Heart of the World

kixinorbit

pigeons in a trenchcoat
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  3. 1-3 posts per week
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varies
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Prestige
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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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Melsinde Blackfinger

'Tense' was too pale a word for the feelings Mel harbored as she saw the soldiers finally come upon the house.

Though she knew that the illusion would hold - and that Fin would do well, as he had before, as he always did - there was still the possibility for all this to go wrong, for everything to come to ruin by something so small as a chip in the glamour, a hole to peer through and see past the veil to the truth of things. A gust of wind, an unforeseen cough--

Kiernan's eyes meeting hers briefly with knowing and resignation, her face stoic and unfeeling. Her hands writing the words, her mind desperately shutting out the emotions. Finally, the proclamation. The indictment. And then the sound of an axe cutting through flesh, sinew, bone--

Ancients, that female guard was close enough, she could reach out and touch her. Mel closed her eyes and held her breath, trying desperately not to move. Underneath her arms, she dripped with sweat. The Shards seemed heavy inside of her clothes, despite their apparent size. The thought occurred to her that they might only kill Fin if his deception was noticed. They might search the place, and she might be able to flee with the shards. Could she? Should she, if things truly did go south? Could she abandon him - them all - for the sake of the grander mission?

The sound of porcelain skidding across the floor. Her jaw clamped tight, heart racing, as she stood, hidden, in plain sight. A glacier clogged her veins. The guard dismissed it, but even then she could not breathe easy. Leave. Oh, Ancient Divinities, if there is anyone to hear my plea, make them leave.

And, as if in answer, they did. Fin turned them away seemingly without effort. They walked from the house, none the wiser. She maintained the illusion for several minutes more, to ensure that they were not faking them out of hiding. But then, it became clear that they were well and truly left to their own devices.

The illusion came down, and Mel let loose a long and unsteady breath. A hand came to her mouth, eyes shut, as she swallowed. She felt nauseous. She knew that would pass. This was not her first close call...

But it was certainly her closest.

Kholas and Linnae soon came down, and the world became a blur of bodies and rushed, quiet activity. Grab the packs, get ready to leave. Her mind seemed to move her on its own, the danger still present and propelling her like a leaf upon a quick-moving stream. In the back of her mind, she heard Kholas state that they would leave at first morning's light, and her gut recoiled. No... that would be too late. She had seen Petros Taites in his worst moods, and he would scour the countryside, down to the last blade of grass and the smallest of stones, to find them. Linnae, however, seemed of a similar mind, and she managed to convince him otherwise.

She managed to grab herself a pack, and she found herself outside, in the still pre-dawn air. It appeared Linnae was the only person outside, and, in that moment, as if a dam had cracked, Mel could feel the emotions begin to well. With shivering form, she quietly moved to another part of the garden, into the alcove of a trellis hidden under a thick veil of vines. She hid her face in her shaking hands, beginning to softly cry. She knew that this - too - would pass, merely the letting off of strong emotions after such a stressful event, but even that knowledge was little comfort as the weight of how close they had come to death settled upon her conscience.

She heaved and swallowed, wiping her face with a handkerchief, eyes rubbed red. To think, that had she been discovered, it would not have just been the death of her and their entourage, but then of Blaine himself, regardless of whether he was innocent or not, just by association alone...

Compose yourself, Melsinde. Ancients, pull yourself together. That's it. Time enough for that later. Time enough...

Finally managing to make herself look at least halfway presentable, she walked back out to join Linnae at the front gate.

With a nod, she stated, "Thank you, for convincing Kho to have us leave sooner. Petros will have legions of soldiers here by dawn. It was a wise decision on your part."


@Lillian Gray
 
Given the nature of Laceae's profession she was no stranger to close calls, but crammed into the smallest corner of Linnae's attic in an attempt to make space for the other hiding rebels, her heart began to pound almost painfully in her chest. It wasn't panic, though, that had her somewhat shaky as she crouched, ducking her head down to avoid somebody else's awkwardly placed elbow--it was excitement. The sudden rush of adrenaline was re-energizing. She even had to hold back chuckles to 'Lamarr's' hermit performance downstairs.

This is ridiculous. Are we rebels, or are we the travelling circus?

It felt like they were only hiding for seconds before the guardsmen below left, their noisy footfalls disappearing back into the forest, though tension still sat heavy over the group as they began to grab equipment and climb down from the attic. Laceae sat where she was, taking a moment to breathe. With the immediate danger gone, she could recognize that the sudden high she was feeling was more akin to hysteria than enthusiasm, and the gravity of the situation started to sink in as she listened to Kholas and Linnae talk. Blockade--Ventha? Oh Mother, guards will be crawling through the woods, even moreso having lost their best lead.

Grabbing a pack, Laceae clambered down the ladder and moved to retrieve her kit from the mess underneath Linnae's table. Kicked over onto its side, the contents had mixed in with the broken dishes and bloodied rags. She did her best to pick out her things and organize them back into her bag, and then took a moment to scour Linnae's cupboards for anything else of interest--any clean rags, needles, herbs. Linnae obviously wouldn't need it. Things together, she exited the cottage to wait with the nymph and Melsinde, resisting the urge to join the former in her pacing.

"A good idea, yes, but we won't get very far with Malik. Not to mention we are travelling in daylight," Laceae said. "You wouldn't happen to have a cart to put him in, would you? Unless we plan to take turns carrying him..."
 
There weren't many things Rahne hated, but hiding was one of them. Her ego wasn't big enough for her to find the act cowardly, no, there was nothing cowardly about trying to survive. It was the helplessness of the situation. Tucked away in a corner, or behind or under something, hearing the enemy walk around and converse among themselves, all the while holding your breath and praying internally that they wouldn't find you. Any little peep, scoot or even light exhale could give you away, and then every little thing would fall apart. It riddled her with anxiety, which only made her that much more focused on staying quiet and still as a mouse: something Rahne was very unaccustomed to.

Though the soldiers had only been in the cottage briefly, to Rahne it felt like hours, and if anyone asked, she'd have described it as an agonizing eternity followed by sweet, sweet relief. An audible sigh escaped her chest, and beads of sweat were wiped clear from her forehead. "Ah' feart the worst, man." She muttered to no one in particular as she made her way out of the attic and to the main floor.

Grabbing her equipment and things wasn't of much concern for Rahne. She always, though never intentionally, packed light. Her sword, her belt, some spare clothes, and a few other things and that was it. It was quick and easy, but she was more worried Malik, and Lacaeae had voiced her thoughts aloud. "If ya' don't got a cart, then Ah' can carry 'im!" She volunteered quickly, raising her hand high above her head. "Ah' can do it all the way if ya need me ta'!" She was confident she could do it, but she was also confident that she was the only one that could do it without upsetting his injuries, except for maybe Pan.​
 
Linnae Ilex Aquifolium of Aquifoliaceae


Mentions:


Date | 23/3/1
Time | Early Morning
Weather | Mostly clear

  • So they were ready then.

