlinn, where she settled down with a medical crew tending to the mine workers. Here she met Shaela, a young horned woman and single mother to a half human half horned daughter, Raycene. Their love was hard, and fast, and short; Shaela fell to black lung, and too stubborn to quit working, it became deadly too soon to be treated. Laceae did what she could, healing with her novice magic and with her homebrewed medicines, but after only a year together, she passed away, leaving Raycene in Laceae's care.

    Once more feeling like a failure, Laceae took Raycene with her to Taitelle, where she sought a proper magical education at the Academy. She met a small group of nymphs displaced from Eldan by the cropland expansion and took up residence with them. She found sweet commonality in living with working nymphs, and in sharing their pains over the slow poisoning of Alterra's environment. It seemed every day more people came to the city seeking refuge and food that there simply wasn't to be had. Laceae took to offering free medical care to such refugees, creating her own medicines from the herbs in her garden. She eventually found herself taking on a role more involved than that of nurse; unwilling to watch young children starve, she adopted several more youths into her shared home.

    In the capital, Laceae was introduced to imperial politics, and before long began to hear whispers of rebellion. At first, she vehemently avoided these whispers and the people who spoke them, unwilling to become involved and risk the safety of her family. It was when Raycene was arrested due to rebel involvement that Laceae experienced a shift of opinion. Her home became a halfway house for those wanted by the Empire, and she used her magical gift with earth to coax her garden into growing faster and stronger so that she could feed her many charges. Some of the Eldan nymphs she originally sheltered with supported her; but others disagreed with the risk she was taking, and left to live in Estura. Although it pained her, she sent several of herbadopted children away too to live with family in her homeland grove.

    Initially when Laceae received the letter, she felt skeptical. She was playing her own part, and couldn't abandon her children and family. It wasn't until a rebel refugee told her that her daughter Raycene till lived that she made up her mind to accept and take a role in saving the world. Her mother, she felt, would be proud.


    Magic:

    • Restorative: Healing and Enhancing
    • Elemental: Earth

    Skills:

    • Herbology & Botany: skilled with identifying, utilizing and growing various flora, particularly medicinal plants and herbs
    • Culinary: though a vegetarian, Laceae has a knack with food and a strong palette, particularly with pastries (though her sweet tooth isn't quite to everyone's taste)
    • Tinkering: when life gives Laceae lemons, she experiments with them! She often uses homespun tools to help her with life's everyday activities. Among her favorites are a glove to help her grip her sewing needle, and the "arm-extenders" she uses to cook while keeping a healthy distance away from the fire (one can never be too far away from a flame!). Not all of her gadgets are particularly sturdy, however...
    • Medicine: Laceae has been studying and using traditional methods of medicine since before she began to study magic. She has a strong understanding of physiology and pathology, making her particularly well suited to treating disease and infections, but is also practiced in tasks such as bone-setting, diagnosing and some surgical procedures.
    • Sewing

    Strengths:

    • Empathetic and motherly: Laceae makes a particularly good nurse to the sick and injured, not just because of her medical skills but because of her empathetic and caring attitude
    • Creative: being somewhat maladapted to the world, Laceae had to grow accustomed to finding her own solutions to everyday problems.
    • Natural navigator
    • Collected
    • Astute

    Weaknesses:

    • Maladroit: Laceae, unlike others of her kind, lacks physical agility and can struggle with dexterity due to her bowed legs and the stiffness of some of her fingers. While she still possesses stamina, she struggles with maneuvering obstacles unaided in unfamiliar environments, and walks with a visible limp. She refuses, however, to carry a cane or any sort of walking aid.
    • Gaps of knowledge: though a great doctor, Laceae is primarily accustomed to family medicine. She is not particularly skilled with poisons, curses or battlefield care and may struggle without her handy medic kit
    • Combat deadweight: that is to say, Laceae has never received combat training and doesn't want to. She will defend herself, but isn't inclined to carrying a weapon and would rather flee or hide than attack
    • Blunt
    • Pyrophobic

    Romanceable:
    Yes

    Artist:
    Lourdes Saraiva

  • Linnae
    Nymph of Aquifoliaceae | 75 | Estura
    Name:

    Linnae Ilex Aquifolium of Aquifoliaceae

    Nickname:

    Holly
    Brambles (used exclusively by Kholas)

    Race:

    Nymph

    Age:

    75

    Home Territory:

    Outskirts of Caelora, Estura

    Profession:

    None

    Description:

    For a nymph of her species, Linnae is somewhat stunted in height, being only 5'3" from her heels to the branch like 'hair' on her head. She blames it on the current situation with the guard stones. Her skin is soft, and closer to actual skin than bark, and a pale olive in color. Linnae has dark ruby red eyes. At first glance, she does appear more humanoid than some of her brothers and sisters, although the supple twigs coming from her make it apparently plain that she is anything but human. During periods of growth, short green leaves sprout from the twigs and sometimes produce small holly berries.

    Do not eat the berries. Holly berries are poisonous and Linnae will be annoyed.

    Having spent so much time mingling within Taithros in order to stay close to Kiernan and the rebellion, Linnae grew comfortable with the idea of donning layer upon layer of the garments typical humans wore in order to blend in. Within any densely populated city, Linnae wears the long robes of a scholar, with a delicate mantle to cover her head - one of the few personal effects of the nymph's. Anywhere else, she prefers something that is easy to move in. Outside the city, Linnae will typically wear a sleeveless tunic tied at her waist, with leathers and flat sandals.

    Personality:

    Years of witnessing the destruction and vandalism of the Forest of the Ancients, and its precious Heart, have made Linnae wholly distrustful of all races and left her with vehement opposition to Taitellen rule. She regards strangers with skepticism and often times an air of hostility that does not go unnoticed. To friends and allies, Linnae is actually quite relaxed and temperate in nature, although it takes time before she considers a person to be close enough to be called as such.

    The Nymph is not cruel. She is guarded, cautious, and harbors feelings of disapproval not unlike those living within the larger capital cities of the five greater nations. However, it can be difficult to see past her initial persona. Once allied with Linnae, she is incredibly loyal and wants nothing more than to provide whatever assistance she can. Then - she is friendly, warm, and would do nothing short of take an ax to the arm to see her family safe.

    Bio:

    Linnae was born not long after the removal of the guard stones was deemed necessary, and was a young sprout of a nymph when they were removed from the innermost center of the Forest of the Ancients. She claims to have few memories of the event, blocking them out from the chaos within the communities of nymphs in the wooded areas around and within the forest. But that claim is a lie. Watching, feeling it in the dirt and in the trees, as men came and shattered the enigmatic stones. That kind of horror as the very world she knew fell apart bit by bit, those kinds of memories were impossible to forget. She could feel the effects in the years after whenever she ventured too far from the forest itself, and at first she brushed it off as nothing more than discomfort being so far from home. But the lethargy, the rumors from the far-reaching isles, Linnae found it too difficult to ignore. It wasn't until almost two decades later she met a most curious man, a teacher.

    He explained how he felt he had made a grave mistake in helping to remove the guard stones, and she felt inclined to believe him, but offered no help. Had less time passed, she might have held enough fury to end the man's life right then and there. Unfortunately, he was found and taken to Taitelle before he was able to carry out the vaguely detailed mission he had shared with the nymph. The then curious Linnae followed. In the years that followed she met his student, Kiernan, finding his company to be tolerable despite the city he hailed from. Linnae began to spend less time near the center of Aetheria, and more near the outskirts of the very city she hated. In time, she was introduced to Kho, and an odd friendship was formed. The rest, was history.

    Magic:

    ❧ Subliminal - Soothing & Hypnosis
    ❧ Elemental - Earth

    Skills:

    ❧ Gardening
    ❧ Botany
    ❧ Deception

    Strengths:

    ❧ Devoted ally
    ❧ Attuned with nature
    ❧ Physically strong despite small stature

    Weaknesses:

    ❧ Distrustful of strangers
    ❧ Declining health tied to the Heart of Aetheria
    ❧ Highly susceptible to heat and flame

    Romanceable:

    Sure if you want to bark up that tree...I'll be rooting for you.
    Yes. The answer is yes.

    Art:
    Credit to SEPHITROTH ART

  • Malik

    Human | 34 | Stillharbour, Ventha
    NAME:

    Malik Shendoa

    RACE:

    Human

    AGE:

    34

    HOME TERRITORY:

    Ventha

    PROFESSION:

    Previously, loyal soldier of the Taitellen Empire. More recently, deserter.

    DESCRIPTION:

    Standing at 6'2", Malik is on the taller end of the human scale, with a stocky build that even a year on the run couldn't quite diminish. His stature has traditionally been useful, what with the longer reach that comes with it, but he's gotten into the habit of slouching and keeping his head down since his desertion. Standing out in a crowd when one is a wanted criminal is bad, after all. A pair of old scars mar the right side of his face; one cuts through his eyebrow and curves uncomfortably close to his right eye, and the other slashes down his cheek and through his signature black-and-silver goatee. His eyes are a pretty blue-green, pale green around the pupil that shifts into blue around the outer edge of the iris. Black runic tattoos are usually hidden beneath the armor he wears far too often these days and the only other notable scars he bears are on his chest.

    PERSONALITY:

    Though the last few years have put a sizable dent in Malik's previously bold outward personality, there's no doubt that he remains an extrovert. He's patient and warm, the sort who makes a good listener and conversation partner...provided one doesn't mind his particular brand of blunt humor, of course. Malik was raised around sailors and dockworkers and spent his adult life surrounded by the common soldier - if someone is looking for politeness, manners, and a lack of cursing, they'd best look elsewhere. Something else that tends to come across soon after one meets Malik is his stubborn nature, as that stubbornness underlines many of the things he is and does. It makes him a dedicated ally and all the better at defensive magic. It also serves as the reason he spent so many years working for the Empire.

    BIO:

    Born to a pair of dockworkers in the ever-expanding port of Stillharbour, far in the south of Ventha, Malik had a simple and rainy childhood. When Malik recalls it, he usually tells of imagined adventures on the beach and watching all the comings and goings in the harbour with childlike wonder. When his parents recall it, they describe how adventurous and troublesome their son was with a fond sort of exasperation, and highlight his fascination with scaling Mt. Kinsae, which still looms threateningly over the island. Whichever version one chooses to believe, before Malik was twelve years of age he could tie an excellent whipping knot and had already collected a few scars.

    The pressures of adulthood began to press more on Malik as he grew into his teenage years. After eight months spent working on the docks with his parents, Malik came to the conclusion that life in Stillharbour wasn't quite right for him any longer. At age nineteen, he decided to enlist in the military. Serving the Empire that managed to remove the guardstones sounded like a truly excellent idea back then, and Malik is grateful for that chance to pursue magic, but sometimes...he wishes he'd thought to stay in the city of his birth.

    Four years after he joined the military, Emperor Ruslan died, and within a year the Sovereign Treaty was retracted by his replacement. Then only twenty-four, an apprentice Runic mage and a dime-for-a-dozen soldier, Malik had his first thoughts of rebellion. But he was a willful child that grew into a stubborn man, and he refused to abandon his choice of career. It took seven more years of carrying out Emperor Petros' increasing cruelties on the population for Malik to snap and abandon the banner he'd faithfully served for so long. He was lucky enough to trip over the Rebellion a few months after his desertion, and threw himself into proving himself to them with all the fierce loyalty he'd previously had for the Empire. Subtle he was not, but he was a fighter, intimately familiar with the Empire's tactics and training. A useful asset. Then Kiernan was killed, and everything fell to pieces.

    Malik has wandered for the months since, careful and cautious. It's dangerous to be a deserter in these times.

    MAGIC:

    Runic - Defensive, Warding
    Runic Tattoos
    - A set of three runes are inked across the outside of his left forearm to ease the summoning of his shield, and the backs of both his hands are each tattooed with a circle of defensive runes. The runes are functional, but artfully done; Malik likes to believe that form and function aren't mutually exclusive.

    Warded Amulet
    - Though it isn't so much an amulet as a smooth river stone hanging from a leather thong, it's marked with a ward which vibrates the stone whenever something moves within a short radius around Malik. He has to deactivate and reactivate it periodically to prevent the ward failing on its own.


    SKILLS:

    Magical combat, swordsmanship

    Ropework

    Planning and laying out fortifications & defenses


    STRENGTHS:

    Physically strong

    High levels of endurance and general sturdiness

    Dedicated

    Patient, nearly unflappable

    Considerate and empathetic


    WEAKNESSES:

    Too heavy for agility

    Terrible sense of manners and propriety

    Stubborn

    As subtle as a sledgehammer

    Worries about everything


    ROMANCEABLE:

    No

    ARTIST:

    Marccus, on Tumblr.

  • Melsinde Blackfinger
    Satyr/Female | 37 | Venthas
    Name:
    Melsinde

    Nickname:
    Melly, Mel

    Race:
    Satyr

    Age:
    37

    Home Territory:
    Venthas

    Profession:
    Chronicler; storyteller

    Description:
    Melsinde stands a petite 5'2", her horns barely pushing her to 5'5". Her build is best described as slender, with thin arms, spindly legs, and a swannish neck supporting a thin face. The satyr has a set of narrow hips, leading to a set of shaggy goat legs, as is the custom for her race. Her hooves are neatly kept, the fur a light speckled gray and black. Her skin is fair, with slight freckling and scarring from a storied life, and her coloring is light, with fawnish brown hair and light brown eyes. Her hair is often down, free-flowing around her face, falling to her shoulders. Melsinde's voice is a soothing, even alto, with a slight scratch from years of smoking a long pipe.

    She carries herself with regal, if a bit stiff, bearing, a countenance of confidence. Her clothing style is often in grayer tones, with flowing blouses and skirts covered by a well-worn, brown traveling cloak smelling heavily of tobacco smoke and earth. Her horns are well maintained, about two feet in length curving away from her face, often decorated with chains. Her fingers are ink-stained from long hours writing with quill and parchment. Her every move is languid, careful. Poised best describes her appearance.

    Personality:
    The single word that sums up Melsinde's personality is 'even-keel'. The satyr is calm to an almost catatonic degree, finding little to ruffle her feathers. Panic is not in her vocabulary, managing to keep her cool in trying situations. That is not to say she lacks emotion - merely that she processes events carefully and methodically, before finally digesting the events in question. Her sense of humor is wide, stomaching all manners of japes. There is little that offends her sensibilities. That said, she does have a deep, simmering anger when sufficiently disturbed, and she holds grudges for quite a long time.

    Bio:
    Melsinde is somewhat of an outsider, even among her own race. Hailing from around the Briar Glen, as a young satyr she was found by shepherds, alone and lost, somehow separated from her family. Moved by her apparent distress, the old shepherd couple took her into their home temporarily, knowing that there would no doubt be another group of satyrs to come through. However, time dragged on, and Mel soon became a part of their family.

    Yet, even with her adopted human family, there was a burning need to know what had happened to her biological parents. A wanderlust and desire to travel seemed inborn, faceted by the structure and discipline of shepherding with the couple that had raised her. When her adopted father finally died, she stayed for the funeral, though the rest of the family seemed unsure what to do with this additional member. Aware that she was an interloper in her own family, she chose to leave her elderly 'mother' in her foster sisters' and brothers' care, to search for her family... and perhaps run from a grief she had not totally processed.

    She traveled to Briar Glen at the age of seventeen, speaking to groups of satyrs in search of her family. However, so much time had passed, and she found the satyr almost as confusing as her adopted human kin. Eventually, she did find her lost satyr folk, and while they thought her as odd to them as they were to her, they accepted her with open arms, glad to have found a lost daughter. There seemed a lingering sadness in her, nevertheless, that would not abate. The lack of structure to satyrical life was difficult for her to adjust to, having grown used to often herding sheep, soothing sick animals, fetching hay and water. She eventually left them as an adult, feeling that there was still something missing to this life.

    Heading to the heart of the empire, she attempted to enroll in a school, and immediately she was enthralled by the act of penning stories, real and imagined. As part of the university in Taithros, specifically in the College of Annals, she soon found herself recording the rebellions and disasters going on in other parts of the empire, sojourning to bear witness to others' stories - but forced to write them in the Empire's favor, despite what she may see. She traveled, listening to and asking about the stories surrounding rebellion, loss, and hardship.

    This led to a vested interest in Kiernan's rebellion, hearing through the grapevine that there was a man looking to replace the Guard Stones that had been removed from the Tree. Painstakingly, she sought to build trust with the resistance force, feeding them information much sought after through the libraries she had access to, using her network of contacts to tip them off about patrols. In the meantime, she has helped to compile their information, curating the story of the rebellion - and the expedition to revive the Tree.

    However, a black cloud fell over when Kiernan was found out and sentenced to execution. Melsinde Blackfinger was requested to bear witness, to pen the proceedings and the event in question. She was present at his beheading, with a front-row seat and no choice but to pretend to be an impartial observer of the Empire. She can only hope that the presence of a friend gave him some little comfort.

    Magic:
    Subliminal: Illusory branch - Projection (only). Adept. She has been working on a way to store magical energy through a glass box that would later project events as seen through the eyes of the observing magician. It is a very slow process, however. She is particularly good at projecting memories, but only for short bursts of time. The effect is a bit like a vignette, with blurred edges and the most important or well-remembered elements standing out in stark clarity. She can also project multiples of herself within 20 feet.

    Skills:

    + Smooth Talking
    + Excellent audiovisual memory
    + Deductive reasoning
    + Can read and write


    Strengths:

    + Emotional stability
    + Great sense of hearing
    + Gifted in persuasion
    + Very good with maps
    + Perseverance

    Weaknesses:

    + Strictly non-combative
    + Easily distracted, especially by a good story
    + Little stamina
    + Physically average
    + Procrastinator/Perfectionist

    Romanceable:
    No.