    Once everyone was outside, Kholas and Linnae quickly ushered the group back into the woods. Linnae spared a parting glance at her little cabin and frowned. The simple stone building, the wooden front door which she'd carved just to fit it with a bit of help from Kiernan's mentor. She would miss it. The garden she'd spent decades cultivating in order to have a collection of rare plants. Plants which, Kacius had procured for her. She idly wondered if he'd made it out of the fire before finally turning away from the door. It was a nice place. She would miss it dearly. She just hoped it was spared from the wrath of the Emperor.

    Now that they were together it was easier to keep an eye on them all. No chaos, no fire, no splitting up for the sake of any plan. They moved as one cohesive unit through Linnae's well explored woods. Granted, she was a bit dazed, and some of the trees were starting to look familiar, but she could figure out West. The sun rose in the East, so all they had to do was put their backs to the sun.

    Right?

    Linnae stayed at the front, making sure she was keeping them in the right direction. Kholas hung back a bit to watch for any stragglers. The nymph could feel his concern practically radiating off of him even from a few feet away. Every so often she'd turn, just to make sure everyone was still with her, and she'd look to see if Kholas was still stressed. Rahne and Penelope did their best to carry Malik but it was awkward. Rahne being so short, and Penelope being so tall, they would have been better off with a cart. Unfortunately, Linnae didn't have anything resembling a functioning cart.

    She ran her hands over her branches and cursed when she felt one snap beneath her fingers. None of this was going to plan. Her own frustration was showing.

    "Come on! Just a bit more and we should hit the main road." Linnae said as a bit of encouragement. They'd been walking for hours, and it would be dangerous soon. "We should keep moving so we don't get caught there."

  • Notes and Noises:
    • Currently in the woods heading West
    • It is now morning and there is light. 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!

 

GM Post | Camp
23/3/1 193 TE |Forest Outside Taithros|


  • What began as an overcast morning dragged into a muddy afternoon then on into a miserable evening. Needing to avoid main roads, Kholas and Linnae had kept the party on wooded trails when possible, but even those were too well-travelled to stay on for long. Mostly, they had trudged through muddy thickets, pausing only when absolutely necessary to allow Penny and Rahne to breathe and readjust before hauling Malik onward, half-conscious but doing his best.

    Lunch, if it could indeed be called that, had been a brief and largely silent affair. Rations had been passed quietly around, and Kholas had spent much of the half-hour doing what he could to keep Malik on his feet-- so to speak. Everyone was exhausted and the silence said as much. Exhausted and terrified.

    Once they were further from the city and had at least more than an hour or so of sleep, he hoped the travelling would become easier. As it was, Kholas could feel his knees and feet beginning with the familiar ache though he willed it away the best he could. With his magic reservoir depleted, now was not the time for his ailment to rear its head.

    No, he just needed rest. They all did.

    As the sun sank, casting long shadows as it slid behind the horizon, Kholas called the party to a halt. Sharp eyes swept their surroundings while his ears flicked and swivelled, listening to the night sounds of the forest around them. For the last several hours they had encountered no signs of people and he hoped this would be sheltered enough to rest for the night. Yes, they were still close to the city, but they were in a secluded section of forest, cloistered by old, close-growing trees. And, he noted, taking in the slumping forms and laboured breathing from Penny, Rahne, and Malik, they wouldn’t make it much farther, anyway.

    “We’re stopping here for the night,” Kholas said. “Make camp but keep the fire small. Penny, Rahne, if you could make a place for Malik, I’ll come see to him in a moment. Laceae, please check on everyone else and make sure they’re holding up.”

    While people began unloading their packs, Kholas approached Linnae and gave her a weary nod. “How are you doing?” His gaze dropped to her injured hand, but he said little else on the matter. Perhaps she would allow Laceae to tend to it again later. “I’ve been thinking about how we’re going to get a message to Kylissa.” He paused for a moment, watching the rest of the party as they laid out blankets. His eyes fell on the socialite who was looking incredibly worse for wear. “We’re going to need a contact we can rely on to help shift plans around, now that we’ve been rerouted. What would you think of sending Phineas to Kelna to get a message out, use him as a correspondent.”

    "I trust him." Linnae answered. She ignored his question and tried to focus on more important matters, like their messenger. "We might need to send someone with him… I don't know. He's woozy around blood and if he got hurt? I trust him. I do. But…"

    “No, you’re right,” Kholas agreed. “He can be… Well, an ostentatious prick, but I do trust him. Enough, anyway. And I think, despite his flippancy at times, he’s competent. His ability to disguise himself is useful, but yes, someone should go with him.”

    They couldn’t send anyone who would risk being recognized. His first thought was to send Melsinde with him, but she was a valuable asset and sending both of their illusionists didn’t seem wise. Penny, perhaps? But they really could use her strength and, though she lost her head with Malik, she did possess some healing ability.

    “What about Beaumont? As he’s from Khal Miras, he shouldn’t be recognizable. The man seems to have a good enough head on his shoulders.”

    "That could work. When I ran into the pair, he was a bit more rational. Penelope tried to get too close before I knew…" Linnae trailed off. It had been Beaumont who got Penelope to back off, and his intelligent disposition may just have been what they needed for a message. He was smart. Surely he wouldn't get them caught? And Phineas needed someone to keep him in check. "Yes, I think that might work."

    “Seeing as how we don’t have many options, I think it will have to. All right. I’ll go have a word with them. You get settled. See if Melsinde is up to helping with something to eat. Maybe boil water for tea. Perhaps Pan and Miri could manage a fire?”

    Sliding away to deposit his pack near where Rahne and Penny were settling the injured soldier, Kholas glanced quickly around their small camp. It was a sorry sight, he had to say-- but this part of the forest wasn’t particularly muddy and with rest, hopefully, tomorrow would be easier. Attempting to rub some of the fatigue-induced haze from his eyes, he began wandering toward the ragged-looking Phineas.


  • The party has stopped in a dense section of forest about fifteen miles outside of Taithros. The sun is setting and the forest is getting pretty dark. It's a bit damp in places, but there's enough leaf litter to make dry-ish spaces.
    C72S94Z.jpg

 
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PAN TALL-BONES​
x

Pan had walked beside Linnae the entire way. Rahne had insisted on carrying Malik, as the Satyr had understood it, which only made sense, given their relationship. Short of being a pack mule, Pan had been at an utter loss as to how he might contribute. So he volunteered his broad shoulders and his strong back, trying to ease what burden he might, and had further requested of the group's leaders that he be allowed to walk near the front. His weapon hand might not be as practiced as, say, Rahne's or Malik's, but his strength would have to do in a pinch. So he paced the Nymph as best he could, trying as he did to find a path through brush and obstacle for those behind.