    Artist:
    Aditya777


  • Miri Vaunea
    Horned/Human | 23 | Wyndfel
    Name:
    Miri Vaunea

    Nickname:
    None

    Race:
    Half human, half horned

    Age:
    23

    Home Territory:

    Wyndfel

    Profession:
    Silk merchant/Drug Dealer Psychedelic Fungi Seller on the side

    Description:

    Miri, like all half-breeds, takes after her mother, a human. She keeps her red, curly hair cut short to just below her chin because if she lets it grow longer, it tends to get out of control. She has light, freckled skin and wears large round glasses. From her father, she inherited two small horns that grow straight back from her temples, curling slightly upwards at the ends and blue eyes. Although her father was average height for a horned, her mother was fairly short. Miri is somewhere in between them around 5.5". She has 7 total ear piercings, 2 in each of her lobes, 2 in her left helix and an industrial in her right. Her body is covered in tattoos of various plants and animals, mostly on her back and legs. Most of them are kept covered except for a small tattoo of a mushroom on her left wrist and an opium poppy on her right.

    Personality:

    Miri somehow has an amazing memory and is extremely forgetful at the same time. She can recite a book word for word after reading it only a couple times but forgets things like appointments and important dates regularly. She gets distracted very easily and is extremely curious. Things about fungi pique her interest the most, but she loves learning about just about everything. In her free time, she enjoys cultivating her collection of fungi and drawing detailed diagrams. Cheerful and friendly, she tends to be overly talkative. Miri isn't afraid to say what's on her mind and can be very blunt. She is a very straightforward person and can have a hard time understanding people who are sarcastic and is a bit gullible.

    Bio:

    Miri's mother was the daughter of a wealthy silk merchant from Tumana. Her family often went on vacation in the Wyndel mountains near Tórlinn in the winter, which is where she meat Miri's father. She attended the Magisteria Academy, specializing in Runic enchantments and warding. After graduating, she turned down an apprenticeship and settled down with her horned lover in Wyndfel. The two of them love children. Miri has 9 younger siblings and the twelve of them all work together to keep their family business of selling enchanted armor, clothes and wards afloat. Miri proved to be horrible at both silk making and her father's trades of smithing and leatherworking. She did, however, have a talent in enchantments and wards. After finishing her work, Miri would often wander into the mountains around their home to avoid babysitting duty. She often spent several days at a time in them and soon, grew a special fascination for the fungi that lived there. Miri began cultivating her own mushrooms and soon became notorious among the community for selling psychedelics. Although she grew poppy, she never sold opiates. She only grew it because she found it fascinating that such an innocent-looking flower could produce such a powerful drug.

    As rumors of rebellion began, Miri's mother received a letter from an old classmate, asking for her help. Initially reluctant, she and her husband began secretly supplying the rebellion with enchanted items after seeing the effects of the crystals' removal on their home. After Kiernan's arrest, however, Miri's mother cut off all contact with the rebellion, afraid of putting their family and young children at risk. Her father reluctantly agreed and left the letter he received a year later on his desk unopened.

    Meanwhile, Miri, who spent much of her in the mountains, was among the first in her village to notice and voice her concerns about the dying vegetation. She began to become resentful of the empire. When Miri found the letter addressed to her father, it was the first time she had ever heard anything about her family being involved in the rebellion. She made the decision to join and left home.

    Magic:


    Runic - warding and enchantment

    Her poppy tattoo is a ward against subliminal magic. It doesn't make her immune but does help make her more resistant. Her mushroom tattoo is a ward against poisons. Unfortunately, she messed it up when making it and it also prevents her from getting high and drunk. Although she can do both enchantment and warding, her specialty is in wards.

    Skills:

    • Mountain survival skills
    • Growing and identifying fungi
    • Photographic memory

    Strengths:

    • Learns quickly
    • Skilled at Warding
    • Patient

    Weaknesses:

    • No combat experience
    • Easily Distracted
    • Can be forgetful

    Romanceable:
    Yes

    Artist:
    NA


  • Pan Tall-Bones
    Satyr | 21 years | Wyndfel
    Name:
    Pan Tall-Bones

    Race:
    Satyr

    Age:
    21

    Home Territory:
    Wyndfel

    Profession:
    Miner

    Description:
    Pan towers above his Goblin peers but is himself of unremarkable height at 5'7", though his profession keeps him solid and strong. His exposed skin tone tends to the light tan, while his fur tends toward a walnut brown. Scars shallow and deep etch his skin, as a smile perpetually etches his face.

    While he goes about in mining leathers on the usual, Pan does wear a mixture of hide and heavy bark armor to fend off the more territorial, mountain-dwelling creatures that occasionally seek to win back the caves the mining Goblins intruded upon.

    Personality:
    Pan is almost a prototypical 'good-ol-boy'. Raised to seek out those in need and aid them where he may, he is patient and trusting. That trust comes easily but is re-earned painstakingly, and he has no use for liars. His strong sense of justice has more than once prevented him from coming to a point of empathy, and bridges have been burned because of it, and sometimes literally. Mostly uneducated but a hard worker, and with an almost unerring sense of direction, Pan has made himself an asset to his adoptive family

    Bio:
    Raised from birth in the little-regarded Goblin mining village of the Heights in the Black Mountains between Estura and Wyndfel, Pan Tall-Bones was born to a refugee Satyr woman fleeing a fear she refused to ever name. He never knew her, she having survived his birth only long enough to wean him, leaving an old Goblin maester to adopt him and raise him with his daughter. Yigwit the Maester taught him as much as he could about mining, and Pan became valued in the community for his size, being therefore much more efficient than the average Goblin at their mining. Moreover, he was far a more threatening presence to the cave-dwelling predators and mountain stalking monsters than his fairly short family, which only made him more popular.

    Yigwit called Pan into his hut one day with a grave expression. The world was dying, he said, and its one vocal proponent had been killed for daring to say something about it. Pan, furious at this injustice, asked how it was Yigwit even knew about all this. The Maester, it seemed, had been in contact with Kiernan, the man in question, and being something of an expert on all things Stone, had been advising him on the subject. Moreover, Yigwit explained, Pan's foster-sister Periwinkle had discovered the week previous a metal that enhanced twofold the effects of runic magic that it was charged with. The rebellion, what remained of it, could surely use the material in their weaponry, Yigwit surmised, but they had to know about it. Pan accepted his task willingly, and packing his bag with two samples of the metal, one blank and one charged with defensive wards, supplies, and strapping an axe forged by Periwinkle to his back, he set off for Taithros.

    Magic:
    No magic

    Skills:
    Pan is a miner by trade, so his skill set mostly falls under that purview. He is also reasonably handy with weaponry, if never properly trained.

    Strengths:

    • Strength (literally; breaking and hauling rocks for a living will do that)
    • Agile climber
    • Proficient and creative cook (to a goblin palate, anyhow)

    Weaknesses:

    • Struggles understanding anything more complicated than a wheelbarrow
    • Uneducated and mostly illiterate
    • Ignorant of the world beyond his borders

    Romanceable:
    ...Yyyyyes?

    Artist:
    https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/asset...a-bonacini-schizzi-uomo-bestia.jpg?1492373841

  • Penelope Pexori
    Horned | 26 | Bard
    Name:

    Penelope Pexori
    [spoili]Prudence Hawthorne[/spoili]

    Nickname:

    Penny

    Race:

    Horned

    Age:

    26

    Home Territory:

    Tórlinn, Wyndfel

    Profession:

    Bard

    Description:

    Often times, you'll hear Penelope strumming a tune on her worn down lyre before you ever see her face. Her melodic voice is often described as being soothing, and pleasant to one's ear. She stands tall at an even 6'0" with sharp features and a permanent smile etched onto her face. She often wears the same deep purple coat, a gift she is sincerely grateful of. Otherwise Penelope can be most often seen wearing tunics ten sizes too large, cinched with thick belts to keep her figure about her. Two horns curl horizontally away from her forehead, tips pointing towards the sky. Her skin is an ashy gray tinged with a light blue color. From head to toe she is covered in minor scrapes and burns, the most obvious she keeps under wraps around her wrists and arm for when she is performing. Penelope has thick black hair with a few interwoven braids, and two bright blue eyes.

    Always at her side is a large black and gray cat named Jack.

    Personality:

    Penelope is good-natured at heart, an altruistic soul with the best of intentions and nothing to her name but the shirt on her back and the lyre in her hands. She'd give her last coin to a complete stranger for no better reason than because they'd asked. Although her generous nature makes many think the horned woman is a bit of a pushover, she is anything but. A girl still needs to eat, after all. Despite the open friendliness she displays, the horned woman never talks much about herself, preferring to keep her own life private.

    She tends to dote on her friends at every opportunity. And to Penelope everyone is a friend as soon as she knows their name. Penelope isn't one to display weakness, and has a difficult time accepting help from others. Call it pride, she just doesn't feel comfortable taking more than she needs. Considering her personality Penelope tries not to think about the obvious hypocrisy.

    Jack is the best. He's a sweet cat with so much love. Air biscuit master.

    Bio:

    Born in Tórlinn, Penelope Pexori was born Prudence Hawthorne to a well to do couple in support of the Empire. She spent the early years of her life in her mother's shadow, who worked the medical tents outside the larger mines and assisting those who had been injured mining or smithing. Her father was a soldier for the Taitellen Empire and his loyalty to the military was unquestionable. In time, he earned a promotion and the family was relocated to Taithros. It was during this stressful move in which Penelope first discovered her innate ability for healing. While her father was ecstatic, her mother showed signs of unease with every improvement the young girl made. At the age of fourteen, her father had her enrolled in the military to hone her abilities and support the Empire. Her mother didn't approve. Her parents constantly fought over whether or not it was appropriate for her to be enlisted at such a young age. Then, one day, her mother fell ill and within days lost her life to an unknown ailment.

    It wasn't until years later Penelope finally learned the truth. In a drunken episode, her father finally admitted he had poisoned her. It was for the good of the Empire, he had said, and that she was not a true supporter of their Emperor. When Penelope discovered her father was behind her mother's death, she was devastated. The last two years of her life she'd spent in the military on her father's order and decided she had to leave at the age of sixteen. They argued, they fought, and in the end Penelope stabbed her father in his sleep and ran without looking back. Penelope isn't sure if he's alive or dead. She hardly cares.

    It was on the road to nowhere she encountered Octavius and Beaumont. They were kind enough to let the starving girl travel with them, even going so far as to help her find a place in one of the many schools at Khal Miras dedicated to fine arts. It was Beaumont who encouraged her to take up the life of a bard after listening to her sing on the road. She dedicated her life to spreading joy and helping others, just as the two strangers had for her.

    There are very few people in the world who know of her actual history in Taithros. Penelope tells everyone she grew up in Khal Miras and her parents died when she was young to avoid the sensitive topic, and no one has questioned her otherwise.

    Magic:

    ❖ Restorative - Healing, Purifying

    Skills:

    ❖ Swordplay - Being in the military, even if only for a short while, came with some perks
    ❖ Identification of poisons and toxins - Training in the military has given Penelope the advantage of a wider array of knowledge of common poisons and toxins
    ❖ A variety of musical instruments, favors the lyre - She can play many instruments but this one is her favorite and the only one she owns
    ❖ Cooking - The young woman enjoys learning new recipes and is an excellent on the spot chef

    Strengths:

    ❖ Charismatic - friendly to anyone she meets and radiates confidence in her speech
    ❖ Purification - the branch of Restoration magic has always come naturally to Penelope
    ❖ Good natured - honest intentions, is always willing to go the extra mile for others

    Weaknesses:

    ❖ Hot headed - Hot tempered and foul mouthed, can be easily set off if one can find the right sore spots
    ❖ Lost - Directionally challenged despite her ability to navigate difficult terrain
    ❖ Reckless - Emotions tend to blind Penelope from rationalization, she has little regard for the consequences

    Romanceable:

    Absolutely.

    Art:
    Credit to WingBuffet Twitter

  • PHINEAS
    Human | 36 | Taithros, Taitelle
    Name:
    Phineas de Pemos

    Nicknames:
    Fin, Finny (for his lovers only)

    Race:
    Human

    Age:
    36

    Home Territory:
    Taithros, Taitelle

    Profession:
    Ghostwriter (and impromptu advisor)

    Description:


    Phineas is an impressive specimen of man, gifted with a stature of 6 ft and impeccably handsome features. His body is lean and in good form, though to say he was athletically built would be a generous statement. He is meticulously well-kept, with nary a hair out of place on his head nor on his face. His hands and skin are surprisingly soft, a key indicator of the pampered life he has lived up until this point. When he walks, it is with a slight swagger, limbs loose and relaxed as if he hadn't a care in the world.

    His outer garments often betray him as someone of wealth. Try as he might, his penchant for finer things prevent him from wearing anything of poor quality. He tends to wear long tunics and high-collar shirts, staying away from the over-the-top robes his contemporaries insist on wearing. A steel sword hangs always at his side. At the hilt of the sword is scratched out hole where the family emblem used to sit.


    Personality:


    Endowed with a spritely and vivacious spirit, Phineas is not one to remain stagnant in his persona. Loving both life and all that comes with it, he lives each moment to the fullest, with a heady energy hardly found in men his age. He is a passionate man, whether it be in his love, his work, or anything else he sets his attentions too. Perhaps passionate to a fault; in his pursuit to experience all that life has to offer, Phineas is susceptible to making reckless decisions on a whim. He fancies himself a heroic adventurer of sorts and does not seem to realize that he is not, in fact, invincible.

    But he can be quite chivalrous. Phineas' immense respect for the opposite sex has put him in the mindset that they must be treated well at all times, as one would care for their own wife. He loves all women deeply and is quick to pursue it; race matters little to him. His affection towards them has spawned him no small smattering of lovers (and perhaps children) throughout Taithros, although he does not confess to committing to any of them.


    Bio:


    Phineas has never worked a hard day in his life. Being born to the Pemos family name came with automatic merits: endless coffers, elite education, and the immense privilege of being part of one of the oldest families in Taitelle. His parent's specific branch of the family oversaw tax collections for the main district of Portwatch and its surrounding residences. As the youngest of three, it did not fall on Phineas' shoulders to continue the family empire. Instead, for a time he was pushed to pursue a career in the Imperial Guard. Back then, his skill with a sword seemed promising. Delighted, he felt his calling was to be a valiant knight and signed up with the Imperial Guard as soon as he was able to. The experience was tragically short-lived. He never spoke of what happened to anyone, but sources claimed it involved a sword, his foe's severed arm, and his face planting itself into the ground. Phineas wisely decided on another career.

    He moved on to his next best talent: writing. It turned out that many high-ranking army officials and politicians were quite lacking in literacy and paid a pretty coin for someone to write speeches and letters for them. They needed something to infuse their image with intellect and charm, both of which Phineas possessed in apparent abundance. The demand for his written art placed him in a social sphere close to the Emperor and his associates, and by his 2nd year living in Taithros, he had firmly established himself as a fixture in Taithros' elite society. Around this time, Phineas made a sizable contribution to the Magisteria Academy, where he would meet his soon-to-be good friend Magister Aona. He often attended her lectures on the guardian stones, and in private they discussed the state of the world and the wide scale corruption he witnessed when associating with his "high-class" friends. It was Aona who finally introduced him to the rebellion.

    Phineas took her invitation to heart. He accompanied her to a small meeting of five, and although met with open hostility, he quickly pledged his support. The rebel cause utilized him to write anonymous and highly discreet missive to try and rally further support for the rebellion. Further, he would incorporate their words into current works he published. A rebel could identify a coded message from other literary works by a distinct watermark in the bottom right corner; after performing a short spell, the true words reveal themselves. He continued this work up until Magister Kiernan was executed. After that, he sought out Aona at the Academy but found her nowhere to be found. She had disappeared without a trace, and Phineas feared for the worst. Two months have passed with no word yet from her. It is his ardent hope that he will find her safe from harm at the next rebel's meeting.


    Magic:

    • Illusory (Glamour) - Adept, middle tier skill. Something that has more than once saved him from capture from would-be foes and spurned lovers.
    • Repel Enchantment - This enchantment on his sword allows any debris--blood, flesh, dirt--to be repelled instantly from his sword, keeping it clean at all times. A petty thing to most people, but necessary for Phineas.
    Skills:

    • Grand Orator - His immense skill with both spoken and written words allows him to give voice to the cause, as well as provide rousing speeches for low morale.
    • Bladesman - Phineas is an average swordsman, although he hardly utilizes it, preferring to spare weapons until no other recourse can be taken. The blade at his side is mostly for show.
    • Blockhead - He has a higher tolerance towards subliminal magic than most, and can sense when someone is employing it against him. In addition, his skull is very hard. Avoid headbutting him.
    • Sharpshooter - As with most things, he was tutored in archery in his youth. Phineas still retains a high level of skill as an archer despite his reluctance to engage in battle.
    • Escape Artist - He's had much practice over the years of breaking free from constrainments. Armed with a meager lockpicking skill and flexibility, Phineas is able to worm his way out of most traps and cages set upon him by others.
    • Mirror Image - His most impressive skill is the ability to mimick the movements, mannerisms, and occasionally voice of a subject after quick study. Combined with his illusory magic, he is able to create a convincing doppelganger of another man.