Even with the benefit of the short halt and meager meal, the man felt as weary as he had after a long day in the mines back home as the sky began to darken. And if he felt tired- yes, indeed. A glance back at the Goblin confirmed his concern. Kholas looked to be ready to fall over, already spent from huge magic expenditure before they had even left. They called a rest for the night before he could offer to carry the Goblin.

Good thing, I s'pose, he considered as the others began to spread about in the slow, deliberate manner than only exhaustion can inspire. If'n Ah'dda ast, he'dda like to chew mah head off.

But things needed doing. Pan dropped his pack near as could be managed the middle of their camp so its contents could be accessed then shifted to its perimeter. His axe, ever at the low ready as they had marched, now moved to his shoulders, which protested partially. Then, in as wide a circle as he could manage, he began pacing the camp in cautious steps, eyeing the forest for signs of the enemy.


 
Miri sighed in relief along with everyone else when she heard the guards leave. At Kholas's command she came out from the attic and began packing her bag. Luckily, she didn't have very many things and hadn't really unpacked much so was able to get ready to leave in just a few minutes. She had just joined and things were already going poorly. Of course, she knew before coming that joining the rebellion would be risking her life. She just hadn't expected to have been so close to disaster on her second day.

The trek through the forest had been miserable. Not only was the weather bad, the entire group had been on edge the entire time. Miri couldn't hide her relief when Kholas announced they were making camp for the night. Miri was used to hiking. But this, this was different. Somehow the added threat of fleeing for her life seemed to make everything take twice as much energy. She was exhausted. After resting for a bit, she reached into her pack and pulled out a small sack of warding stones. She followed Pan around the perimeter, placing them at regular intervals and gathering tinder for a campfire at the same time. She stopped as they passed where Penny and Rahne had placed Malik. "How is he doing? I have a few more mushrooms if he really needs them, but I'm not sure how healthy doing a second trip in less than 24 hours would be."

After checking on Malik, Miri started a fire in the center of the camp using the tinder she had collected, some flint, and a small knife. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out some mushrooms. "Not sure what we're planning to do for dinner, but we could eat some of these."
 
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When Kholas decided they would make camp, an audible sigh of relief escaped Rahne's chest. She was far from ready to collapse, or at least that was what she would say if anyone asked, no matter how pathetic and exhausted she looked. She was more worried about the others, though. She was a soldier, she was used to marching and pushing her endurance, but were the others? Then there was Malik. She'd taken extra care not to jostle him about as they traveled, constantly badgering the man with questions about how he was doing, if anything hurt or if she was moving him around too much. The break was nice, Kholas's healing eased Rahne's concern as much as it did Malik's pain, and while the rations were much appreciated, it was no substitute for a real rest. The stop was much appreciated.

Finding a nice enough looking tree, she slowly set Malik down, leaning his back against the trunk and giving his shoulders a hardy pat. "All good, eh?" With an accomplished grin, she plopped herself on the ground next to him, giving her feet a much, much-needed break. "Thank ta' stars! Mah' dogs were barkin'!" She exclaimed, falling onto her back and stretching out like a starfish. She'd shrug off her boots if she didn't want to be ready for anything.

When Miri mentioned eating, she sat up almost instantly, leaning forward onto her hands. "Ah'll take some!" Not wanting to walk on her aching feet, she crawled her way over to Miri, sitting beside her. "Ya roastin' em? Or are we ta' eat em' raw?"​
 
Kholas Abalyshevska

Location: Forest Outside Taithros
Collab With: @Red Thunder @Kuno
As he approached Phineas, Kholas gestured to Beaumont to join them. Behind them at the centre of their small camp, the goblin could hear everyone settling in and unpacking. Hopefully, they could get a fire going quickly. The chill evening air was just going to get colder as the night went on. Ancients willing, it wouldn’t rain again tonight.

“I assume we’re all tired and hungry,” Kholas said stopping in front of Phineas, Beaumont falling in beside him, “so I’ll make this quick. With everything that has happened, we need to get word to our contacts and have someone act as a relay of sorts and help coordinate our next moves. You two are the best candidates for the job. You’re competent, we trust you, and this needs to happen sooner rather than later.”

Opening the smaller of his packs, he withdrew a piece of parchment, a quill, and ink. Pressing the paper against a smooth rock, he scratched down several lines of text.

“I’m giving you the name and information for our contact in Wyndfel,” he said, quill still scratching away, “in Tōrlinn. Commander Kylissa Velle. She has someone in Windermere, should you be unable to send this to Tōrlinn, who can make runs to her-- though it would be best to send this to her directly. If you can, stay in Kelna so I can contact you with further information.”

He paused in his scribbling for a moment, thinking. “I know this is sudden,” he said, “but we weren’t expecting a blockade and attempting to get to Wyndfel right now is complete fucking folly. Since Beaumont is from Khal Miras and wasn’t involved in the Academy incident and since you can disguise yourself, you two have the best chance of evading capture.” Another pause. Kholas forcefully pushed thoughts of a captured Phineas and Beaumont from his mind.

“If things go South or if you even suspect the Empire might be on to you, I want to you run. If I lose touch with you, I will do my best to get word to Kylissa. Stay in contact with her.”

Content that the ink on the parchment was dry, Kholas rolled it up and handed it to the socialite, his jaw set. “Can you do that?”

"Yes, yes. But of course."

The rolled parchment was more or less slipped from one hand to the other, Phineas bringing his arm back to rap the paper neatly against his knuckles. From his seated position on a log, the nobleman was nearly eye-level with Kholas, and he glanced up at the goblin tiredly.

"Head to Kelna, send word to Kylissa, don't get caught," He went on, nearly monotone. "As par for the course. I'll do what's needed."

Especially if it meant the chance to revisit his home there. Divines alone knew how much he needed the rest, not to mention a hot bath, food, refreshments...perhaps some light entertainment and association…

Phineas tweaked the drooping ends of his mustache. "How soon are we to leave?"

“That’s up to the two of you,” Kholas said with a shrug. “If you’ve the energy to travel on tonight, perhaps that. Otherwise, we’ll part ways in the morning. The sooner we get word to Kylissa, the better.”

Kholas began to retreat back toward the centre of their small camp, then stopped and turned to face them. “Thank you,” he said, “I know all of this has been...well, a lot. I appreciate you. Both of you. Please stay safe.”

"Wyndfel? Yer goin tah Wyndfel?"

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Honestly, he hadn't. Pan wouldn't even know what to do with eaves if he had any. But his slow plod around the camp perimeter had taken him within earshot. He had intended to stay away, to let them have their apparently secretive meeting; Spirits knew he wouldn't, and probably couldn't, be entrusted with any plans.

But he worried about his family in the Heights. It felt like he'd been gone so long, and Yigwit and Periwinkle were sure to be looking for word of him.