    Strengths:

    • Wealth - Being of the Pemos family, Phineas possesses a considerable amount of money, as well as the deeds to certain holdings in the territory of Taitelle, as well as one in Estura.
    • Links - Both his line of work and his family have provided him with valuable connections with both government and army officials, although whether they will provide much use is questionable.
    • Humble - Despite his status in life, Phineas is reasonable in his view of himself, thinking he is no better than any other fool put on this planet. His lack of an ego allows him to function well in team capacities.
    • Renaissance Man - Having gained a general education of most studies as a youth, Phineas is a cultured, intelligent man. He retains knowledge easily.
    • Big Heart - Phineas is an affectionate man and loves freely. He is known to be a fantastic lover.

    Weaknesses:

    • Gore - Phineas has a strong reaction to anything bloody or gory. He simply cannot stomach it; he will swoon.
    • Magic-less - Offensive and defensive magic never quite took to him, so he's quite ignorant and ill-prepared for it.
    • Lustful Eye - Beautiful creatures, predominantly women, distract him, to the point of abandoning tasks entirely. His insatiable desire for companionship can be a hindrance to others.
    • Noncommittal - Phineas is fiercely independent and wayward. Nothing can tie him down permanently, which makes him a flight risk if a situation turns hairy.
    • Rich Boy - Having lived a life of ease, he is unused to hard work and rough, poor travel. He stands out easily as someone of higher birth no matter how hard he tries to blend in.

    Other Info:

    • He's an absolutely atrocious flute player, but will insist on playing at any given opportunity. His response to criticism is that he's still "learning"-- despite the fact he's been playing since childhood.
    • Phineas is currently engaged to a rich heiress from Portwatch. He has been dodging the wedding for years now, which has moved his would-be bride to hire men to hunt him down and retrieve him. They have yet to succeed.
    • The Pemos family is widely despised by the common people for their widespread corruption and their collection of taxes for the Emperor. Although Phineas is cut from a different cloth, he often refrains from admitting his true identity upon first meeting individuals, especially fellow rebels.

    Romanceable:
    Yes, in every way

    Artist:
    (Include credit for FC artist, if applicable.)


  • Rahne O'Braoin
    Human/Female | 25 | Wyndfel
    Name:
    Rahne O'Braoin

    Nickname:
    None.

    Race:
    Human

    Age:
    25

    Home Territory:
    Wyndfel

    Profession:
    Ex-Soldier

    Description:
    Rahne stands proudly at a rather modest height of 5'4,the average for someone of her age. She has a strong, lean, well-muscled figure that screams fighter. As if they weren't enough, her body has various scars, across her arms and even the bridge of her nose and eye. It's quite rare to see her without some sort of injury. Her somewhat fair skin is often marred with bruises, or her fingers wrapped in bandages. Her hair is a salamander shade of orange and is kept straight and somewhat long, descending just past her shoulders. Her eyes are teal blue.

    Personality:

    Rahne is not the most intelligent person. She leaves much to be desired as far as formal education goes. She can handle the most basic of maths (so long as she can use her fingers), and she can read, though she isn't the fastest. Beyond that, she knows nothing, and even within that, she finds herself struggling often. She finds herself struggling when it comes to the nuance of social interactions, often misunderstanding a situation entirely, or even being fooled.

    But for what she lacks in intelligence she more than makes up for in ferocity, conviction, and heart. She's a stubborn and unyielding girl who, when convinced that she's right, is nigh impossible to convince otherwise. When she commits to something, she commits wholeheartedly, sticking with her decision until the end, even when the going gets tough. She always says what she means and means what she says, even if it comes across as offensive. She means well and tries to do right by everyone when she can.


    Bio:

    The eldest child born to her parents, Rahne was born and raised in Rola. As a child, she would go outside to play and often come back with scrapes and bruises from fighting with other kids or trying to do something dangerous to impress others as well as herself. This worried her parents to no end, and eventually resulted in her father to bringing her to assist him with logging, making her use her energy for something more productive than scrapping with other kids or pulling some dangerous stunt. The work was tough, but it was simple and rewarding, and Rahne quickly grew to appreciate it. But as she grew, her appreciation for the work was dwarfed by a sense of wanderlust, a desire for adventure.

    As Rahne grew older she began to grow bored with her life in the small town. It was pleasant, but it was repetitive. The days began to run into one another and she found herself unhappy with her life. It was on her 19th birthday that she made the only decision she could think of to get out of Rola and explore: enlist in the military. Unfortunately, her first few years as a soldier weren't what she thought they would be. While she was no longer bored with her life, it was far from how she thought it would be. While she had always pictured her life as a soldier as one of heroics and adventure, the cruelty of the empire did not sit well with her, affecting her sleep and even her appetite despite never partaking in the actions. Just sitting idly by and working with those who would follow through with any order, no matter how cruel was enough to make her regret her decision to enlist. She lasted only three years in the military before she defected.

    It wouldn't be long before she found herself shacking up with the Rebellion. To her, it was an easy choice to make. What the empire had become could not be allowed to stand any longer. If rebellion was the only way to bring about change then so be it. The only thing she could offer was her sword and skill, who would turn down another body to throw at the enemy?

    Magic:
    Runic - Offensive.
    Runic Belt - The runes engraved on her belt increase her physical abilities, allowing her to be stronger, faster and resist fatigue longer than she normally would. She can even take a few more blows than normal so long as the leather belt is wrapped around her waist.


    Skills:

    Swordsmanship
    Hand-To-Hand Combat
    Intimidation

    Strengths:

    Sturdy and Enduring
    Dedicated and strong willed
    Bold and unyielding
    Open and honest
    Agile

    Weaknesses:

    Rather stupid
    Terrible leader
    Speaks mind without thinking of the consequences
    Stubborn as a mule, not very flexible when it comes to opposing viewpoints
    Headstrong and rash
    Prideful

    Romanceable:
    Yes.
    Artist:
    Art is by Morry!


  • Eulalia Belemoux
    Lamia | 28 | Southern Luras
    Name:
    Eulalia Belemoux

    Nickname:
    Ula

    Race:
    Lamia

    Age:
    28

    Home Territory:
    Southern Luras

    Profession:
    Jeweler

    Description:

    When standing upright, Ula stands at an average height of 5'7" with a slim build. Her midnight-black hair falls past her waist and is often pulled back into a loose braid when she is working, revealing a pair of pointed ears. Her peachy skin is often decorated in various necklaces and jewels, a sign of pride of both her family and her own work. The toned muscles of her stomach slowly give away to iridescent black scales that seem more blue in the right light.

    Her full lips hide sharp teeth that she flashes liberally when irritated. Freckles span across the bridge of her nose. Her bright emerald eyes are narrow, framed by long lashes and dark eyebrows that are often raised in silent judgement.

    Personality:

    Ula had learned quickly that people didn't like her based off of her family line. Who could blame them? Her family had profited off of the Empire for generations. She wears this prejudice like a badge, keeping her chin high and never apologizing for the family that she was born into. Her pride is often her downfall, as she refuses to admit that her family was in the wrong for opening up trade with the Empire.

    Her enemies would describe her as two-faced while her friends would describe her as resourceful. She is fiercely loyal to those who gain her favor. Her allies' enemies become her enemies. When she isn't playing a part, she truly enjoys the company of others and finds it easy to relax around those that she trusts.

    Bio:

    Ula had always been ambitious, even as a child. Half of her time was spent watching her father twist shining metals and jewels into beautiful chains and bracelets while she spent the other half studying magic with her estranged cousin.

    Long before Ula was born, when Merizoc surrendered control to the Taitellen Empire, her family had been one of the few to benefit. They had taken their fine jewels and carefully crafted silks and begun to send those most comfortable with leaving their home territory to Taithros to trade. Their business had gone as far as providing carefully crafted jewelry for officials in the Empire. Her father had been the one to take their goods to the capital, a job that was to be passed onto Ula one day. As a young lamia, she'd accompany her father on long expeditions to Taithros to trade. She'd been fascinated by the Aetherian Market, from the different species that dwelt there to the wide variety of goods.

    It was when her father was falsely accused of conspiring with the rebellion and promptly arrested that the market lost its luster. She'd been 19 and unable to convince the guards that her father was innocent before she was forced to return to Merizoc.

    Upon returning home, her cousin approached her with an offer to join the rebellion and save her father. Her association with the rebellion began as a way to get her father back but slowly became a cause that she was loyal to. She hadn't realized that the Empire's actions had truly damaged the rest of the world. While the search for her father didn't yield any results, she did find a sense of belonging in the rebellion.

    She continued her father's craft of creating beautiful jewelry to sell, only this time she used her constant traveling to deliver messages for the rebellion. Despite her father's arrest all those years ago, her family still remained a renowned trader in the Aetherian Market. Her facade as the vain and materialistic daughter of the Belemoux family served her well, allowing her into upper class circles.

    Although she fights for the rebellion, in the end her loyalty is to her family and to making the Empire pay for taking her father from her.

    Magic:
    Subliminal - Alteration


    Skills:

    • Metal working; Ula is very good at creating accessories and light ornamental armor.
    • Gem identification; Ula can properly identify and work with most gems and precious metals.
    • Hand to Hand Combat; Ula learned how to defend herself once she realized that playing the role of a spy can be dangerous.

    Strengths:

    • Charisma; Ula's tongue is as silver as the metals that she works with.
    • Speed; Ula is fast and relies on this heavily during fights.
    • Adaption; Ula is very good at 'shedding her skin' and becoming whoever she needs to be for different social situations.
    • Connections; Ula has many connections from her time at the Aetherian Market.

    Weaknesses:

    • Endurance; while Ula may be fast, her stamina keeps her from maintaining her speed for too long.
    • Cold Climates; Ula cannot handle cold climates and finds it difficult to accomplish anything, even if she is wearing enough layers to be warm.
    • Ranged Attacks; due to her nearsightedness, she cannot see ranged attacks until they are literally upon her.
    • Pride; Ula does not take criticism about herself or her family very well and is not easily swayed on her opinions, even if she's wrong.

    Romanceable:
    Yes

    Artist:
    wlop

 
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PAN TALL-BONES​
x

The boulder was heavy, so heavy. Braced between his shoulders, upheld by quivering arms and shaking legs, the stone pressed down on the Satyr as purposefully as might a giant, and with all the intensity.

Each step was difficult, as if shifting legs of iron through molasses, and the light was so close, but the exit drew no nearer.

The stone must needs be removed, must be clear of the mine, and only here was strong enough to shift it, but the exit drew no nearer.

He tried, he did, to get the stone to the tunnel mouth, to move the blockage from the path, but the exit drew no nearer.

"I'll help," came a voice, gentle and sad.

"And I," said another, stiff and professional.

"Me, too!" whispered a third, eager to help.

And slowly, painfully, the exit drew nearer.


"Pan! I need your help- we need to get Malik inside. Now."

Like a coiled spring, Pan sat up, bracing himself against the ground as he blinked the sleep away. Where- what happened? Where was Melsinde? And- He looked down, Melsinde's gesture of kindness still keeping his legs warm. How had that gotten there?

Then Kholas' voice pushed its way through the haze of the Satyr's mind, and he looked up. His jaw went slack.

"Malik!? Spir'ts!" He jumped up, hooking an arm under Malik's and gripping his belt. "Thought youse dead!"

Tilting to bear the man's weight, Pan slipped his other arm behind the soldier's legs and lifted him, removing any burden from Kholas.

"Ah gottim, Kho. Ya grab tha blankit furra bandidge."

Groaning a bit at the weight, Pan left Kho to do as he asked and stepped off back toward Linnae's cottage.


 
Kholas Abalyshevska

Location: Linnae's Cottage
Collab With: @Spectre of the Fade @Lillian Gray
Mentions: @everyone
Relieved of the weight from the soldier leaning down on him, Kholas staggered momentarily before gathering up the blanket Pan had indicated. He did not plan to use it as a bandage, but he would need something to lay down under Malik as he worked on healing the man.

Darting inside and holding the door open for the burdened satyr, his eyes flicked around to find the sleeping form of Linnae, curled on the bed beside Melsinde.

Draping the blanket over an arm and setting about lighting candles, his commotion doubtless stirring others to wakefulness, Kholas hurried back to the man to survey the extent of his injuries, a candle holder in one hand.

Kholas' brow furrowed as the dim candlelight illuminated more of the soldier's injuries. He now saw that dried blood crusted along the man's face, running along the side of his bruised jaw. There appeared to be a deep cut across the bridge of his nose, and his thigh was leaking blood from what appeared to be the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from his leg.

"Lin!" Kholas called as he set down the candle to shake the blanket out, laying it out across the floor and indicating to Pan to put Malik down on the worn wool. "Lin! Wake up. I need some help, here."

Malik settled with a hiss of pain, careful to lean his weight on his right arm. Propping himself up was easier said than done, the movement pulling at the arrow shaft in his back, but he did it, ensuring he was up high enough that the healer could examine his shoulder. Kholas' sharp scrutiny was irritating, pressing on the instincts Malik had developed after deserting, but fuck. He was too exhausted for caution. Guy seemed to know what he was doing, anyways, which. Good. Reassuring.

The nymph stirred, blinking a few times before raising her head to see who it was that woke her from her peaceful slumber. Her whole body was stiff and incredibly sore. The nymph still needed several hours before she felt she would be recovered from the fire. Linnae blinked again when she saw the commotion taking place in her home.

"Malik…?" Linnae looked to Kholas incredulously.

"Shit," Kholas murmured under his breath, kneeling to trace a finger along the soldier's leg. Considerable amounts of debris had packed into the wound along the arrow shaft-- no doubt from crawling through a damn ditch. From the way the man was holding himself, he could only conclude there was a wound in his back as well. Bracing a hand against Malik's right shoulder, which appeared to be uninjured, he lowered the candle to examine his back. Another arrow shaft, broken off just above the dented hole in the man's armour, protruded from the back of his left shoulder. At least he hadn't tried to pull the arrows out. Good man.

"Lin," Kholas said again, "I need hot water, soap, and rags. Soldier boy is a fucking mess. Wake Laceae and ask if she has any type of analgesic in her kit. I also want to know what mushroom girl has on hand. If we can avoid putting him completely out while I do this, all the better. I have a feeling we'll have company sooner than we'd like it."

Turning his attention back to Malik he fixed him with a stern, somewhat bemused expression. "I don't know how the hell you made it back like this," he murmured, "but colour me impressed. Stay here."

"I'll try," Malik puffed, managing an upturn of his lips before he shifted a bit too much and the near-smile turned into a grimace.

Moving away to collect his bag, the goblin rummaged for a few moments before extracting his medical kit and dragging it back over and kneeling down on the edge of the blanket.

"Pan," he said, though his attention was largely fixed on his medical kit as he opened it, his tone now businesslike, "make sure Rahne is awake, then come back. We need to get his armour off. I want to do the shoulder first. Lin," he added in a louder voice, still not lifting his eyes from his kit, "we need those tracks covered up. I also need someone to take this ward and watch for anyone approaching."

"I know, Kholas, I know." Linnae sounded stressed.

First thing first. She hurried to the sink and turned on the tap. Cold. It was too cold. Linnae turned to the stove and reached for the flint. Her arm still wasn't obeying her commands, clutched in a rigid position to her chest. With a frustrated groan the nymph shoved the flint into her injured fist and struck it with the steel bit until a fire started on the open counter.

Okay. Fire was a start. She left the stove to warm and rushed to find Laceae and Miri. Linnae shook them awake without regard to how startling it was. Laceae first.

But the tracks.

"Kholas, is anything showing up?" Linnae gestured to the ward.

"No," he replied, sparing a glance down at the ward he'd placed on the floor near his kit. "I need someone who can read the sigils to keep an eye on it. Once I'm into this, I can't spare the attention." Not when I'm already this fucking tired.

"Right," he added, eyes flicking up to Malik's face for a moment. "This needs to come off and it's not going to feel nice." As he spoke, deft fingers worked the buckles of the armour free, pulling it open. "Pan, Rahne," the goblin said, not bothering to look over his shoulder, "hold him up so we can get this off. Is Mel or Phineas awake? Can one of them take the ward? What about Miri and Laceae-- what do they have on hand?"

 
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Melsinde Blackfinger

The satyr had collapsed into bed, finding no other venues open, once she had come back inside after writing extensively their exploits - with real names hidden, using pseudonyms throughout should those writings be confiscated. Having decided that a talk about the Shards and their bearer could wait until the morning, she had checked them on last time, ensuring they were exactly where she had left them in the lining of her cloak, and she had crawled in bed beside the sleeping Linnae, careful not to wake the fretful nymph in case she found she couldn't fall asleep again.

Thus, hearing a voice call out, at first she had thought it only a dream. Half-formed shapes dashed about in her mind, of figures running before a backdrop of flames. Faces blurred in and out, and at first, she thought she heard Blaine's voice calling in the maelstrom of people and fire. Yet, she couldn't reach him, not in the press, not leastwise because something was weighing down her cloak. She couldn't move, unable to abandon it for some reason.

Slowly, sense came to her though, and she roused almost immediately as she felt Linnae also leave the bed. The chronicler was not too far behind, taking stock of the situation. There was both an upwelling of elation, seeing one of their comrades, but it was bittersweet. Malik was wounded as well.

"I'm here, I'm awake! What is it we need? Good to see you alive, Mister Shendoa, though I regret the circumstances," Mel said quickly, ever managing some form of social grace despite the frantic air about them. She had caught largely the tail end of the conversation, and she had heard something about a ward. They weren't her specialty - illusory projections were her forte - but she could at least keep an eye on the thing in the meantime.