"S-sorry. Last thin' yah wahnt 'sa nuther task. Bu' mah kin'll be-" Pan paused, clearing his throat nervously as he drew near a step or two. He didn't want to upset Kholas again, but he couldn't pass the chance up. He turned his gaze to Phineas. "Could yah send word from Tōrlinn to tha Heights that Ah'm fine? Jes' a letter'r sumthin."

Phineas - his brow still raised quizzically from Kholas' unexpected show of thanks - listened patiently to the young satyr. It was only when he was finished speaking that he gave a light nod.

"Certainly. I'll make sure to speak highly of you." He winked at Pan, a small smile soon to follow. "And I'll be sure to leave out some of our more, uh, violent exploits. Hm? Come, Beaumont-"

With a great heave, he rose up, stretching his aching limbs lightly. He warmly clasped both men on the shoulders before lumbering past to where Beaumont stood expectantly.

"What say you and I leave tonight? The sooner we make headway towards Kelna, the better."

Beaumont gave a nod. “I think so,” he said. “Let me collect my things and say goodbye to Penny.” With that, he set off to collect his pack and seek out his companion.

“Very well,” Kholas said, giving a tired nod of his head. “With any luck, we’ll catch up with you at some point. I’ll send word when I can, but fuck knows what state the towns will be in or if we can even safely stop. In the very least, I will contact you when we reach Draycott. I wish you both the best.”

Starting back toward the camp once more, he gave a slight wave of his hand toward Pan and said, “come on. Let’s leave them to it.”

Pan didn't respond immediately. The same knot appeared in his stomach that had back in Taithros at the Academy exit as he watched Malik sprint back into its fiery depths. While there was no obvious danger here, the satyr still eyed Phineas with worry and trepidation. Nevertheless, he followed Kholas, if hesitantly.

"Will they be safe, yah ken?" he asked the goblin after a moment, eyes downcast. "Ah don' wanna nuther Malik."

“No one is safe,” came Kholas’ terse reply.

Then, he paused, looked at the satyr, and sighed.

“This is...not an ideal situation for anyone, Pan,” he said, his voice no longer tight, but tired. “No one wants to be where we are right now. No one here wants people to get hurt, but sometimes that’s just what happens. It...” trailing off, he dropped his gaze to his muddy, aching feet, his ears falling slack against his neck. “It’s part of doing what needs to be done in a situation like this. Sometimes, people who don’t deserve it get hurt.”

The goblin fell silent for a long moment, walking quietly until they reached the others. His eyes settled on Laceae and Malik before he turned back to the satyr.

“We just don’t have many options right now. I know that this… It--” he rubbed his tongue along the point of a tooth, considering. “You’re a good person, Pan, and I’m sure this is rather different than what you’re used to. But the world isn’t black and white. There isn’t just ‘right’ and ‘wrong,’ or ‘good’ and ‘bad.’ We’re trying to change the way the world works and thinks and that’s a fucking monumental task. People are going to get hurt. People are even going to die, but we’re going to do our best.”

Realizing he’d said far more than he’d intended without really answering the satyr’s question, Kholas shrugged. “For what it’s worth, Phineas and Beaumont are likely to be safer than we are, so long as they’re careful.”

Silence answered him, Pan staring into the unending wall of trees about them, his face unreadable. Finally, he nodded.

"Yer righ'; they are." He paused again before finally looking down to his shorter companion. "Jus'- don' ferget abou' you, Kho. Leaders think so much 'bout other folks, 'n ferget themself. Worl' ain't black and white, mebbe, but tain't all bad, neither."

His ear twitched, and he gave it a hard scratch. The impression it gave, of that show Satyr rubbing his head in thought, was not entirely inaccurate. Indeed, his brow creased, as if trying to piece the thoughts in his head together.

"Yah do 'lot fer us, Kho; lemme know if I kin do summat fer you."

Patting the Goblin's shoulder, he turned away to once again patrol the perimeter.

"'N git sum sleep, boss."

 
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A Budding Friendship and A Fond Farewell
a collab with @Kuno and @Lillian Gray

The journey was not an easy one for the chronicler, despite her fleet-footed nature. She had long grown used to riding in carts, not walking, and while she did not complain, she stuck to the back of the group. It was a blessing when, at last, Kholas called for them to halt for the night.

Immediately, she set to finding wood for a fire. She could mask it as a long-dead firepit to keep searching eyes off their trail. Luckily it had not rained… She dug through her bag as she sat on a log, and her eyebrows furrowed. Drat! In her haste she had not brought flint, a knife, nothing. Huffing at her own lack of foresight, she stood and walked toward Linnae.

“Excuse me dear… you wouldn’t happen to have brought a flint with you, would you have? I plan on starting a fire— no worries, I will mask the light easily enough,” she asked, her poise maintained even as her hair was unkempt and her robe slightly mussed.

Linnae had just found a comfortable patch of soil to rest her legs when Melsinde approached. She turned, hummed in question. A flint? She knew what that was. Her eyes stared straight ahead until she recalled what exactly that looked like. She gasped, “Ah, right! Yes. Let me see…”

She pulled her bag between her legs and rummaged through the mess. Rations, a few odds and ends for cooking, seeds. She had to dig a little deeper until she found the flint resting near the bottom. Linnae triumphantly pulled it out, and held it up to Melsinde.

“Why don’t you let me? You look as weary as I do,” Linnae offered despite her crippled hand. She’d regained some feeling and movement, but having stuck it so long to her chest she knew it wasn’t about to budge any time soon. “It has been a long day, hm?”

“Ohohoho, no, no, no. You have had enough near brushes with fire,” Melsinde said with a matronly tone, despite being several decades Lin’s junior. She pointed to the burnt hand the nymph still cradled at her chest. “The day I cannot light a simple campfire is the day I hang up my cloak and cease adventuring.”

Admittedly, that prospect sounds more and more attractive the longer we walk.

The satyr took the flint, picking up a sufficiently sharp rock as well.

“Though… if you don’t mind, could you fetch me a kettle of water? I believe we all need a brew of something strong, and I need to begin preparations for dinner,” Mel sighed, and abruptly she caught herself. She was trying to lead the charge here, so to speak. “Unless, of course, you think someone else ought to.”

“No that’s a fine idea. The kettle isn’t large, we may have to brew a few pots.” Linnae replied.

Linnae grinned sheepishly. She wasn’t used to this. Being waited on. Melsinde had a motherly aura that Linnae couldn’t help but bend herself to. So, she nodded in reply and tried not to push herself any further, to spare Melsinde’s polite wrath. There was a canteen somewhere in her bag, and she dug for it to save herself a trip to find water. They’d have to find some at some point, but they'd cross that bridge after some well earned rest. Linnae had to admit her own feet were a little tender.