"I'll take up watch on this, Kholas. Attend to Mr. Shendoa."

The satyr picked up the enchanted piece of parchment. She knew better than to intrude on the business of her partners. They would need space to work. She rubbed her eyes, trying to stay awake. She had hardly got a few hours' rest, though luckily she'd napped before their debacle of a theft. In the mean time, she stood by the doorway, watching the sheet for any signs to appear with bated breath.
 
PAN TALL-BONES​
x

Pan had given the small space a quick glance when he'd gotten back inside Linnae's cottage, frowning soon after. There had been absolutely nowhere whatsoever to place Malik without simply dropping him on the floor or onto someone else. So he made due. With a muttered Hold mah shoul'r, he had released Malik's arm that had been draped behind his neck and swept whatever dishes and crockery from the table. The resulting cacophony was sharp, if not prolonged, and Pan had quickly stood back to allow Kholas space to work.

But there was no time to think or watch. The Goblin snapped further orders in his direction, and without thinking, Pan rushed about, searching for the red haired warrior. Panic settled in his stomach again, an unwelcome returning guest from the night day previous. At last, he found her. Walking Rahne to allow her to move on her own power would perhaps have been the more courteous thing to do. But the Satyr was in a hurry, and it was easier to just do it himself. Grunting, he heaved her over his shoulder in much the same way he had Melsinde before hurrying back to Kholas.

"'e showed up, Malik," he explained as he moved, not bothering to check if she was awake. "T'aint doin' good, though. We gotta help."

Setting her down beside the table, Pan shifted around to do as Kholas asked. He shot the redhead a look, smiling.

"'e'll be alrigh'."
@SkittlesAndSpike

 
Despite the blanket of exhaustion that embraced her, sleep avoided Laceae. After tending to Linnae the best she could for the time being, she settled outside on a cool patch of moss, hoping that if she closed her eyes she could imagine that she was at home. Alas, this forest was weaker than her own even though it grew without the city confinements that Laceae's did, and that pain was difficult to ignore. It reminded her too much of how her home grove had felt when her mother fell ill, and so before long she moved back into the crowded cottage, muggy with the warmth of sleeping strangers. She settled back into her chair at the table, short enough to somewhat prop her head against the back and find moderate support.

But her mind still wandered away from sleep. She would need to send word home, tell Gea and Asteria that she was leaving... was she leaving? With things as hectic as they were, she didn't know where they were even going, or when, or for how long. Could she in good conscience leave little Angelina behind? Or any of the other children for that matter, especially after the explosion at the Academy. The city would crack down hard on rebel activity, she realized--where would those individuals go, if she were not home to help?

But the draw of what the group had recovered at the Academy was strong. She wanted to see the stones; moreso, she wondered if it was not her responsibility also to help restore the weeping earth.

Sleep came in brief lapses of consciousness, interrupted by a growing ache in her neck and the intrusion of her racing mind. The night was long, and yet when she groggily stirred to the sound of movement nearby, it felt daytime had come too soon.

Dishes came crashing onto the floor beside her where she slept, jolting Laceae awake. It took several moments to blink sleep from her eyes and several moments more to register what was happening. She captured bits and pieces of the conversation, and then it dawned on her that the table was occupied by a rather large, rather limp male.

The man was a bloodied mess, though at first glance it seemed to be mostly old blood. It was difficult to see if he was even conscious from where she stood, but it seemed Kholas was talking to him. "Linnae?" She muttered as the nymph came to her side to rouse her. "Do we know this human?"

Regardless of Linnae's response she began to gather items from her bag. "Tell me how I can help," she said, deferring to Kholas. She set what was left of her bandages on the table, alongside a collection of medicines in small, labelled vials.
 
Rarely did Rahne have a restless night, but even rarer was it for her to sleep this good. After a successful mission, running a marathon to safety and a decent cry, she was nearly ready to pass out, only staying awake to fill her belly. The moment she was done filling her belly with potatoes, sleep claimed her, swiftly and without remorse, whisking her away to dreamland.

She was so deep in her sleep that she hardly reacted when Pan hoisted her over his shoulder, giving off only the faintest of mumbles. It wasn't until the satyr set her down that she truly began to awaken. With a heavy and obnoxious yawn, she drowsily rubbed at her eyes. "Right, got 'ta help. Ah'm ready. Ah'm ready." She was tired still, but her usual fire was coming back. "Whaddaya need me 'ta do?" She asked no one in particular. Finally, she moved her hands from her eyes to survey the situation.

"Malik!!" Her groggy appearance vanished, and in its place was a look that could only be described as pure, unadulterated joy. "Ya bastart, yer' alive!" On instinct, she opened up her arms to hug the man, only managing to stop herself just before contact was made. She'd only just now realized how injured he was, finally taking notice of the arrows sticking out of him. "Yer' in a bad way! Ya' got lucky, cuz Ah'd hug the everlovin' shit outta ya' if I could! I feart you were dead!" Her hands returned to her eyes, this time to wipe away the tears leaving her eyes. She was worried, but only barely. She was far more happy to see him alive and in the cabin than worried. Besides, now that he was back, there was no way she was going to let him die here.

In her moment of joy, she'd all but forgotten what Kholas's orders were, only remembering at her own mention of his condition. "Shite! Let's get that armor offa' ya!" She worked quickly, helping to remove his armor, all the while grinning from ear to ear, her face littered with tears. "We'll fix ya up good as new in no time!"​
 
After cleaning up, Miri had found a blanket and curled up in a corner on the floor in the kitchen and fallen asleep. She was having a wonderful dream about dancing cats when she was awoken suddenly by shouting and the door being flung open. MIri sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes, "What's happening?" Through half awake eyes she could see an unfamiliar man being sat at the table. As her brain slowly woke up, she realized that he was bleeding all over the floor and Kholas was asking if she had anything. She quickly stood up and grabbed the first thing she could see (her blanket) to mop up the blood on the floor. "I don't think I have anything unless he wants to get high." She told Kholas. "There aren't really any fungi that are useful in these situations. Let me check though."

She rummaged through her bag. "Oh! I have some anti-inflammatory stuff. Would those help? Other than that there's some stuff outside that's good for the immune system." She took a a small sack of dried mushrooms and put them on the table next to Kholas. and moved to the side so she wouldn't be in the way. "Hi! I'm Miri. I just joined yesterday. Are you in pain? If you can't handle it I could give you something to get you a little high. I've got some pretty mild stuff if it's your first time. They might make you nauseous though and you're already bleeding all over the floor. I don't really think anyone would be fond of cleaning up your vomit and your blood." She paused to take a breath and was about to say more but a glance at Kholas and Laceae working hard on the man's wounds shut her up. "I'll get out of the way now."

Miri quietly moved to the side to give the two of them more room, finding a place to stand next the Melsinde, "Maybe he knows what happened to the others who didn't make it back." She said to her quietly, "Maybe they can make it back too."
 
Kholas Abalyshevska

Location: Linnae's Cottage
Collab With: @Spectre of the Fade @Rainjay @ItariChan
Mentions: @Red Thunder @SkittlesAndSpike @Doctor Jax @everyone
The chronicler's greeting was nice. Eloquent. Good with words, that one. Malik didn't completely trust his own ability to string together a sentence nearly as nice, so he offered the satyr a nod in response. Another person he could confirm as well, whole, with the group. Another soft weight off his weary mind. Kholas, Pan, Linnae. Melsinde, now. There was a new face, too, someone he should probably introduce himself to. Now was maybe not the best time to do so, the more reasonable half of his mind suggested, and Malik's mouth closed with a click.

And...and then Pan deposited a certain redhead beside the table, and the arm Malik was using to support himself nearly gave out under the weight of his relief. Hearing that she was fine was one thing, but seeing her with his own eyes was better. Her eyes were quickly wet with tears, and the powerful twist of emotion in his chest had Malik shedding tears of his own in short order.

"Rahne!" She leaned in to give him a hug, and Malik made to return it...until the movement pulled hard at the shaft buried in his shoulder. Malik cut off the motion with a hissed curse, smacking his hand against the table. He turned the grimace into something approximating a grin and directed the look at his companion, his friend. His family, really. They'd deserted together, watched each other's backs. If something had happened to her... "Takes more 'n this to kill me," he offered, a little of her confidence in his tone and tears in his eyes.

With the ward under Melsinde's watch and having additional assistance from Rahne and Pan, Kholas climbed onto a chair and placed his kit on the table, then manoeuvred the armour off the soldier's arms with the least movement he could manage. When it came to pulling the pierced pauldron free, he slid one hand under it to gently grasp the broken arrow shaft, holding it in place to help minimize the damage and pain. His shoulder was, by all accounts, fucked. Nothing Kholas did would make it painless, but he would try to spare him where he could.


"Pull that straight back," he said to Rahne, nodding at the armour. Fortunately, it seemed the head of the arrow had created enough of a hole that the armour slid free without much friction. Producing a small pair of shears from his kit, Kholas cut the side seam of the man's shirt open and gently peeled it away from the wound and dropped it onto the blanket. Lifting the candle to examine the wound, he was slightly relieved to see that the arrow had missed the scapula. Likely due to his armour, the arrow had penetrated the rhomboid muscle, stopping only a couple inches in. Under the congealing blood and clinging debris, he thought he could see the edge of the arrow tip where it connected with the shaft.

Malik gritted his teeth through the removal of his armor, doing his best to relax. He'd been through worse, but fuck if he could think of an occasion. A new voice distracted him from the haze he floated in. Pulled him to the present. "Miri," Malik repeated with an affirmative jerk of his head, trying to sort through the rest of her words. Mild stuff? Nauseous? Oh. "Not my first time." Malik's chuckle was tired and pained, but his amusement was clear enough. "Can I-" He wiped at his eyes, then made a grasping motion with his right hand, hoping that got the message across.

"Laceae," the goblin said, looking over at the nymph with a quick glance, "can you get the mushrooms sorted out with Miri and then tend to his face? I want some drugs working before we do anything with that leg, but nothing too strong. Everything I've got wouldn't numb enough to be worth it on its own-- or it would put him down for hours, which is too long right now. We don't know if or when we'll need to move. I also have an apothecary pack in my kit if you don't; please put together an antiemetic to give him. I'd rather not see him worse off for vomiting all over."

Miri stepped forward excitedly when she heard Malik call for her. Finally. Here was someone that recognized the greatness of magical mushrooms. Not that she would actually know since they didn't work on her. She pulled out the mildest mushrooms she had on hand and showed them to Laceae, "These are the mildest ones I have on me. Would they work?" She eyeballed out a proper amount to give to him based on his size, "This is usually how much I would recommend to someone his size for their first time. But he said it wasn't his first time so we could probably give him a little more."

Kholas' instructions, direct and matter-of-fact, were what Laceae needed to shake the remnants of sleep off and get to work. She kicked aside a number of Linnae's poor dishware to make room for a chair of her own to stand on, and hauled her bag over beside it. She stopped before ascending to examine the horned girl's offering. Admittedly she knew little of the effects of psychedelics--she was a medic, not a 'spiritual healer'--but she figured a small dose combined with some other herbs could create a fair sedative.

"A small dose will be fine, else we might put him to sleep," she said, pulling from her bag a small mortar and pestle. "Grind them, with some of this... and this," she laid two small bundles of herbs on the table, "and add to some, do we have any tea? If not, add some honey, the extract can be a little bitter. Oh, and the antiemetic! No time for a tea.. try this," she procured an additional vial of a clear liquid. "Two doses," she said, eyeing the man's size, "half the vial. He should take that first. It is my strongest mix."

Leaving Miri to create and administer the sedative, Laceae turned her attention to the man's face.

Under the dried blood that caked the lower half of Malik's face, a cut slashed across the bridge of his nose - it wasn't a particularly grievous injury, but it'd certainly scar. Another one for the collection. Malik finally gave into the temptation to close his eyes under the nymph's examination.

Laceae began to wash away the dried blood and dirt gingerly, wiping gently around the man's nose until she could see the wound. It was nothing to worry about, at least, compared to his shoulder and leg. She cleaned it quickly, dabbing one of her ointments on before applying a bit of bandage. "Are you ready with that mix, ah, Miri? Bring it here. I am going to lift your head, now," she said to Malik, "This should help you relax. If you are lucky, you might forget of this pain tomorrow."

"Yes, it's ready!" Miri handed a bowl to Laceae. "Enjoy your trip! Hope it helps," she said to Malik with a large smile. "Let me know if you need more."

"Thank you." Laceae took the bowl in one hand, and held it to Malik's mouth while propping his head up the best she could with her free arm. "Drink."

Malik offered Miri his best attempt at a smile before he followed the nymph's instructions and drank. Bitter but sweet enough to not be unpleasant - far from the worst medicine he'd tasted.

Content to leave the medicines to Laceae and Miri, Kholas gathered the hot water, soap, and rags Linnae had brought over. Shifting them over to one side, he worked a rag into a warm lather and lifted it to the man's bloodied back.

"Touch," he murmured just before gently pressing the rag to Malik's skin. With any luck, the fungi Miri had provided would take effect quickly. Removing arrows was not an enjoyable experience. Not that scrubbing wounds was a pleasant feeling, but it was sunshine and rainbows compared to what was to come. Ideally, he would have the soldier lay face down, but the damnable leg injury made that an impossibility-- and he'd rather have him lay down to tend to his leg, as it looked to be the worse of the wounds. That, and he didn't want the man collapsing halfway through the procedure.

"Wouldn't have pegged you as the type to take anything...mind-altering," the goblin murmured as he worked. "Perhaps I misjudged you to some degree."

"I was a dumb kid. More balls than brains," Malik offered in explanation. His mouth twitched with each swipe of cloth. "Military beat me straight." A snort, rough but amused. "Not straight enough." An infamous rebel leader was the one poking at his shoulder, after all.

Merely arching a brow at the soldier's comment, Kholas tossed the bloodied rag aside and dropped a clean one into the dish and scrubbed his hands in the hot water. He then delved back into his kit to retrieve a small metal retractor, several stoppered glass bottles, and a small metal device that he slid on as one might wear reading spectacles. Attached to the right lens, an additional magnifying eyepiece with scrolling sigils around it protruded slightly. At a tap of his nail along the rim, the etched symbols began to burn brightly, creating a focused band of light at the very edge of the eyepiece, enabling him to work without holding a candle.

Unstoppering the largest bottle, he tipped some of the milky solution inside onto a spare rag and wiped down the retractor and then spread the rag on the blanket. It wasn't as clean as he preferred his surgical area to be, but the distilled plant sap work as an effective enough antiseptic in the given situation.

"Touch," Kholas said again as he laid one hand alongside the wound, gently palpating the muscle around the bruised and swollen tissue. Already, the skin around the wound had taken on a dark purple hue and a fresh trickle of blood was oozing from the bottom of the puncture.

"Have you had this done before?" He asked, pausing to adjust his eyepiece as he leaned in. "I doubt I need to tell you that it hurts like hell. I have to follow the shaft down and spread the tissue slightly so I don't do more damage when I remove it." Lifting the retractor, he rested it on either side of the arrow shaft, pressing against the skin. "I sincerely hope you're beginning to feel that hallucinogenic," he said, his sharp tone belying the gentle touch with which he worked. Still, no matter how gentle or practiced his hand, it wouldn't spare the pain of having a wound forced open.

Malik's eyes blinked open, his blue gaze dragging over the others in the room before landing on the table he rested on. The grain of the wood grew before his eyes, slow and deliberate, expanding without getting larger. "'S working," Malik offered, trying to capture the same sense of purpose in his blinks.

Slowly, Kholas slid the edges of the retractor into the puncture and squeezed the handles, pressing the opening wider, dabbing away blood with the rag in his other hand. "How did you manage to escape?" He asked, clicking the lock on the device to hold the wound open. Shifting so he could peer down along the arrow, he wrapped his hand around the wood and gently tugged upward. Good, it wasn't as deep as it could've been. Climbing up to kneel on the table to provide more leverage, he placed one hand beside the wound, holding the rag just below it and slowly began to draw the arrow free.

"If you can, walk me through what you did once the Academy went up." It wasn't imperative the man get all the details, but if he could focus on something other that having arrows yanked out of him, all the better.

Pain. Jagged pain, digging its teeth into his shoulder, his mind, his vision. Malik squeezed his eyes shut with a pained noise. Breathing was a task, but Kholas kept talking, and Malik focused so sharply on the sound of his voice. His escape? Walk him through that? Okay. Right. That was doable.

"I-I went into the academy." He'd seen Mel off, trusted Pan to keep her and the shards safe. Going with them would have been the safer option, but too many of their people were missing, and with the explosion… "Found a lotta smoke." Such an overpowering odor, he could practically smell it again, lungs burning as he searched in vain. "Found Pyre." The old mage lay crushed under a pile of rubble, and Malik could remember the sight with such heartbreaking clarity. "Dead."

With some effort, Kholas finally slid the arrow fully from the wound and dropped it onto the table. He immediately removed the retractor and pressed another rag soaked in antiseptic against the freely-bleeding puncture. Sitting back, feet tucked under him, and deftly opening another of the bottles with his free hand, he nudged the soldier gently and said, "lean forward the best you can." Removing the rag, he squeezed several drops of a dark, viscous liquid into the wound, then replaced the rag and closed the bottle.

Malik obeyed the instruction, hissing out a breath. He opened his eyes to see that the table's grain was breathing in ragged lines and promptly closed them again. "Shit, fuck. I-I left the academy." The words came in a rush as Malik struggled to get his chain of thought straightened out. "Found the centaur, then some guards. They- stopped us. Had to fight." A shot to his thigh from a crossbowman who soon regretted it. "Too many of them. Had to split up."

Taking a deep breath, the healer drew up the energy he'd taken from his reservoir earlier in the night, feeling it run through his chest, down his arm, and focus at the palm of his hand in a brilliant green glow. Sliding the rag away, he pressed his palm against the puncture and closed his eyes, directing the muscle fibres to begin knitting themselves back together.

Healing felt so fucking weird. Weird when sober, but with the effects of the mushrooms, the sensation was even more strange. A sharp prickling in Malik's shoulder, like trying to move one's foot after sitting on it too long, but so much more.

"Atlak took the letter. I led the guards away." Well, he'd tried to, anyway. It hadn't been enough. "Guards caught him, later. I managed to lose them. Hid for a bit." Snapped off the arrow shafts that stuck out of him. Reaching the one in his shoulder had been an awkward process. "Tried to blend in with the crowd, got out of the city. Didn't get too far. Guards were stopping people." Malik snorted softly. "Hid in a ditch before they got to me. Shit idea." He'd...he was gonna be sore, whenever he got a chance to sleep. "I didn't get a chance to run for it til it was almost dawn. Took a long walk. Got here."

The goblin's brow furrowed slightly as he worked, ensuring the wound was knitting cleanly, the muscle striation correct, orderly. Slowly. Slowly. Thoughts threatened to flood his mind as he worked-- Pyre dead, Atlak captured. That meant the Empire had the letter outlining the vague details of where they were headed. Going North was going to be a problem.

This, however, wasn't the moment to let his mind wander.

Fuck.

He was so damn tired he could feel the dark rings under his eyes. He was going to have to draw energy from someone else before he could even think of tackling the man's leg.

"How are you holding up, soldier boy? Still lucid?" I hope to fuck not…

"Still kicking," Malik replied, swaying a little as he tried to breathe.

"I need you to not do that." Turning his head to speak to the room at large, Kholas said, "we need a pillow and rolled blankets to elevate his leg. I'm going to need Penny down here, and we need someone else to clear away the dishes and ready the packs, but leave them upstairs for now. Make sure everyone is awake. Also," he now turned his attention to Miri, "I need a clean bowl of hot water."


"I'm on it!" Miri quickly scrambled behind Kholas to grab the kettle and a clean bowl.

"Laceaea, Rahne," Kholas said, finally sitting back and wiping his hands on a damp rag. "Help me get his pants off."

"Right away," Laceae shuffled her chair over, cringing a little internally at the crushing sound of dishes underfoot. She'd have to get Linnae some new ones after this was all over. With a set of small shears from her bag in hand, she readied herself to cut the fabric away--but abruptly paused before she began to slice. "Oh dear," she muttered. "I do not suppose Linnae has spare trousers that would fit a man of your stature."

"Rahne? How about you help roll them down to here," she gestured right above the wound on the man's thigh. He'd already snapped the shaft of the arrow short, so with a little bit of cutting around the existing tear, she would be able to ease the fabric over and salvage the article. Laceae carefully lifted away the cloth, working the fibres away from the blood that was beginning to congeal around the puncture. Then, angling her shears away from the shaft, she cut a small portion away.

The somewhat trivial task complete, she gathered the bunched up cloth once Rahne made it over and eased it over the wound, careful to lift the fabric over the shaft and not tug on the jagged edges. Now able to see the wound unimpeded, she grimaced. "You are tough indeed to make it here unaided!"

"Wanted to be tough when I was a kid," Malik volunteered, flexing his newly healed shoulder before shifting to rest on both elbows. "Like my mom." His head dropped back, eyes chasing the subtle patterns dancing over the ceiling. "Wonder if she'd be proud of me…"

"Tough or not," Kholas murmured as he knelt to examine the now exposed wound in the soldier's thigh, "this is going to be hell." There was no trace of the arrowhead and he had a sinking feeling that it had struck bone. By some miracle, however, it had missed the femoral artery. Still, pulling an arrow from bone was no mean feat.

"I really need those blankets," he repeated, his voice louder with a mild note of irritation. "And someone please get Penny down here."

 
Penelope Pexori


Who needs healing?
A soldier you say?
Sure! You bet! Penny's coming your way!
I can heal any man,
Satyr, goblin or horned,
I can even---
Shit
Is that Malik?
Shit I've gone and ruined the chord.
"S'mornin' yet?" Penelope grumbled.

Sometime in her sleep she had fussed about, rolling over to huddle closer to Beaumont for warmth until their horns were practically knocking against one another. They had been far from home for so long, and now they'd finally found them. Kholas and Linnae. The rebellion. She wanted to scream, she wanted to jump for joy! But she was also pretty tired, and sleeping another few hours sounded nice. Maybe if she began to count sheep, yeah, one sheep, two fluffy, woolen sheep...

"And someone please get Penny down here."

Penelope shot up. That was Kholas yelling her name. Why was he yelling at her? She was in bed, minding her own business. The horned woman stuck her head down the trapdoor so she could see onto the ground floor. Her dark hair fell around her in a bushy mess, horns keeping them out of her face. Once her eyes saw the bloody scene taking place over Linnae's dining room table, she saw the problem. She was in bed, minding her own business, instead of helping them with the man.

From upside down her vision betrayed her but she could have sworn the man looked familiar. As the group downstairs spoke, his baritone voice seemed to ring another bell. Some old memory came to her of her time training in Taitelle but, she didn't know the man sitting on the table.

"Beau, Beau wake up." Penelope shook the man, not waiting to see if he was awake before jumping through the door and stumbling to the floor below. Perhaps not the best idea, but the fastest one. Penelope sprang back up, all six feet of her rearing and ready to go. She looked a mess with her hair sticking out every which way, and the very clear lack of any trousers beneath her knee length tunic.

"I'm here, I'm here." Penelope sang.

Everyone seemed a bit too stressed out, rightfully so. A bloody arrow sat discarded on the table, its shaft bloody. An entire team swarmed around the individual sitting on the table, blocking him from complete view. When Penelope did finally come closer a path was made as if they had been waiting for her to do something. What had she missed?

"Why haven't we pulled this thing out?" Penelope asked. Her attention snapped to the arrow shaft sticking out of the man's thigh before ever looking at his face and when she did look up, Penelope wanted to vomit. Her bright blue eyes locked on Malik's face and she froze.

How? What? Why? A thousand pointless questions, her mouth hung open as she blubbered incoherently. Her hands fluttered uselessly near Malik's thigh. Of all the people in the world how was it that she'd come to find him in the middle of the woods, in the heart of a rebellion? What was he doing here, and with an arrow in his thigh? Penelope never would have imagined the soldier would have defected. He had always been so passionate, so loyal. What had gone wrong?

"I, ah, right, let's get this out then." Penelope swallowed hard in an attempt to refocus herself. It didn't help. "Yeah? Ok! Malik, you might want to bite down on something."

She waited for something. A nod, a sign, anything so that she wouldn't have to make the choice to yank the arrow from his thigh. But no one gave it to her. She'd heard the vague rumblings It needed to be done. And so, she wrapped her hands around what remained of the shaft and gave Malik once last chance to brace himself.
 
A Friend with Whey

is a

Friend You Repay
Collab with @Red Thunder





Chaos had erupted in Linnae's small cottage. Controlled, and uncontrolled, panic seemed to be the order of the day, and even those who appeared to know what they were doing moved in a flutter of instinctive activity.


But despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the potential danger they might be in from Imperial agents following Malik, Pan couldn't help but grin. The soldier was safe. One at least of those he'd previously considered lost to them was safe. Rahne, indeed, looked to be ecstatic, having just hugged her long time friend with careful enthusiasm. Kholas had thrown his medical kit onto the table and looked to need assistance with getting into the chair. As he helped the Goblin, Pan thought ruefully about how he'd accidentally ignored his direction to place him on the floor, and grimaced.


But the joy at seeing Rahne and Malik reunited hadn't left him.


"Ya doin good?" he asked her, trying to split his attention between her and whatever assistance Kholas might need.


"Oh aye, Ah'm doin' great!" Rahne responded as she peeled away Malik's armor. Her tongue was pursed in the corner of her lips as she worked, moving deliberately so as not to irritate his wounds any more than they were already. Still, despite her concentration she nodded her head quickly. What a sight it was, waking up to see Malik. She almost wished she hadn't slept at all, just to see him through the door.


"Thanks fer' fetchin' me!" She turned to Pan, finished with her part, and wrapped her arms around the Satyr in a tight but quick and thankful embrace. "Ah' was' out like a light, n' if no one woke me up ah' might'a missed him till mornin'!" That would have been a travesty. She would have been more than upset with herself for missing his return. She let go of him, stepping back and wiping at her eyes one last time. She hadn't been this happy since...well she couldn't remember, but it had been awhile, which was saying something.


Pan blinked, unable to return the embrace for his occupied hands against Malik's form. The Goblins in the Heights weren't nearly so touchy, and a second hug from the woman in as many days was odd, but not unpleasant.


"Was Kho's idea tah get ya, really. I jus' carried ya down 'cause I weren't sure you'd wake up quick." He grinned. "But yer welcome! Wouldn't do, tah let ya miss 'im."


The smile fell a degree; the picture of Malik running back within was still fresh on his mind.


"I'm sorry ya almost did. Sorry I didn't make 'im come with me 'n Ms. Melsinde. Sorry he's banged up 'cause it."


"Nah, you ain't got nothin' ta' be sorry 'bout!" Rahne told him firmly, giving his shoulder a comforting pat. "It was a mission n' we knew the risks. Ya' didn't want 'ta leave 'im, an' if ya could ya woulda' made 'im come along." As much as she loved Malik, and as much as it pained her to think of him dying, she was more than understanding of the chance it could happen. She was a soldier after all, death came with the job, one way or another. Still, she appreciated his words.


"Least he made it back ta' us." Now that he was back, he would be fine. There was no way that she was going to let him die now, his condition be damned. "He'll be good an' new soon enough, so don't ya worry!"


"Good tah hear."


The bits of armor lay discarded, and Kholas worked feverishly. Miri had apparently concocted some medicine or other, something Pan made note to ask about later, given the assistance they'd given each other while gathering food stuffs. But then Malik said his name, and Pan shifted his attention.


Ah: the soldier's reentry into the Academy. So. Pyre dead. Atlak captured, and with him, Kholas' note. Which… Did the Empire know what they were up to, then? His brow creased in thought, as if the cogs in the machinery of his mind struggled to turn after long disuse. And no word of Kacius, to his memory, anyway. What was to happen next? Would they stay and bed down, weather the storm? Would they flee farther from the Empire's seat of power, seeking reinforcements? Kholas, it seemed, for all the decisions he was required to make, would have to make yet another hard choice.


"Wha's comin', Rahne?" He looked to her with curiosity but not trepidation, as if resolute to act but unsure of what action should be taken. "Wha's the Empire like tah do? Is- are we to 'spect fightin', ya think?"


Rahne's grin slowly decayed as she pursed her lips, thinking of how to answer Pan's question. They'd succeeded on the first step, which was good, but that would probably make things harder for them. Rebels were already hunted with fervor, but now? It would be much worse. "Ah'm gonna be honest...Ah' dunno. Ah' guess ya can expect them ta' double down on their efforts to kill all o'us. Can't think o' anything else..." She trailed off. Who knew what else they would do? She had a few ideas, but nothing concrete.


"Fightin' though? Fightin' is guaranteed. Gonna be a lot more of it, Ah'm bettin'." As scary as it sounded, it was comforting as well. Rahne wasn't the smartest, she wasn't even smart in general, and she knew it. She couldn't offer much in the way of planning or bright ideas or, well, much else really. But if there was one thing she knew she could do, it was fighting. It made her feel like she was offering more to the cause. "Ah' can't say much about what we're plannin' ta do next, or what the Empire is, but I know ah'm puttin' everything on the line to see it through, an' if it's fightin' more, Ah'm fine with that."


Pan's lips pursed, a strange sight on his bovidae face, but he nodded. Malik's trousers had just been removed, or at least, cut away to make access to his wound the more easy, and Pan turned his eyes away, telling himself it was out of respect for the injured, though in reality, he absolutely didn't want to see the wound any more clearly than he already had.


Though he was evidently likely to see more. Fightin', Rahne mentioned. Lots of it. Which meant more injuries. And maybe even more deaths.


He remained quiet, assisting with Malik's adjustments as necessary. Should he remain with the rebels? Chance combat and- death? His role had been that if a courier, and once he'd handed Kholas the metal plates, his job was finished. Yet he couldn't now abandon them. Not after the Academy.


As Penny rushed in and began aiding in ministrations, Pan shifted to hold one of Malik's arms to prevent his from thrashing in pain.


"Dunno really how tah fight, Rahne. I wanna help, but save fer my strength, I ain't no good." He turned a pleading eye to her. "Can ya learn me how?"


"Ya want me ta' teach ya?" She couldn't hide the surprise on her face. She'd instructed a few people in combat before, but never more than a few tips here and there, and even then it was barking orders to large groups, orders that had been drilled into her head from her own training. It wouldn't be impossible. Hell, it probably wouldn't even be hard. It would more than likely be fun, and it would be one more way to help out, not just the rebellion, but her new friend and brother-in-arms as well. Besides, her conscience wouldn't let him go into a battle without the proper knowledge of combat. That would be akin to suicide.


"Aye, Ah' can teach ya how ta' fight!" She nodded her head vigorously, smiling at Pan. "Don't worry 'bout a thing! If ya' can be patient with me, Ah'll have ya swingin' a sword or crackin' skulls as good as Ah' can in no time!" It was a promise.
 
Collab with @Lillian Gray @GoblinAghast
Mentions @Spectre of the Fade

All but oblivious to the growing commotion, Kholas snapped a hand forward as the horned woman reached for the arrow in the man's thigh and grabbed her wrist. "Before you pull any objects out of wounds, first pull your head out of your ass."

Penelope froze, hands still poised to yank the arrow free of Malik's thigh. Kholas' words brought her out of her stupor and she did pause. What are you doing, Penny, you can't just-- Cursing herself for such a stupid mistake, and in front of everyone else no less, the horned woman immediately released her grip and put her hands up in a defensive manner.

"S-sorry, I just- Malik. That's his name right?" Penelope stammered. Smooth. She never thought she'd see him again, not in all her years, that all rational thought had gone straight out the metaphorical window. She knew better than to pull an arrow straight from a man's thigh, yet there she was, hands at the ready and full of adrenaline.

"You just lost your head completely," the goblin answered, giving her a long-suffering look. Moving his hand to gesture at the arrow, he continued on as though she were one of his students who'd failed to study for an exam. "This should be common practice with any such injury, so let's review. Where is the injury?" He asked, his tone harsh though controlled. He pressed the tip of a nail against the inside of Malik's leg and drew it knee to groin. "And what's right here that you definitely don't want to injure with, say, the edge of an arrowhead? Besides," he gave another wave of his hand, "if that's lodged in the bone, which it very well may be, you'll yank him straight off the table if no one is holding him on there."

Collecting and cleaning the necessary tools, he began walking Penny through the process of cleaning and opening the tissue to get a better look at the wound. As he expected, the arrow was indeed lodged into bone, which was, to Penny's credit, going to involve some yanking-- albeit of a more controlled nature.

Penny's face turned a bright crimson, despite being ashy as it were. She wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and escape the goblin's wrath. There was nothing more embarrassing than trying to help, only to realize she was doing everything wrong. She'd kill him at the rate she was trying to 'help'. Frowning, she muttered an apology to Kholas before examining Malik's leg in full.

"Hm… well, if it's in there to the bone…" Penelope's fingers hovered near the inside of Malik's leg, leaning in to get a better look. Now that she was a bit more focused, she hardly cared that her nose was quite nearly pressed against his thigh. "I guess you will need me to yank it out, huh?" This time, her tone was more serious, not at all hinting at her typical cheery demeanor. "Well that's going to hurt."

"Yes," Kholas murmured, sitting back to rummage a locking pliers from his kit. Wiping it down with the cleaning solution, he spared a glance up at Malik's face, taking in the man's bleary expression. "Malik?" The man blinked at him, and Kholas shook his head. "Laceae," the goblin said, turning to look for the nymph. "We need to give him a bit more of something before we do this. Try not to put him out for too long-- but we'll just have to have someone carry him if we have to leave."

A bit more of something? How amorphous of a doctor, Laceae thought. "I am no magician, Abalyshevska. I don't carry around a hospital in this bag here." She tutted as she hunted once more through her pack. It was risky to put an intoxicated man into unconsciousness, particularly with mystery mushrooms—but maybe she could piecemeal something together.

"It would be faster to do it the old fashioned way," she warned, "but a drink of this should be enough to push him into sleep." She placed a stoppered bottle on the table. "It's just a sleep aide, but he is probably inebriated enough for it to work somewhat quickly. No guarantees on when he will wake, though. So I suggest holding him down."

It was all Kholas could do not to snap at the nymph's remark, fair though it was. He was so accustomed to having the academy's resources at his disposal that it took a moment for him to recall that many likely weren't accustomed to the luxury. It was still a bitter loss for him to have let so many of his supplies behind. Swallowing down his anger, he gave a brisk nod. "Yes, I-- yes. That will be sufficient. Thank you." Realizing it was likely best to allow Laceae to work with Penny until he got his frustration in check, the goblin slid back to give them more room.

After administering the aide, Laceae moved to Penny's unoccupied side. "Have you done this before?" she asked. "It can be nerve-wracking at first. It will be easier for him if you pull from as close to the bone as possible. Right at the arrowhead, at the same angle it went in at. That will minimize extra damage, make it easier to control the motion." She mimicked the movement with her hand.