The kettle took some searching. It was small, not meant for a group of any more than three really, but with a fire and a little bit of patience they would have their tea. Linnae tossed a handful of leaves into the pot, enough to make it a strong brew, and gently placed it near the edge of the fire Melsinde was tending to. She couldn’t even feel the heat, and it was better that way.

“Thank you, Melsinde.” Linnae smiled softly. Speaking quietly, she continued, “You are doing very well, you know.” It wasn’t just Melsinde, but everyone. Her new companions had been tested from the moment they started running, and so far they had proved they were worth their salt. Yes there had been casualties, but the outcome of setting the Academy on fire could have been far more grim.

Their heads could be on chopping blocks, after all.

“I appreciate this, the little things. I know this is not easy.” Linnae murmured.

Mel’s fire was small, the satyr carefully shielding the fledgling fire with her hands. She looked up at Lin as the nymph set the coming brew near the edge. She had a definite reason to fear fire, her sort being rather predisposed to going up in flames.Her smile was grateful.

“It means more than you know to hear that,” Mel sighed as she continued to breathe life into the fire. Carefully, as she did, she also wove a simple enchantment about it, a box of black. The fire would continue to produce heat, but none of its light would spread, keeping it hidden. No doubt, it would be very strange to those who were not used to the trick. It was one of the first things an illusionist learned to do, was to hide the flame of a candle, given how important controlling lighting was…

Her mind was wandering. She turned back to Lin when she was sure the fire would now survive on its own.

“If I am honest, I would say I’m doing terribly. This is not even the most harrowing of journeys I have undertaken, and yet perhaps because of its stakes, I am too aware of every misstep,” she chuckled, shaking her head. In her robe, she still had the Shards hidden, and for what felt the hundredth time, she felt for them. “You know, when I was young, I hid aboard a ship to head south to the Hidden Isles after catching wind of a story about a Lamia festival, and, just my luck, a pirate crew came aboard it. Killed every crewmember save for the captain and his family. I stowed away for almost four months before sneaking off at a port. You would think compared to that, this is relatively straightforward.”

She shook her head.

“And you know? I still got my story on that Lamia festival. Almost like nothing ever happened.”

“It must have been terrifying.” Linnae murmured quietly. To think, Melsinde had witnessed something so cruel. And yet, she had also been witness to Kiernan’s beheading. There were likely dozens, if not hundreds of harrowing tales Melsinde was keeping quietly to herself. “But, you made it, Melsinde.”

Linnae sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking about what she could say.

“You know, I think we are all scared. Scared we are doing the wrong thing, that we are making mistakes. That we are doing a terrible job. There is so much doubt and it feels like we are all doing… Ancients.” Linnae chuckled quietly. She pulled her knees to her chest and stared at the black box surrounding the fire. “Awful. But, it is impossible to measure something that’s never been done before. So, how terrible can we really be doing?” Linnae laughed at some long distant memory, “Someone told me that once, many years ago. More than I care to admit. And I find that after all those years, I can’t help but agree.”

She pulled the kettle free of the fire once it started to steam and made quick work of procuring four, small cups from her pack. Linnae only filled two with tea, leaving the other two in a neat stack near the kettle should anyone want to join them. It wasn’t as warm as she would have liked, but it would have to do considering the circumstances. She offered one to Melsinde with an abashed sort of smile.

“Please, forgive my preaching.” Linnae blushed, “I am getting old, I suppose.” And with age, came the rambling ideals and philosophies she apparently needed to force down the throats of the youth. The last thing she wanted to do was come off as self righteous.

In truth, those words did bring a great measure of help. Yes… nothing like this had ever been done. That was why she was here. To tell others, one day, it could be done.

“No, no, I believe I could do with a sermon,” she chuckled, looking at the cup of tea and considering it. However, hearing the crunch of feet, she looked up, spying Fin with his pack. Of them all… he needed something to warm his bones most.

“Phineas, dear. Tea?” she called to him.

"Oh? Just for me? I'm flattered," the nobleman teased as he drew closer still. As he came to a stop alongside the two women, he glanced at the crackling flames, his expression instantly sobering.

"No, I'm afraid I must decline. Beaumont and I leave for Kelna soon, and I confess the tea would make me more tired than I already am." Phineas raised a brow at the two ladies. "I do hate to leave your sides. Promise you won't have too much fun without me."

“Impossible.” Linnae teased. “You humble us, even now, with your presence. Every hair on your head to your moustache is by far more fun than my old branches.” The nymph openly laughed, feeling much better in good company.

She cradled her cup of tea, forgetting to drink it until it was lukewarm. Ah well, there would always be more tea. It was more embarrassing she had just… forgotten it was in her hands. Linnae sipped at the cup, smiling between Melsinde and Phineas.

“Are you all set for your trip then, Phineas? I’m grateful you are willing to go for us.” Linnae admitted.

"Of course. It is my pleasure to go."

If only they knew. Kholas was doing him more of a favor than he probably realized. Phineas looked askance at Melsinde, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"But I can't go without a proper farewell. Well, my dear Mel? How about a kiss for good luck? Should some misfortune befall me on the road, you can find comfort in knowing you granted a man his final wish."

Melsinde gave him a long-suffering look. The insufferable flirt — even now he was finding any reason at all to goad her. She stood from the ground, making a show of dusting herself off (oh her robes were hideous), walked up to him, motioned for him to lean down — smacked a kiss on her hand and “stuck it” to his forehead.

“Go with my blessing, dear Fin. Glad to be of service,” she picked, crossing her arms.

If she were honest she was glad for it, though. A part of her truly was worried about sending him off on his own.

“You will avoid trouble, right? I know how much you love to be in the thick of it, and this might prove too tempting for you.”

“Why, I don’t know what you mean!” Phineas exclaimed with mock chagrin. “Am I not always on my best behavior? No no - don’t answer that.”

He would miss this banter between them, between all of them, really. Fine company was not so easily found. And a small part did worry of what would become of the group in his absence. Kholas and Linnae were fine enough leaders; still, the Empire was no doubt scouring the countryside as they spoke. It would not be easy on them. Not at all.

Phineas shouldered his pack once more and stepped away, eyes flickering between the two ladies. In the glow of the campfire, his smile seemed sad.

“I’d best not keep Beaumont waiting. Linnae, Melsinde - farewell. Until our next engagement.”
 
Malik Shendoa and Laceae
Collab between @Spectre of the Fade and @Rainjay
It had been a long while since Laceae had visited these woods, and even longer still since she had spent more than a sunny afternoon outside the city. Usually, her treks were brief excursions for wild grown herbs and fruits. Sometimes, she’d bring a basket of bread and cheeses and spend an hour watching the birds, but she never strayed too far from the paths trodden by others. Now she found herself trudging through denser areas, overgrown with ambitious roots and vines, often lagging behind the others and tripping over the sunken bootprints they left in the mud.