Penelope knew it was coming from a place of help, and not meant to be patronizing, but she couldn't help but be somewhat put off by how she was being spoken down to. Yes, she had very nearly yanked an arrow from the meat of Malik's thigh without so much as checking to see how it had gone in. Yes, that was very bad. It wasn't enough to damage the bounds of self confidence she had already but it was enough to wound her pride momentarily. Even Laceae, sweet looking nymph, was rubbing Penelope the wrong way as she pulled her hands through the open air.

"Yes, thank you." Penelope grumbled. "I know how to pull an arrow out. Not my first time, I just… I was hasty. I'm sorry." Oh how she hoped Beaumont couldn't hear her say that line. "I'm going to need someone to hold him down. Can I have those pliers, Kholas, or would you rather pull?"

The horned woman held out her hand expectantly.

Without hesitation, Kholas placed the pliers in Penny's outstretched hand, though he gave her a look of would-be amusement at her question. "You're going to need multiple people to hold him down," he said, waving Rahne and Pan over and directing them on how best to hold the soldier in place. Once situated, he slid around the table to make more room for Penny and Laceae, settling at Malik's head.

Despite the additional medicine, the man's eyelids still fluttered up as Kholas slid a hand under his head. "Open," he said, nudging Malik's jaw and sliding a discarded wooden spoon between his teeth. "Now," he said, glancing down at Penny and Laceae then back to Malik, "do yourself a favour and pass out."

Malik hummed around the spoon between his teeth, a noise that sounded something like "yessir." He snorted softly before closing his eyes - when was the last time he'd slept? - and this time they stayed closed.
 
Linnae Ilex Aquifolium of Aquifoliaceae
Date | 23/3/1
Time | Night/Early Morning
Weather | Mostly clear

  • Alright. Kholas had the situation under control. That was good. That was something. Still, that control required a whopping six people just to keep one man stable. Beaumont and Phineas were, Ancients if she knew how, still sleeping. Melsinde had to watch the wards. The nymph still had a good hand and she was willing to use it.

    Linnae spared a glance to the odd looking chart, sigils, glyphs. He had tried to teach her once how to read it but everything was a blur. Was it supposed to have that many blips on it? She wasn't sure what was a ward and what was being triggered, or no, was that normal? Linnae huffed, setting out on a new course of action where she could actually do something useful besides fret and forget.

    What was she... there was something she was forgetting.

    The nymph stared hard at the floor, wracking her brain for the simple instructions Kholas had given her. She'd retrieved water, the wards were taken care of, but what about the tracks? The tracks!

    "Kho, I'll be back." Linnae said suddenly. The other nymph was occupied, else she might have asked for her help in the matter.

    She plucked Malik's boots from the floor and dashed out the front door, not bothering to shut it behind her as she raced after the freshly ground trail of prints that led straight to the cottage. A trail of blood, drops and skid marks, left a plain path through the woods. Linnae began to shift the dirt away with her feet, but it wasn't going to be nearly as effective as the first time. The blood hadn't dried and left a clear coloring to the dirt no matter how far she tried to stamp it down or mix it around. She'd expend too much energy just trying to get the damn soil to match its surroundings.

    Linnae panicked, pulling brambles out of thin air to try and hide some of the worse patches, before moving on to the next visible spot. She could see where Malik had been forced to crawl, but the guards wouldn't have to know. Once she was far enough away from the cottage she slipped his boots on and made as deep of imprints as she could with her limber body. As she moved away, she made sure that the prints were visible enough for just anyone to see. It was slow going, but, progress had been made. If she could just make it to a lake, or a grassy patch...

    "Where is that bastard? Can't be far now." A deep voice called. Linnae whirled on her heel to see where it was coming from but there was no one there.

    "Oi, look'ere!" There was a small scuffle in a grove not too far away. How had they gotten here so quickly, Linnae wondered? She lowered herself to the ground and ducked behind a small shrub in case there was someone she hadn't seen yet.

    "Tie the horses, on foot. Go! Map says it's in 'ere somewhere. Can't read a fuckin' thing though, singed to hell."

    Where did they get a map? Linnae's breath hitched in her throat. No...it couldn't be from the letter, could it? Atlak?

    "Hurry up, ya shites, let's go already!"

    Linnae bolted away from the shrub and hoisted herself up the nearest tree. Prints be damned. She was going to have to get rid of the guards first. In a moment of regret, she wished she had woken up Finn or Beaumont to take with. At least it was another person to help her fight.
  • Notes and Noises:
    • Currently at Linnae's home:
      • We all made it! - Malik is even here now!
    • It's nearing morning and there is light outside. Be wary of what lies in the woods.
      • There are an unknown number of soldiers wandering the woods
      • They have a letter of unknown content which Kholas and Linnae had given to Atlak
    • Currently Melsinde holds the shards
    • I swear to god, if anyone says the word 'potato' I'm going to find a way to mute you for a month.
    • In regards to the recent announcement:
      • Be mindful of our discord reminder in regards to highlighting your posts. If the post is over 1k words and has the need for highlighting, then please do so. If the plot points are obvious enough, you are not required to highlight your posts.
      • Again, please be courteous to your fellow writers. We ask that everyone is reading the post and responding appropriately, and not missing important details. If you do not know something ask.



    The Plan:

    Plan's gone to shit. Run for the hills.

    Malik has returned but is gravely wounded. He has warned of the possibility of an attempt to double down on all of their lives. We need to move. Didn't Kholas mention a city...?


 
flirty fin and tarzan lin


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a collab between @Kuno | @Lillian Gray


Phineas slept like the dead. He was too tired to dream; his mind remained comfortably encased in darkness, blissfully unaware of the ensuing chaos around him. He did not wake when Malik was brought in. He did not so much as stir when voices began to fill the house with noise. Not even the dishes cracking against the floor gained any more than a twitch of the brow. Something - a sense of impending doom, perhaps - began to rouse the nobleman, and as he slowly gained his senses, he heard the many voices of his comrade. There was no cause of alarm, really--

--Until a beautiful nymph ran out into the gloom alone, and Fin's eyes flew open instantly.

"Linnae?"

The nobleman leapt to his feet. The front door hung ajar; just ahead, he could spy the wiry form of Linnae dashing away, and he stumbled over to the door, hurriedly kicking away at the blanket wrapped about his legs. Where in...Where the hell did she think she was going at such an hour? And alone, no less?

"Linnae! Wait a minute, where are you--"

The blanket gave way with a shove, and he rushed after the nymph. She ran as if a fire was lit beneath her toes. These were her woods, and she navigated the terrain the ease while Fin stumbled after her, cursing at the wooden stiffness in his back and legs. Courtesy of sleeping in a chair against the wall, of course. He lost sight of her in due time, and he slowed in his pursuit, eyes darting about the green foliage.

"Linnae?" He turned about, concern on his face. "Hello?"

"Oi! You there!"

A soldier had his sword drawn, pointed towards Phinease from nearby. He held it with both hands, poised and ready to strike in a somewhat foolish stance. When the man saw Phineas, just a man in the woods, he made simple assumptions to his allegiance. They were looking for a wounded man who had rebellion ties. There stood an unharmed man. Two and two said that the wounded man must have passed him by, somehow. They had to know one another in these woods. What were the odds?

Without warning he charged forward with a hollar.

There was a yelp as a flurry of things happened all at once. A branch overhead rustled. The soldier dropped his weapon, hands groping at his throat where a thick green vine had roped its way around his neck. Seconds later, his body jolted up into the air, and Linnae fell into the dirt nearby holding the opposite end of the vine. The nymph wrestled with the weight of the man as he thrashed about. He gasped for a breath of air that wouldn't come.

"Phineas would you please--" Linnae grunted, her grasp on the vine dangerously close to slipping through her fingers.

Surging forward, the nobleman's hands closed down on the vine and he yanked down hard. The drastic shift in weight sent their victim higher still. Phineas ignored the strangled noises from the man; when the man's body went slack, he relaxed his grip, and the soldier fell to the ground with a heavy thump.

Phineas' eyes rested on the body a beat longer. That could have easily been him lying there, and he turned to Linnae, gratitude clear in his eyes. His hand came to rest gently on her shoulder.

"Many thanks. Are you alright?"

Linnae nodded, panting with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. The soldiers had caught her off guard, and she'd very nearly caught Phineas by the neck instead of the man on the ground. She simply didn't have the strength to swing around through the trees like some kind of animal. That didn't mean she was going to sit idly by and watch a soldier spear Phineas through and through.

"I'm fine, hush." Linnae pressed her hand over his mouth before yanking him by the collar into the dirt beside her. It was a less than courteous way to greet him, but a necessary one. In a hushed tone she whispered into his ear, "There are two more, I think. Maybe three."

She kicked one of her heels to call attention to the boots.

"They are following me. We need to move. Now."

Ah. So she was drawing them away from the cottage. Phineas' eyes flitted from her to the oversized boots - which looked quite adorable on her, he observed, though that was neither here nor there - then back to her face. He nodded solemnly.

"Alright," He murmured, sotto voce. "If we can't lose them, let me handle it."

Personally, the man detested violence. But there was far more at stake here than his own needs...he would just have to power through it, then, if push came to shove. Hopefully. Maybe. His hand grasped at his side, and he felt a rush of relief as his fingers knocked against the leather sword sheath. Good. Gods willing, he wouldn't have to use it at all.

The nymph nodded. She was grateful to see that Phineas had a weapon with him, as she did not. Her mission had been to hide the tracks not to fight anyone. Linnae felt sorely unprepared to do much of anything.

"Good." She nodded, "Now, go. Up!"

Linnae hesitantly rose to her feet. Her eyes darted left to right before she dashed forward without much thought if Phineas was following. With a dead body behind her, she didn't want to stick around for long. She didn't know what she was looking for. Was she supposed to be listening? Looking? Where had the guards gone?

Shit.

She turned, expecting to see Phineas close behind. Hoping he was keeping pace. Instead, she was now face to face with a guard. Rising from the endless green, he appeared from seemingly nowhere with his weapon drawn. His sword was already poised high in the air ready to strike the nymph from behind. Linnae must have run straight past him without noticing. She swore again, how had she not seen him? These were her own damn woods!

As the sword bore down towards Linnae, there was the sound of a weapon being unsheathed. Steel struck against steel, and Phineas sidestepped neatly in front of the nymph, his blade at the ready in his right hand.

"Let's not be too hasty--"

"Who the hell are you?" The guard spat out.

"Perhaps you should have led with that instead."

With a snarl, the brutish man slashed forward, and Phineas parried the blow, and the next one, and the next one, the movements flowing as naturally to him as breathing. When the guard showed a gap in his guard, Phineas feinted left before slamming his shoulder, knocking the man back and away. Before the man could right himself, the sword came down from the other way and--

"Oh," Phineas said. He blinked. Once. Twice.

It'd been six years since he'd used his sword in combat. He supposed he'd expected himself to be in far worse shape than he was, but in reality, he was still quite good. A bit too good. He hadn't expected the sword to actually, say, go through.

It was safe to say the man was dead. He couldn't speak on how. Phineas had seen a gush of red, and experience had told the nobleman to turn away very quickly, lest he end up on the ground alongside his slain victim. Still. Still. He gripped his sword with white knuckles.

"You...certainly know these woods better than I," He joked weakly to Linnae. His face was drained of all color. "It's hard for me to keep up."

"I would slow down, but-" Linnae smirked, her witty reply dead in her throat.

"Over there!"

"Aye, I see 'em!"

Two more guards. Linnae scrambled to her feet with only a moment to spare a glance at her partner. Phineas was looking rather pale. She didn't want to imagine that a little blood had made him woozy already, but the way his gaze purposefully avoided the killing blow said otherwise. The nymph swallowed hard. Surely he would be alright? Her ruby eyes looked to him with concern.

"I'm alright," Phineas replied to her unasked question, noting her worried look. "I just--"

He made a move as if to approach the guards. But the nymph was quicker.

Linnae took a protective step in front of Phineas so he wouldn't be caught in her trap. She sunk her feet into the earth, boots and all, and rose a single hand towards the guards. If Malik really wanted them back she doubted he'd mind the mud. Everything else he owned was covered in it. By her guide, the ground began to shake, roots working their way up towards the surface in an effort to tangle around their limbs. It was only a momentary distraction. She watched as their progress slowed to where it almost looked as if they were wading through thick mud.

"Fucking nymph! Shoot her!"

But it was oh so tiring to maintain. If she could pull them down to their knees then maybe it was enough to force them to fall. Then? Then she could draw them down.

"Move your arm, ya bastard!"

Linnae renewed her focus, pulling as hard as she could until the roots wiggled free of the earth like worms after the rain. Writhing in search of their victims, each knot and knoll wrapped itself around a piece of a guard. An arm, a leg, a crossbow with a handful of bolts, they slithered into everything they could find. The nymph's breathing became more labored with the additional push, but she was so close.

"Shoot the bitch!"

"Fin!" Linnae wheezed. It was a request and a plea in one. Do something.

Where had his mind gone? As the nymph struggled with her spell, Phineas slapped his cheeks briskly in a vain effort to chase away the light-headedness.

The scene before him snapped sharply into focus. The guard closest to them had managed to keep an arm free and struggled to level his crossbow towards the pair. Swiftly, the tall man danced neatly around the roiling mess of roots and vines and slammed the pommel of his sword against the man's skull. The guard crumpled against his constraints. The other soldier, still struggling to move, glanced up, only to stare at the sword's point to his neck.

There was a hard malice to Phineas' eyes.

"Now listen carefully. I don't want to kill you. I'd much rather let you go, and Gods willing you and whatever other goons you work with will have the good sense not to try this again. But I need answers, and if you're not inclined to provide them, well…"

The tip of Fin's blade bit into the guard's neck, and he stiffened instantly.

"I'll start. How did you find us?"

The guard remained quiet, eyes darting between the blade at his neck at the man who held it. With grim determination he spat square between Phineas' eyes and grit his teeth hard. He remained silent.

The saliva dripped down the nobleman's nose. Calmly - a bit too calmly - Phineas fished an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and swept away at his face. He wrapped the squared linen around his knuckles once, twice, the spit side facing outwards from his skin.

Crack!

The guard's head snapped back as Phineas' hand lashed out, quick and sure.

"You know," He went on, as if nothing had happened. "I do respect a loyal citizen. But I would think carefully about how you answer next. There are worse ways to die than at the edge of a sword, my friend."

His eyes went pointedly to the other fallen guard, who even now sunk steadily into the ground. Phineas smiled grimly at his hostage.

"I'll start again. One last time: how did you find us?"

This time as the guard looked between Phineas and his comrade, his gaze seemed to falter. The ground was still shaking, dirt rumbling like the tide as it sucked the other man into it. All he could do was watch. They had orders. Bring the man back. This wasn't worth it.

"Stop! Jus' Gods, wouldya stop!" The man shouted. Linnae only paused briefly due to her own exhaustion, but the guard didn't need to know. "Aye, we had a map. Took it off a centaur. S'all burned up though. Jus' know there's somethin' in the woods here. S'all, i swear't!"

He gave a pleading look back to the nymph and the man holding him down.

"S'all!" He repeated. "Don't put me in the dirt, s'not a good way t'go. Please!"

Took it off a centaur?

Atlak. They'd gotten Atlak. Young, kind Atlak.

If there was mercy in Phineas' eyes before, it faded rapidly, instantly replaced with an icy stare. He glanced at the blade at his hand. His arm pulled back gradually, and the guard at his feet took in a relieved, shaky breath.

"T-Thanks," The guard stuttered. Phineas' arm wound back, and the man's eyes widened. "Wait what--"

It was the last thing he said. His body went one way, his head hanging the other way, and Phineas, in a strangely composed manner, fell to his knees, black spots dancing before his vision. The blood swam before his eyes. He closed his eyes briefly, sucking in a deep breath.

"You alright there?" Phineas called to Linnae.

Linnae had found a nice spot on the ground. Soft, wonderful dirt. Her eyes were closed, face looking up towards the treetops with a hint of relief on her features. Small flecks of sunlight were beginning to break through with the rising sun, and she was enjoying the feel of it almost too much on her skin. It would be alright to bask for a while, just to regain her strength, surely?

"Hm? Who…?" Linnae lifted her head. She was momentarily lost in the scene. Two bodies, stuck in the dirt, and a man with a mustache looking to her with concern. She knew him, but it was tiring to try and think of the details. At the very least she understood she was safe. Why? She couldn't say. This was a friend. Linnae rested her head back on the dirt and sighed.

There was something she was forgetting again.

"Oh, oh!" Linnae sat straight back up with dizzying speed. "We need to go back, we have to get out of here. If they have Atlak… this map…" She placed a hand on her forehead and groaned. "Ancients, there could be more."

Phineas lumbered to his feet, shaking his head a bit. It was a miracle he was still conscious. It would have been better for him to take the guard's bolt to the chest rather than faint in front of Linnae, and he made his way over to the nymph, plastering a pleasant look over his pale features. He tried to seem more well than he felt.

"Another concern for another day, my dear." He extended a hand down to her. "Come. We need to return to the cottage."

Linnae gripped his hand with both of hers, shakily pulling herself up from the ground and rubbing some of the dirt out of her clothes. She had certainly felt better. Even in the woods it seemed her energy was far too depleted. It was high time she returned to a larger grove, and fast, to regain some of her wits. A second rest was in order, a much longer one. Not just a cat nap but an honest to Ancients good night's rest.