“Blasted beanpoles,” she muttered as the sky began to darken. For the millionth time that day, she was halted several paces behind the others, waiting for the underbrush to slowly twist itself away from the path so she could proceed without getting tangled up like a moth in a spiderweb. Her legs were aching from the effort of keeping up.

When Kholas called for the party to stop, she exhaled loudly in relief and slumped down against the nearest tree, allowing herself a moment to close her eyes before heeding the goblin and moving to check on the others.

Her first stop would be Malik. “I think they would be best reserved for tomorrow, Miri,” the nymph said as she limped over, grateful this time that Malik was resting at a height easier for her to reach. “How are you feeling? Got some rest during the walk, I hope?”

Malik, leaned up against the tree Rahne’d set him against, gave an acknowledging hum. During the hike, he’d - eventually - convinced her to let him down, and had made much of the trip with an arm around his friend’s shoulder so she could take some weight off his sore leg. Not a particularly restful form of travel. He was tired. Drained, even, like the surge of energy Kholas had given him that morning took something with it when it left him. Lucky that he’d soon be able to sleep.

“Better,” he offered in response, alongside a tired smile. “Some grub did me good. You alright? Holding up?”

Laceae smiled in return, pleased to see the man was recovering so well. “I will manage, as I always do. Though I could certainly benefit from some of your strength. I haven’t seen many people walk away from such wounds as yours,” She paused, and then added with a laugh, “Especially with the amount of drugs you received between Miri and I! I have to apologize for the crude anaesthesia, I didn’t quite expect… this.”

“How is your shoulder? Your leg?” She sat down, looking over him for any signs of pain. “If there is still any bleeding, it would be best to tend to that now. Kholas is well regarded for his healing, but no one is infallible under that level of duress.”

“Speaking of, how did you become involved in a group such as this? You hold yourself like military, yet wander with rebels; and I doubt Kholas and Linnae have the coin to hire mercenaries.”

“It’s alright,” Malik offered, gently dismissing the nymph’s apology with a wave of his hand. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for the four of you. As it is, I’m sore, but moving. Can’t ask for much better than that.”

Her comment about his military service prompted a chuckle. Quite the accurate read from someone he’d met just that morning. Was he really that easy to read? Probably. ...Wait, had he even introduced himself? Well, shit, that needed to be fixed.

“Good guess.” The soldier offered a hand for her to shake, a touch of embarrassment in his smile. “My name’s Malik Shendoa. I was a loyal soldier of the Empire, right up until Rahne and me deserted. Tripped over the rebellion not long after that, luckily for us.”

“Laceae Asiaticus,” Laceae replied, giving the proffered hand a shake with a nod. The ex-soldier’s optimism was especially welcome after their lengthy, somber trek.

“Deserting is risky business,” she said after he finished. “I cannot say any of the deserters I have met over the years were interested in becoming rebels. Most planned to go south, or west; to go as far from Taitelle as possible, to try and rebuild their lives without the Empire’s looming presence. Linnae and Kholas must trust you two deeply.”

“If you do not mind me asking… if you were so loyal, as you say, why did you leave?” She tilted her head curiously with the question. “You do not really look the type.”

“Good to meet you.” Malik smiled and tipped his head toward the nymph before resting it against the tree he sat against. He considered her question; he’d explained his reasons to himself plenty of times since, but explaining them to others remained a challenge.

“I was a soldier for a long time. Barely nineteen, an idealist who wanted to get away from my parents. It was good, at first,” he began, eyes sliding off of Laceae’s face and into the middle distance. “The army changed after that little shitslick Petros took the throne, it did, and I saw it, and I stayed.” The soldier shifted, frowning as he pulled a stone strung on a loop of leather out of his undershirt and rubbed a thumb over the ward marked into its surface. “I was a good soldier. I followed orders. I dragged civilians from their homes and seized valuables they couldn’t afford to give, all in the name of the emperor. For years.” His gaze lifted back to the nymph, sorrow in his pale eyes. “I spent too long looking away and ignoring my part in it all. The only thing I regret about deserting was not doing it sooner. Serving the rebellion’s my attempt to atone.”

The young soldier’s words struck a familiar chord in Laceae; she wasn’t sure if the pain she found herself feeling then was empathy for Malik, or the memory he revived in her. Perhaps it was both. She caught herself rubbing between her fingers the petals of one of the small buttercup flowers blooming over her skin in a subconscious motion of comfort not unlike Malik’s own.

“For better or worse, we are a product of our experiences. Perhaps it’s that regret that differentiates you from the man who only seeks to run and hide.” She extricated her fingers from the flower bud and buried them instead into the cool dirt ground. “Regret might be the commonality that binds us together… and we are stronger for it than if we were driven by wrath or pride. At least,” she added with a low chuckle, “I like to tell myself that.”

“Either way, I’m glad you and Rahne are with us, and that you made it back to us in one piece! Retrieving the stones must have been… quite the adventure. I’ve yet to give Kholas and Linnae my apologies for not being there to help.” She glanced over to where the nymph and goblin were talking. “I guess that’s a regret of my own.”

“You might be right,” Malik offered, looking down toward his necklace as he considered the nymph’s words on regret and its role in the rebellion. He’d like to think that he and Rahne weren’t the only decent deserters, that others would have joined if given the opportunity. That other soldiers of the empire might join them, if offered a chance. Might be wishful thinking on his part, but he couldn’t quite let the idea go.

His eyes lifted right back up to Laceae when she mentioned retrieving the stones, the warded stone dropping back to his chest. “It was -” - ‘a shitshow’ felt unkind, but. Well. Atlak captured, Pyre dead, Kacius missing. It could have gone better. Could have failed, though, so - “chaotic, that’s certain. But we got the stones, and you’re with us now. No need to blame yourself for things you couldn’t control.” He smiled as he finished the statement, soft and hopefully reassuring.

“So,” he added, shifting his position with a soft grimace, “what brings you to the rebellion? If it’s alright to ask.”

The man’s words made Laceae feel a pang of guilt--her delayed decision to join the rebellion was a choice absolutely within her control, though she supposed Malik wouldn’t know that--but his peaceful demeanour helped her open up… perhaps a little too much, for she carried on far too long, though she only realized it afterward.

“I suppose I’ve been an… informal member, so to speak, for awhile now. I was born in Estura, but I came to the capitol to study magic under the likes of great healers like Kholas, though for my years there I actually saw him rather infrequently. He’s a busy man after all. Most of my skill until I came to the Academy was informal, learned on the road; I spent some time healing miners in Tórlinn, treating villages with the plague, that sort of thing. After so long it became habit,” she shrugged, “So when I found myself in possession of a far too empty house in the middle of the city, I started offering my services again.”