"Right then." Linnae nodded. She kicked Malik's boots off her feet before gathering them in her arms. No point in attracting anyone else. "You lead, I'll follow. Wouldn't want you getting lost now." The jab at Phineas was breathy, the nymph sounded tired. But she waved him on, eager to return.

There was no reply from Fin. He shook his head at her, instead proffering his elbow to her with a pointed look.

Linnae rolled her eyes but she did take his arm. She would have said it was with the utmost hesitation, that he forced her hand and was being too sincere to refuse, but the truth of the matter was that she was exhausted. If she walked another ten feet unassisted there was a good chance she'd just sit in the dirt until she could feel her legs again.

"I won't tell Kholas about your fainting spells if you don't tell him about mine. Hm?" Linnae's brow rose with her suggestion. "He's stressed enough as is."

"They are not fainting spells," Phineas sputtered, mortified by her description of it. "I just- Why-"

There was nothing that he could possibly say. Linnae had seen him swoon with her own two eyes. She had hit the nail right on the head, and the taller man forced a light laugh, clearly embarrassed.

He should've let the crossbow bolt hit him.

"Fair enough. Fine. It'll be our little secret…"

 
Collab with: @Doctor Jax

After helping Laceae give Malik his drugs, Miri had stepped back to give the doctors room. With nothing else to do, she had decided to help Melsinde watch the ward chart. "Do you mind if help you watch the wards?" She asked, "Warding is one of my specialties and well, I don't have anything else to do."

Mel looked up as she was joined by another person, recognizing the mushroom enthusiast from prior that evening.

"Of course - after all, I am no expert in warding myself. Merely somewhat familiar," Mel said with some relief. Her eyes strayed to the procedure on the table, feeling a pang of sympathy.

It didn't take Miri long to figure out how to read the various glyphs. Many of them were familiar. Behind her she heard the sound of the door opening and feet running outside. A few minutes later, something on the chart blipped. Miri frowned, feeling panic slowly rise up in the back of her mind. It could just be a coincidence. Maybe it was just an animal. Or a random traveller. Then, several more of the wards went off in quick succession. "Kholas! Something's happening outside! Someone's here!" She shouted. Miri glanced at Melsinde, "Should we get ready to leave?"

Mel glanced at the myriad of symbols. As she feared - more of them.

"Yes. Yes, we need to get ready to leave. We may have been found. I— can you watch this? I… I believe it is time my expertise is needed," Melsinde stated with a shake in her voice. "I can hide us, for a short amount of time. So long as we are quiet."

It would be hard - ungodly hard. But there was no time.

Miri took the chart from Melsinde, "The triggered wards are in the south. From the same direction as Taitelle." She looked up around the house. Everyone should have been awake by now, but a headcount brought her up two people short, "Where's Linnae and Phineas? They didn't go outside did they?"

"I believe that they did," Melsinde stated, steeling herself. "It would be prudent… that we let everyone know. It seems we've worn out our welcome."
 

Two Hours 'Til Sunrise
23/3/1 193 TE | Linnae's Cottage | Cold and Muddy

  • Leaving Penny to wrench the arrow free of Malik's leg under Laceae's watch, Kholas sat back and tried to blink the encroaching fog of exhaustion from his eyes. It was a largely futile effort. At least they would all be able to rest soon. Then, they needed to get moving. He wasn't entirely sure what route they'd need to take now that the Empire knew they were heading North, but if they were careful… Well, he could discuss it with Linnae after a few hours of rest.

    A clatter drew his attention back to the scene before him, Penny having just dropped the excised arrowhead to the table. The wound in the solider's leg was bleeding, but not badly and the man was still asleep. Sitting forward, Kholas gave the injury a cursory exam, then glanced at Laceae. They were both tired, and he simply didn't have the energy to produce any effective healing at the moment and he'd run his reservoir dry.

    Extending a slim hand to Pan, Kholas gave the young satyr a calculating look. "I need to use some of your strength," he said matter of factly. "I don't have the energy to heal this, but I can if you'll help me." Pleased to receive a nod, albeit with a puzzled expression, Kholas took the satyr's hand in his own and closed his eyes. "It's going to feel like I'm pulling on you," he noted, tightening his grip. "Don't pull back." With no further explanation, he took a deep breath and began channelling. A faint glow emanated from their clasped hands as Kholas drew energy from the other, his own fatigue beginning to recede as he did so. A pity it wouldn't last.

    Not wanting to overextend, he pulled his hand away after a few moments and pressed his palm against the wound in Malik's thigh. "You might feel a little tired," Kholas said, though he didn't spare a glance back at Pan. "You should try to get some rest now. Thank you for your help."

    As he worked, Kholas felt a slight touch of annoyance with the chattering exchanged between Miri and Melsinde-- until the sound of his name drew his attention fully to the women. He had only just managed to knit the wound closed, and he sat back to look at the pair of them, Miri's words finally registering with him.


    "What?"

    Linnae and Phineas had gone out-- but, no-- it sounded as though they had returned. What then was--...

    "Linnae and Phineas are back," said Kholas, ears flicking as he listened to the approaching pair outside. "Go get them inside. Now!"

    Wiping his hands on his pant legs, he leaned over to gaze at the glowing symbols on the ward.

    "Fuck," he spat, eyes locked on the paper. "We don't have time to run." He threw a sweeping glance around the cottage, then, oddly, shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "We need to hide. Get everyone into the attic, we don't have much time."

    Sliding from the table and throwing tools haphazardly into his medical kit, he willed his mind to work faster. "Melsinde," he called, turning to find the satyr standing nearby, "get Phineas. You need to cast a glamour and make this place look like we haven't been smearing blood all over the kitchen. Phineas needs to disguise himself and deter the people approaching. There are two of them-- if we can send them on their way thinking this is just a run-down farmhouse or something, we might have a chance."

    Linnae and Phineas returned just in time to see the chaos unfolding. Kholas had clambered down from the table and was ordering the ragtag bunch around the nymph's once tidy cottage. A shame the satyr had to go and destroy quite literally every piece of pottery or dining ware she happened to own. Even more so, the soldier had to bleed on every surface from the door to the dining table. A blessing they were all alive, however. Linnae easily fell into place and started to usher the group into her cramped attic. It was smaller than the first floor and with less room to boot. There was already a mass of junk that she had accumulated over the years as well as several bedrolls and supply packs for their mission.

    "Kholas, how… can he move?" Linnae asked tentatively. She didn't have the strength to assist him, and she certainly wouldn't be able to help hoist him into the attic.

    Turning back to the soldier sprawled on the table, Kholas cursed under his breath. If the guards saw any trace of Malik, it was over… But how they were going to get the man-mountain into the attic while he was unconscious…

    Fuck it.

    Pressing both hands to Malik's chest, Kholas discharged the rest of the energy he'd drawn from Pan into the sleeping soldier in a single, shocking jolt. "Wake up, soldier boy! We have to move!" Turning to the others who were frantically tossing things into packs, the goblin gestured them over. "We need to get his ass into the attic. We don't have time to move everything, just shove it under the table and let Melsinde glamour it. Now move!"


    ----------------------------​


    "This is bullshit."

    "Yeah."

    "This is such bullshit."

    "I know."

    "What time even is it?"

    "Late."

    "Fuck."

    "Yeah."

    "Are we even sure that map was right? I mean, it was burnt to a damn crisp. For all we know, it wasn't even important."

    "You wanna tell that to the commander?"

    "No."

    "Then shut the fuck up and keep walking."

    The two imperial soldiers continued their trek onward through the dark, uncomfortably soggy forest, searching out their unknown destination. It had been an incredibly long night, what with the bizarre incident at the Academy and the ensuing chaos and confusion. Now, they'd been assigned to look for a "rebel hideout" somewhere in this general vicinity of the forest. The highly reliable information had come from a map taken off a prisoner, a centaur who'd been caught attempting to flee the Academy fire. Of course, there had been the letter the prisoner was carrying, detailing some plans for the rebel faction to flee to Wyndfel. That had seemed reliable, but this map?

    No one could be sure the map was important. The centaur they had apprehended was a mail carrier and he'd sworn the map had nothing to do with the letter.

    "If you ask me," said the first soldier, lifting his lantern a bit higher as they stepped over a fallen tree.

    "I didn't," murmured his colleague, rolling her eyes.

    "We should be putting our people on the routes toward Wyndfel and concentrating on the border. We know they're going north, so why are we wasting time tromping around the-- Look!"

    To the utter astonishment of both soldiers, a small cottage had finally come into view as they neared a clearing. Neither had honestly expected to find so much as a broken down well, much less a cottage. Still, it appeared to be little more than that. No lights shone from the windows, and it looked entirely too small to accommodate a rebel faction.

    "You think anyone else checked this place yet?"

    "No idea. Hardly looks like much, but we can't rule it out."

    "Yeah."

    Slowly, the two soldiers approached the cottage. Shouldering her colleague out of the way, the larger of the two soldiers knocked forcefully. "Open this door in the name of his Imperial Majesty."


  • There are currently two imperial soldiers standing at the door. One is a woman who is about 6'1" with dark skin, shortish hair, and a strong jaw; the other is a man who is about 5'9" with medium skin, short hair, and a thin build. Both soldiers have swords. Additionally, the man has a lantern and the woman has a sigil on her belt that is commonly used as a communication device.


    Linnae's attic is small. It's about 6'x8' and has a slanting ceiling/roof. It has the readied packs stored in it, along with bedrolls and some of Linnae's things. There's probably about 5'x6' of space for them to occupy, and it's maybe about 6' tall at the highest point.


 
Malik Shendoa and Penelope Pexori
Collab between @Spectre of the Fade and @Lillian Gray
Malik jolted awake, eyes wide. Kho- Kholas was right there, offering instructions, but the soldier struggled to hear him over the rush of energy buzzing through his limbs like it was seeking a manner of escape. He'd said...Attic? Move. Glamours. The table. Okay. He could do that. Move.

He sat bolt upright, a flash of movement that left his head spinning, and hopped off the table without preamble. His previously injured leg quivered but held under his weight, which was lucky - Malik could hardly focus his eyes on the shifting floorboards beneath his feet. Hands spreading out as if to steady himself, the soldier cast his gaze around the tiny kitchen. Now what, he wondered, his thoughts moving too quickly like startled fish cutting through water. Were his hands shaking? His hands were shaking, and color erupted across his skin to move with the vibration. Shit. Shit.

"Hey there, soldier. Slow down." Penelope threw up her arms to keep Malik from moving. An impossible task. She wrapped an arm tentatively around his waist and gestured for him to hook his arm around her neck. Under her hands, his entire frame shook from the near electric shock that got him on his feet.

The horned woman stood side by side with Malik, too nervous to look him in the eye. What if he remembered her? What was he going to think? What was he supposed to think? And her. The last time Malik and Penelope had seen one another, Malik had been gravely injured, too.

And she had just… left. Afterwards of course, but there certainly hadn't been a teary goodbye.

"Grab on, we'll get you up there, quickly now." Penelope said with a hint of worry in her cheery voice. "Can you walk?"

Malik nodded firmly, shifting so he could loop an arm around the horned woman's neck. The support was good, but he still felt like he was rattling out of his...where had his boots gone off to?

"Up where?" Hadn't Kholas said under the table? Glamours? Shit, it was hard to think. The woman at his side, though, she was familiar. The circumstances weren't, but the situation was. A bright voice, positive. Concerned tone. The growth patterns on her horns breathed when he turned his eyes toward the side of her head, and that was definitely new, but her profile…

"'S good to see you, Pru," he offered, instead of sorting out the jumble of thoughts that raced through his mind.

Penelope's silence was telling. Her next step wasn't as sure. It was rigid. She composed herself quickly and gestured to the ladder leading into the attic, where the rest of their group was currently clambering into the cramped space.

"You must be confused. My name is Penelope." The woman said uncertainly, "Just up there. The attic. Don't stress yourself, ok? Up we go…" Eager to have some silence instead of having him say anything incriminating, Penelope urged Malik towards the ladder. He'd have to support himself on the way up but she'd be right behind him the entire time. "I won't let you fall."

Penelope? Didn't sound right, but alright. Penelope. Penelope…

Malik squeezed his eyes shut before climbing the ladder, an attempt to calm the noise filling his head. It was - a lot. He'd drank elixirs meant to revitalize the body before. This was more than that. His hands were still shaking as he reached for each rung. He couldn't tear his gaze away from each movement, from each step he made. His shoulder protested, his leg complained. He didn't stop.

The attic was tiny. Tinier than the kitchen, and likely tinier to his gaze than it truly was. The soldier hunched over as he stepped away from the ladder, grimacing at the low ceiling. Sit? Somewhere to...sit.

Penelope was a step behind him. She clambered into the attic, making sure to duck down so her horns didn't catch on the low ceiling. Her bed roll was still on the floor, just next to Beaumont. If anyone needed the space, it was certainly the wounded soldier.

"Here, Malik." The woman guided him to the spot on the floor. "Lay down. Alright? That's it."

Sitting down was something of a process, but Malik made it down with Penny's assistance. Laying down felt risky, like it'd be a struggle to get back up again, so he shifted until he could prop his upper body against the wall. The soldiers. He'd drawn them. Must have followed his trail. How many? Would there be more? Would they fight? Could Malik manage a fight? He fiddled with his thumbs, flicking off a bit of dried blood, unable to completely stop the movement of his hands.

After taking a slow, calming breath, Malik softly mumbled, "Shit."

Penelope knelt down by his side. She was quick to cover his hands with one of her own, if only to stop his fidgeting. It was far too distracting and would only serve to tire him out or rile him up, but one way or another, her intentions were pure in stopping him. She exhaled softly and closed her eyes. He was still wounded. There was still something she could do in all this waiting around?

"You're alright." She said quietly. "Just stay quiet, let me see what I can do." By the time she finished her sentence she was practically mouthing the words. Eyes still closed, the horned woman put her focus into Malik. Calm. Just be calm.

It was about all she could do.

Malik followed Penelope's example, closing his eyes. He breathed with care, feeling the soothing effect of her magic, and when he opened his eyes again, the shadows and the shapes of the others looked...softer. The swirling vortex of his thoughts had calmed. He could still feel the buzz of energy, pressing under his skin, too much at once, but it was less intense than it had been.

"Thank you," Malik whispered, offering the healer a weak smile. Now...now to wait.
 
PAN TALL-BONES​
x

Pan nearly collapsed as Kholas let go of his hand. It was like nothing the Satyr had ever experienced, what the Goblin had done. He flexed his hands; his fingers were stiff, and his pains were sweaty. He gripped a nearby chair, his weak knees almost giving out, but even that movement was a struggle, his arms were so heavy. It was like Kho had reached deep inside the Satyr's soul and swung it around his head. 'Exhaustion' didn't cut it; never had Pan experienced anything like it before.

But more was to be done. Danger had, through no fault of his own, followed poor Malik to their place of respite. With the flurry of activity, Pan shifted his balance, found his legs again, and began to help. Broken crockery, he began shoving under the table, picking up the bigger pieces carefully to place beneath and kicking the smaller pieces with his hooves underneath. Malik, it seemed, awoke, and the Horned girl was helping him out. Good; he would have been the biggest burden.

But Kholas. Frowning, he turned to look at the Goblin. Between ministrations, magic, and who knew what else, he must be utterly spent. He'd probably collapse at any time. Pan knew Kholas would be angry. But the task was mostly accomplished, and even in the short time they'd known each other, it was obvious that Kholas would work himself quite literally to death for the benefit of his peers. Even if he complained the whole way.

As the others finished hiding the mess, Pan reached down and grabbed Kholas' forearm, gently but irresistibly.

"Git upstairs. Yer too import'nt. We'll finish."
@GoblinAghast

 
smoke and mirrors


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a collab between @Kuno | @Doctor Jax | @GoblinAghast | @Lillian Gray



Melsinde had run to the door to see Linnae and Phineas approach, and she felt a sigh of relief. So they had managed to come back. Perfect. But -- Kho was speaking to her. Glamour the entire cottage? Her eyes darted to the parchment of wards. No time to do what she had hoped, make the cottage look like a rock formation and let them wander around it.

No, Kholas was right. She would have to glamour the entirety of this place. She was already kicking dishware underneath the table, trying to make the area as 'simple' as possible.

"Fin? Dear? What's our story?" she asked, her voice only slightly betraying her nerves. Already, she was beginning to weave a Projection that would glamour away the blood, the broken dishware. If she had more time, she'd do the outside too, but they would be here any minute.

The nobleman in question raised his head slowly from his hands. Somehow in the chaos he'd managed to find the only undisturbed chair in the cottage and planted himself there. Not that he was tired or lazy, no. The scrambling of the rebels to the attic had revealed to him a very chaotic and very…gory scene. He hadn't known what to react to first. So his body had made the decision for him.

Gods above, why is everyone and everything bleeding?

"Story? Well, let's see now," Phineas answered, looking wan as he frowned. The urgency in Mel's voice made him force himself to get up, and he pushed the chair off to the side. "So long as everyone remains hidden...well. An isolated cottage in the woods...hm."

He was changing even as he spoke. Brown hair shifted seamlessly into grey. He tugged lightly at his mustache, his fingers seeming to tangle within the beard that now sprouted from his chin. As his spell weaved a humble quality to his clothes, he eyed the door and pressed a hand to the top of his rapidly balding head, comparing the height.

"What say you?" He asked, raising a shaggy brow at the satyr. He appeared at least a head shorter in height. "An old hermit might like a home like this."