“I really do not understand the obsession with large, wooden abodes. They’re so… inert. And cold. Regardless,” she waved her hand, dismissing her tangent, “I managed to go from treating refugees and children to housing rebels and deserters, never for very long, but enough to patch them up and help them out of the city. Perhaps that is how I caught Linnae and Kholas’ attention?”

Her river of words slowed then. “I was not always interested in helping the rebellion, though. It was my daughter who… changed my mind. She was arrested. I have not seen her in six years, but several days ago, a man found his way to my home, and told me she yet lived.” She paused for a long moment, digging her fingers deeper into the earth as she sat in thought. There hadn’t been very much time to consider that news, or whether there was any truth to it or not. Was she a fool for believing? Gia absolutely thought so, though she knew the nymph was too kind to ever tell her as such, even though her bid of silence had gotten Laceae here, in the middle of nowhere with a gaggle of rebels she barely knew. She still couldn’t escape the foolishness of it all.

And yet, it felt oddly right. “I do not know where she is, or if what he told me is even true. But this is as close as I can get to finding her, or perhaps avenging her--I suppose I will not know until I either see her alive before me, or dead. Seeing the Academy erupt into flames last night spurred me into action that I should have taken long ago. In our inaction,” she laughed again, somewhat humorlessly this time, “we are very alike.”

She clapped her hands together softly, rousing herself out of her melancholy and smiling warmly again. “My apologies! I have a habit of talking too much. I could probably bore a soldier to death with my ramblings; I actually might have, once or twice,” she pondered. “Many thanks for humoring me.”

“No need to apologize,” Malik murmured, attention firmly fixed on Laceae, his expression gentle. Her tale, the idea of not knowing the fate of one’s child...He couldn’t imagine it. He missed his parents, a dull ache in his chest whenever he thought of home, but that was a different sort of pain. “I’m sorry about your daughter,” he offered, and it felt insufficient, but it was sincere. Maybe that was enough. “I hope we’re able to rescue her, wherever she might be. And…” Malik looked down, brows furrowing as he tried to find words that had fled his tired mind. “We’re both here now, ma’am, and I think that’s the bit which matters.”

“Agreed,” Laceae said. Then, with a gusty inhale, she rose to her feet and dusted off her legs, and offered a small nod to Malik. “I am glad we spoke, Malik. Perhaps we can chat more, after you’ve recovered--I fear I’ve taken up enough of your resting time, for now. Please do let me know if you need anything! With luck, tomorrow will be a better day.”
 

Laceae and Kholas Collab


As the evening waned and a thick darkness settled heavily over the camp, the glow from the small fire was all that lit their surroundings. Clouds had again moved in, blotting out any view of the moon or stars they might’ve had and, while the wind stirred somewhat, it did not bring any immediate threat of storms. Still, the night had grown quite cold and it seemed most of their number was beginning to settle in what heat and light the flames offered.

As Kholas wandered slowly toward the fire, Pan’s words lingered, tumbling about in his mind and leaving a bitter sting in their wake.

Had he done much for any of them?

Really, what he’d done so far was to make plans with Linnae, send some letters, snark at a group of people who’d volunteered their lives, and get more than one of their number killed. True, Pyre had helped with the incident at the Academy, but Kholas still held himself responsible for the losses they’d suffered.

Kiernan. Tinnen. Avelissa. Pyre. Atlak. And, very likely, Kacius. He was compiling quite the list and, with each name, a little more of his resolve crumbled away.

At some point, he should speak with Linnae about Kacius. They had, he knew, been close at times, and he was sure she was feeling his loss.

He frowned, thinking of Linnae and momentarily allowing his worry over her condition to slink to the forefront of his mind. Was her health only going to worsen? He greatly suspected her failing vitality had to do with the decline of the Heart Tree, but he’d yet to get an answer that wasn’t infuriatingly vague. Pressing her, however, wasn’t going to yield results-- the nymph could be incredibly stubborn and he just didn’t have the energy for it lately.

Of course, Linnae wasn’t the only nymph with them now. Kholas supposed he could speak to Laceae to see if she was experiencing similar concerns, though she appeared to have another variable in her health. He had noticed the woman limping the further the got from the city and he could only assume her legs were giving her trouble. That, he thought, was something he could wholly sympathize with. He’d been fortunate so far, not waking up with swollen, aching joints, but he did not like his reservoir of energy run dry, just in case. Once he’d regained a bit more strength, he’d need to channel energy back into it.

Watching Laceae stand slowly from her place beside Malik, Kholas picked up his pack and strode over, depositing his items beside the tree the soldier leaned against. Turning to Laceae, Kholas worked his features into the most sincere expression he could muster. It was, he suspected, more of a tired grimace than anything.

“Thank you,” he said, tipping his head toward Malik, earrings clinking together in his slack ears. “How is he? Seems like he’s holding up well enough, all things considered.”

The nymph was still clapping the dirt from her hands when she spotted Kholas approaching her from the other side of their little camp. She was pleased to see that his terse attitude had softened now that they’d put some distance between themselves and Taites’ soldiers; it had started to make her feel rather dour, too, though her chat with Malik reminded her that Kholas was just another man with regrets weighing him down, piled on top of the exhaustion that was written plainly across his face. If he was any less ceaseless she might have attempted to convince him to rest. Ancients knew he needed it.

Instead, she nodded in greeting and stepped a few paces away from Malik, so as to not disturb him. “Indeed!” she replied. “I was surprised by just how well--though perhaps I ought not to be. He is in exceptional hands, after all.”

“Though exceptional doctors must be handled with care too, no? How are you, Dr. Abalyshevska?” she asked with a contemplative tilt of her head. “When I arrived, you barely had the light of life left in you, and yet you persist. I doubt I am the only concerned party,” she said, casting a purposeful glance to where Linnae sat by the fire.

As he stepped over to Laceae, Kholas was somewhat startled to realize just how small the nymph was-- he wasn’t accustomed to looking down during conversations. Of course, he shouldn’t be entirely unfamiliar with the woman as she had attended the academy… Though he struggled to recall much about her. He’d seen her in passing, remembered her limp, but to his knowledge, he never had her in a class.

“Just Kholas,” he said, “please.” He flicked his gaze to the side for a moment, then shrugged his thin shoulders. “I’m not feeling particularly exceptional these days. Realizing what a spoiled life of privilege I was leading at the Academy...and that, for all I could do in a research hall, it’s not worth as much as I thought when it comes down to it.” A clipped, quiet laugh escaped him. “Either way, I believe it will be some time before I’m addressed by a formal title. And,” he added, giving a twitch of a would-be smile, “less of a mouthful.”

The goblin blinked, then shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been better, but I’m just feeling a bit morose at the moment. Don’t mind my whining. Mostly, I just need to sleep.”