Melsinde continued with her Projections. So long as she was within twenty to thirty feet, they would hold. The blood was easily masked, Mel's near perfect memory expertly recreating the wood grains on the floor, "removing" the dishes on the floor. She looked up at Fin's mention, and she managed to crack a fragile smile despite the situation.

He did indeed fit the look of a hermit, to a T.

"I think that, regardless of what I think, it will have to do," she chuckled. Now she had to choose her own spot. No way she could expect him to glamour her, and she was not adept in Fin's style of illusion. She would have to pick a spot and hope they wouldn't stumble into her.

The house, thanks to her works, looked nearly immaculate, with the exception of her own addition of human bric-a-brac. With that, the door was pounded, and her heart leapt into her throat. She walked towards Fin, clasped hands with him in solidarity once - both to steady herself and to steady him - and backed herself into a corner.

As quickly as she stepped into it, she disappeared. For all intents and purposes, Melsinde had become invisible, a Projection of the corner shielding her from view.

Phineas braced himself. As the seconds ticked by, he pulled at his clothes, wrinkling the woven material between his fingers. His steps were slow and heavy as he shuffled towards the door; he was a man freshly roused, after all, and the glamoured bags under his eyes seemed to deepen as an afterthought.

"Who could it be at this hour…" He grumbled loudly enough to be heard from behind the door. As he pulled the door open just far enough to peer out, his face, marred by irritation, melted into feigned surprise at the sight of the two soldiers.

"Oh. Well." He blinked slowly, eyes flickering between the man and woman. "Divines above. To what do I owe this, eh, visit?"

The hermit's surprise was mimicked by the shorter of the two guards, his face falling somewhat as he took in the old man's appearance.

"Well, shit," he murmured under his breath-- only to receive a sharp elbow to the ribs by his comrade.

"We are searching for fugitives, possibly the rebels responsible for the tragedy at the University this evening," the woman snapped, peering into the small cottage as she spoke. "We have information that a hideout is located very near here," she said, flicking her gaze back to the old man in front of her.

The woman's expression was set, wary, though there was little in the cottage to suggest that it was anything more than that. No mess, no rebels, and honestly not apparent space in which to hide any.

"Who are you?" She demanded, glaring down at Phineas. "And have you seen or heard anything unusual?"

The scowl on the hermit's face was enough to rival the guard's own.

"What sort of nonsense is this? In all my years here, I've yet to see another soul stay in these woods. It's why I moved here, for God's sakes. All the drama and noise of the city - Pah!" He ranted, gesticulating mildly. "I want no part of it. And yet here you come, bothering an old man over some...what is this now? Rebels? Rebels, you say?"

The woman shifted her hand down to the pommel of her sword, still peering around the interior of the cabin over the old man's shoulder. "This nonsense," she said, "is a direct order from your Emperor. You would do well to answer my questions, old man." She lowered her head so she was eye-level with him, a scowl turning the corners of her lips.

"Search it," she said to her comrade, motioning him inside. "And you," she rounded on Phineas once more, "I asked for your name."

"Lamarr. I am Lamarr," Phineas growled. Inwardly, the man's nerves frayed. The woman had only to touch him above his "shoulder", and the whole charade would be over. "And no. I've heard naught but the sound of your knocking all night. I think I would have heard a crowd of traitors running through my woods."

With a faint grumble of inaudible words, the other soldier slipped past the old man and stepped into the cottage, staring around it. It was wholly apparent he thought this a waste of time, but with Marcella occupied, he might as well look around. Or pretend to, anyway. There was nothing here but an old man's knick-knacks, but it wasn't worth listening to her rail at him over "negligence."

Striding forward, he ducked to peek under the large, wooden table, then turned and stepped into the small kitchen. Just to humour his companion, he opened one of the cabinets. Finding no rebels inside, he closed it, then strode over to the other corner of the cottage. Halfway to his destination, he stepped on a concealed piece of dishware, which crunched under the heel of his boot.

Pausing, he looked down at his foot and lifted it. He stared at the blank floor for a long moment, then, deciding he'd imagined the sensation, continued to the far corner and knelt to look under the small bed.

"There's no one else here," he called back to his comrade.

"Perhaps they're hiding in my beard."

Some of Phineas' innate wit was beginning to surface, and he quickly adopted a sullen look as he glanced back at the female guard.

"Well? Shall I show you the garden as well? Perhaps they're sleeping amongst my potatoes."

"Watch your tone, old man." The female guard had caught the first remark, and made it quite clear she didn't appreciate the sarcasm. "I could have you hung for the very suggestion."

The female guard approached the old man and jabbed a finger in his direction. While she never touched his chest, she was coming dangerously close to the mirage. With one hand on her waist and the other in Phineas' face, she lowered her voice and spoke more to his level.

"I'll ask you again--" The woman made to grip the old man's shoulder when the communicator on her waist emitted a faint noise, small symbols glowing to life. She pulled her hand back suddenly and moved away from the old man in order to examine the burning inscription on the small plate. In her place, the other guard approached.

He extended his hand.

"Apologies, Lamarr, was it?" He smiled. "We are simply looking for answers. Rebels have attacked the University, burned it to the ground. Are you sure you haven't seen anything?"

Fin's shaggy brows shot up. He didn't even have to fake surprise - the guard's invitation hung before him, and he glanced at his own hands. His wrinkled, gnarled, and soft, pampered hands. The two senses did not mix; if the guard was perceptive, he would know something was up.

"We-ell, burned the University down, you say," He said in a deliberately slow fashion as he scrambled to think. "Hm. Well. Didn't mean to be surly. I suppose I…"

It was the most ignorant thing he'd ever witnessed with his own naked eyes: a farmer, nigh but two years ago, spitting in his hand before shaking someone else's. It was supposed to mean the bad blood was gone, and as Fin's spit flew into his palm, he adopted the same cheeky look, slapping his hand together against the guard's in a firm shake.

"I haven't seen anything. Sorry. Wish I had. I went to the school myself, back in the day."

"So you don't say…" The guard pulled his hand back as quickly as he'd offered it, swiping it along the back of his trousers to get the spit off his palm. He grinned sheepishly. There was the faintest hint of disbelief he'd just exchanged hands with a man and his spit.

"Leland, we don't have time for this. If they aren't here, the blockade will weed them out." Marcella, the woman, turned back to the two men with a scowl on her lips. Even she appeared to be tired of the situation.

Blockade? Phineas' heart raced.

"Blockade?" The old man smacked his lips together, swiveling from one guard to the other. "I need to go to the market tomorrow. Where is this blockade?"

"Ah, right." Leland sighed. "They're setting up a blockade along the North border, to Wyndfel. Don't worry, no troubles with your market plans."

"Certainly trouble for anyone heading North." The woman smirked. "I trust you aren't headed that way, old man?" She headed out the front door and waved the man after her. Satisfied no one else was hiding in the small cottage, and quite frankly done speaking with the odd hermit, it was time to move on. "We'll be on our way now. Stay out of trouble."

"Keep yourself safe. For the Emperor." The woman echoed the sentiment. The guards gave two simple salutes before turning their backs to Phineas and moving further down the trail, until finally, they were out of sight. The woman glanced back as if surveying the area one last time, but ultimately turned away.

 

GM Post | Petros
23/3/1 193 TE | Linnae's Cottage | Imperial Palace


  • A collective sigh of relief, felt rather than heard, accompanied the soldiers' departure. Unconsciously, Kholas dropped a hand to his chest and clutched lightly at his shirt. His heart was smashing against his ribcage and he took a steadying breath before letting his gaze sweep the attic. Everyone else looked just as shaken and he was incredibly glad that Pan had tugged him up the ladder when he had.

    That had been far too close. Listening with painful focus, Kholas had sworn that, during a particularly tense moment, the soldiers had seen through the ruse, but Phineas had played his part well and Melsinde's illusions had clearly done the job.

    Perhaps the socialite wasn't all talk after all.

    Finally daring to move, the goblin shifted his position and slid free of the cramped corner he'd been occupying to check on Malik, who was still shaking with the excess energy though otherwise seemed well enough-- for what he'd just been through, anyway. Partially healed injuries were, however, considerably lower on his list than they had been prior to being crammed in the attic.

    Now, his attention was fixed solely on one thing: the blockade. There was no way they would make it to the border before the blockade was established, and he was not going to chance sneaking through it. What they were going to do now…

    "All right," he said, addressing the cramped attic's occupants, and gesturing to the packs along the wall, "we need to get moving and soon. Extricate yourselves and pack your shit. I want to be moving by sunrise."

    As well as their hiding spot had worked this time, the soldiers would likely search the forest again and they wouldn't pass a more thorough sweep.

    Slipping free of the cluster of bodies, Kholas climbed down from the attic and sought out Phineas and Melsinde to offer his thanks for their efforts, then began looking for Linnae.

    A pack hit the floor with a thud and Linnae followed soon after down the attic and onto the main floor. She already had it strapped around her shoulders in the two steps it took to approach Kholas.

    "Kholas," Linnae breathed. Stating the obvious nature of their tense situation felt redundant. Still, she spoke quietly and quickly, "Out of the forest. Now. We all need to go. North, South, it doesn't matter which way. But we need to leave."

    They didn't have time to wait for another group to stumble upon her little cottage. Linnae doubted their ability to pull off such a miraculous farce on the fly for the second time. And what if there were more than just the two guards? There just wasn't enough room in the attic and they'd gotten lucky no one had searched it in the first place.

    "Sunrise is too late," Linnae added, her voice filled with concern.

    "Yes, but we also need to make sure we have adequate supplies and are fully packed," Kholas replied, collecting his own belongings from under the table and sorting them quickly into his pack. "And we cannot go North, we can't risk it."

    Pausing in his packing, he looked up at the nymph, his brow furrowed. "If they did get that letter from Atlak, they know we were headed to Wyndfel, but not which city. I wouldn't put it past Petros to line the whole fucking border after what happened at the Academy." He flexed one hand, fingers digging into the canvas pack. "He has to know by now that we have the Guard Stones and he is not going to take half-measures. We're going to have to rethink things and I'm going to have to get a message to Kylissa. Somehow. Let her know we've had to change plans."

    He slipped a few more items into his pack and closed the top flap. His thoughts were racing and, at the same time, felt like they were slogging through a mire of exhaustion. They needed a new plan and they needed it now.

    "Fuck," he spat, shaking his head. "I'm not going to let this go to shit. Not now."

    Turning back to the rest of the cottage where the others were in various stages of readiness, the goblin gave a sigh then called for everyone's attention. Linnae was right-- the sooner they left, the better.

    "Change of plans," he said, "with the blockade being put in place, we're going to have to reroute. We need to get out of Taitelle as fast as we can. We cannot safely get into Wyndfel in the present situation, so we make for Draycott in Ventha.."

    With a glance back at Linnae, a troubled look on his face, Kholas added quietly, "I hope Lata is still willing to help us when we show up on her doorstep."

    -----------------------​

    No one in the palace had slept since the Academy had gone up in flames.

    Petros Taites was in an inconsolable rage, having shattered no fewer than seven crystal goblets and ordered no fewer than six executions. Fortunately, one of his advisors had stepped in to speak on behalf of reason, assuring the man that executing his own soldiers would do nothing to aid in capturing the rebel force that had attacked the Academy.

    There was, however, one execution that would continue as planned.

    Despite little evidence of involvement, and the likelihood that he really had been only a courrier, the centaur, Atlak, would be beheaded for his affiliation with the rebel force. It was the one grain of pleasure Petros could cling to, and he planned to make a very public example of what any sort of affiliation or communication with the rebellion meant. And he wanted his example as soon as was possible.

    "My lord," his advisor said, voice tentative but even, "is it wise to rush this? Perhaps, with more encouragement the prisoner might divulge more information?"

    He was answered with the clang of a silver plate striking the pillar near his head.

    "It will happen this morning!" Petros snapped, wiping at the line of gravy that had spilled down his dressing gown when he'd flung his plate away. "It will happen this morning at the ruins of my Academy, and all of Taithros will watch!"

    Even as he spoke, palace guards were spreading through the city, announcing the news-- there was to be a public execution and an address by their Emperor. It would soon be well-known that the Imperial Army was on the move, establishing a blockade along the Wyndfel border. No travellers would be permitted without extensive searches and questioning.

    "Yes, my lord," the man said.

    Seemingly content with the agreement, Petros stood and snapped his finger at the two servants who had been collecting the remnants of the man's breakfast. Immediately, they stopped their work and collected clean robes, brought them over, and began removing the soiled dressing down.

    "What of the search?" Petros asked, glaring at one of the servants who had tugged on his sleeve while attempting to situate the new robe. The servant quickly flicked his eyes to the floor, not daring to look up.

    "Ah," replied the advisor, hands curling in his long, billowing sleeves. "Well, I'm afraid that, so far, there have been no reports of any rebel hideout in the forest."

    "So far?" Petros asked, his brow furrowed as his ruddy complexion reddened.

    "Yes, my lord. We have ordered a small squadron to continue searching before joining with the blockade efforts along the northern border. They are slowly sweeping northward through the forest. If there are rebels hiding there, they will find them."

    "They had better," Petros replied, shooing the servants away and sinking back into his chair. "I want that forest torn apart until they're found."


 
Last edited:
Linnae Ilex Aquifolium of Aquifoliaceae
Date | 23/3/1
Time | Early Morning
Weather | Mostly clear

  • "Hey, wait!" A voice hissed from the attic accompanied by a pale gray hand. "You're going to hurt yourself."

    Malik had lumbered down onto the ladder unassisted and was making his way to the first level. Linnae turned just in time to see him about a foot off the ground, and was reminded that she still had his shoes by the bare state of his feet. Tucked away near the entrance to the cottage they sat covered in mud, and having seen better days. A pang of guilt shot through her as she realized these were likely the only pair he had, and would have, for some time and she'd gone and buried her feet in the dirt. He'd be walking on rocks and shaking out dirt all the way to Ventha. She hoped the tracks she had left were well worth the effort.

    Linnae darted to Malik's side with her hands up to meet him. He dismissed her, but that didn't stop her from trying to help. Even if she was still only working with one hand, she wasn't going to let the wounded man hurt himself any more by falling off a ladder in her own home. Not while she could help it.

    "Malik, Ancients, you gave us a scare." Linnae smiled weakly, not knowing how else to address the situation with all the stress weighing down on them. She was just glad to see that the man could move on his own, even if it was with the assistance of magic. Or she had to assume that was what kept him going. He looked halfway beat to hell and it was only going to get worse as they had a long trek ahead of them and no stopping point in sight.

    She gestured to the boots by the door and turned to retrieve them. "I have your boots. Sorry about... well, the dirt."

    The nymph bent down to grab the boots and was surprised to see Eirini sitting quite peacefully inside. She pulled herself up to the rim of the leather and cheered happily upon seeing the familiar face. "Linnae! Oh good!"

    "Eirini? Where have you been?" Linnae asked, surprised.

    "Well, first the cupboard, then the pot but it was so hot." The sprite's eyes widened and she fanned herself dramatically at the memory of sitting inside a near boiling pan. Her small wings fluttered with a small burst of energy. "But when you came back I got so tired! So I stayed put, yes I did! Didn't want those guards to see me." She said proudly, wings pointed straight up.

    "And you were right to." Linnae frowned. "I was worried sick. Now come here, you can stay with me."

    Linnae sighed, relieved to see the sprite was indeed unharmed. She seemed to not understand the gravity of the events that had occurred. If anything, she seemed boastful of the fact she had stayed well hidden and completely oblivious to the fact that their plans were utterly ruined. The nymph extended her arm and Eirini gleefully walked up to sit on Linnae's shoulder, hanging on to a small branch which protruded above the nymph's ear. Once the sprite was no longer inside the boots, Linnae scooped them up and returned to Malik.

    She held them out with a sheepish grimace. Malik's boots were covered in mud, a bit of blood could be seen on the toe of one of them from her and Phineas' encounter in the woods. They hadn't the opportunity nor means to give them a proper shine so it'd have to do for the time being. Then again, he had coated her dining table in a fair amount of blood. So if she had to consider it an even exchange, she absolutely would.

    "I apologize, Malik, I required your boots."

    Linnae turned, facing up towards the slowly preparing group. They weren't moving quickly enough. Hadn't they heard Kholas? They needed to move! Unable to stand still, Linnae made herself the first to walk out the front door. She paced in front of her cottage, clearly distressed.
  • Notes and Noises:
    • Currently at Linnae's home:
      • We all made it! - Time to go though, so grab a pack and head out.
    • There is a bit of light on the horizon. Be wary of what lies in the woods.
      • There are an unknown number of soldiers wandering the woods
      • They have a letter of unknown content which Kholas and Linnae had given to Atlak
    • Currently Melsinde holds the shards
    • In regards to the recent announcement:
      • Be mindful of our discord reminder in regards to highlighting your posts. If the post is over 1k words and has the need for highlighting, then please do so. If the plot points are obvious enough, you are not required to highlight your posts.
      • Again, please be courteous to your fellow writers. We ask that everyone is reading the post and responding appropriately, and not missing important details. If you do not know something ask.



    The Plan:

    Plan's gone to shit. Run for the hills.

    Malik has returned but is gravely wounded. He has warned of the possibility of an attempt to double down on all of their lives. We need to move. Didn't Kholas mention a city...?

    Just when we're able to stabilize Malik, guards arrive. Maybe a blessing in disguise, we have discovered there is a blockade being set up along the Northern border into Wyndfel. We can't go that way any more, so we'll have to go a different route. Kholas mentioned a contact, Lata, somewhere in the South.

    Let's get a move on!