Following the nymph’s gaze across the fire to Linnae, Kholas arched an eyebrow. “I’ll live,” he said. “Believe it or not, I am not completely obstinate about rest and care. Some of us, however, frequently refuse it.” He stared at Linnae a moment longer, then turned his attention back to Laceae. “Linnae hasn’t been well lately, and it seems it’s getting worse. Add to that her abject refusal of assistance…” He sighed and again shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I believe you saw when you attempted to heal her arm.”

“Indeed,” Laceae repeated, her own fingers flinching at the memory of Linnae’s poor, scorched hand. It still frustrated her that she’d achieved little more than bandaging the burns before Linnae had gone and busied herself needlessly--stubborn patients tested her patience. “A nasty wound, and she barely let me near it! And, burns besides, she does not seem quite right. Somewhat… scattered. It was as though she was lost within her own house. I had chalked it up to stress, exhaustion, the sheer disorder of the past day, but if you say she is unwell…” She faltered as she considered it, struck in particular by the vagueness of Kholas’ words and the disquiet she was unused to seeing in him.

“Well,” she continued, “I suppose we ought to keep an eye on her. Perhaps the day’s tiring hike will have made her more yielding to care. Has she mentioned what it is that ails her?” She asked despite knowing that even if she had, there was little she could do to help that Kholas could not have already done himself.

“Actually,” Kholas replied, “I was hoping you might enlighten me. It could be coincidence, but I have a feeling it’s to do with...well, the Tree. I’m not exactly in a position to ask around if other nymphs are experiencing anything out of the ordinary. Apart from,” he glanced down at her legs, “ah, existing conditions, are you noticing anything in terms of injury or poor health?”

The edge of his lip curled in a sardonic sort of smile and he exhaled another clipped laugh. “Not that we can do much more about it than we already are but,” he shrugged, “I feel compelled to ask, anyway.”

“I may not be the best to ask, unfortunately,” Laceae said, looking down to her legs and then to her hands, where the bark sometimes grew too rigid for effective joint movement. “I have never been particularly able-bodied, so to speak. My mother always blamed it on the state of the Tree, but be that the case or not, it is what it is. I was never interested in athleticism, anyway.” She dropped her arms to her sides with a wry smile. “Although some extra stamina might have perhaps come in handy today.”

“Anyways, to answer your question… I guess I have been unusually restless. Maybe a touch of insomnia, and some headaches to go with the inevitable sleep-deprivation. I assumed it was a result of stress,” she shrugged. “Perhaps it is something more.”

She looked back to Linnae, trying to think back on the past few weeks in case there was anything she was forgetting. “The only other thing, I’m sure Linnae has mentioned already--just a sense of wrongness from the earth. It’s a little more present here, in the woods, than it was in the city, and feels… almost like the beginnings of sickness. It is odd, but I did not think it would affect me. Or rather, us.”

“If that is the case,” Laceae said, turning to catch Kholas’ eyes questioningly, “I do hope your plan is not too derailed by this blockade? Not that I’m blaming you, of course! There’s just been little time for me to get acquainted with your plan, since I did show up a bit late, and I haven’t had a chance to apologize for that, either. I should have been there… Though I suppose I could not have changed much.”

The goblin laughed once again, dry and harsh. “Right,” he said, his mouth again pulling into a twinge of a smile, “if you find a way to conjure more stamina, do share your secrets.” Still, he felt a pang of empathy for the woman. He was nearly undone by only intermittent aching in his joints-- she had to live with constant limits on mobility, though she didn’t seem overly angry for it.

As she explained, Kholas nodded in vague agreement. “Yes, Linnae has told me something similar…” Trailing into a moment of contemplative silence, he stared into the fire, then glanced over at Linnae. “If that continues to worsen, the...symptoms, for lack of a better term, you will tell me?”

At the mention of the plan, Kholas inwardly groaned.

Right.

He still needed to update everyone on Phineas and Beaumont.

“Well, it’s a pain in the ass, but we’re just going to have to work around it. Originally, we planned to meet up with a commander Kylissa in Tōrlinn, but now we’re sending her a letter explaining our situation. Our best option now is to head to Draycott and see if we can scrounge up support. We have a tentative contact there, though she’ll likely need convincing.” He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “At the moment, we need allies,” he said. “There’s a small force in Tōrlinn that planned to escort us to the tree, but we’re going to need help getting there now. And,” his expression fell somewhat, “I feel as though our presence in Draycott is going to be far more convincing than a letter.”

It was just one hell of a detour for a maybe. In the very least, the Empire had little control in the city and soldiers would likely be few and far between.

“Thank you,” he said, “for answering my questions. If there’s anything I can do to make travelling easier,” he again glanced at her legs, “let me know. Now,” he again turned his gaze to the fire, “I suppose I need to go explain the absence of two of our party.”

Approaching Mel in hopes of tea, Kholas gestured for the party’s attention and said, “I know we’re all exhausted, so I’ll make this quick. With the change of plans, we needed to get word to our contacts in Wyndfel. Phineas and Beaumont have agreed to do so by going to Kelna. We will send word to them again when we reach Draycott. I can explain in further detail later. For now,” he added, “eat and rest. If anyone is up to keeping first watch, let me know.”

 
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PAN TALL-BONES​
x

At Kholas' call, Pan had ceased his patrol and shifted to the edge of the group. He nodded, ears pricked, as the Goblin enumerated the Plan. Such as it was, it sounded. Such as he could make of it. As always, the boy had a vague idea of what was to happen, and why, but best to make sure he tagged along with someone a bit more in the know, just to be sure.
His stomach began growling grumpily, empty after the long march and subsequent perimeter check. The fragrance of cooked mushrooms drifted through the campsite; someone had at least started on dinner. Excellent; maybe he could supplement with something from his pack. He turned to check it, but then-
First watch. Aye. Someone needed to. Pan looked around. Injuries and exhaustion seemed the order of the day, and their healers looked particularly weary. Others needed rest to recover from wounds. Still others played significant roles and needed to be in best of shape for the next day. And anyway, he'd already been keeping watch thus far; what was a few more hours?
"Ah've goddit," he grunted as he pushed away from leaning against a nearby tree. "Ya all need sum rist. That is- soon as Ah git summat to eet. Mah stomach near eet itself already."
His eyes widened, shimmering as he glanced toward Miri's fire.
@ItariChan @DinoFeather @everybody_else

 

GM Post | More Fires?
30/3/1 193 TE | Outside Halen Mill | Late Evening


  • The following morning saw the party breaking camp and setting off just as the sun began to crest the horizon. By midday, the muddy paths had dried into packed dirt which allowed somewhat greater coverage of terrain, and though clouds lingered in the overcast sky, no sign of bad weather loomed down from them. Evening led into an uneventful night and a quiet meal before setting watch shifts and settling in for the night.

    The absence of two more of the party was, perhaps, keeping the group somewhat less talkative, especially without Phineas’ good-natured antics. Some of the silence, at least, was becoming slightly more comfortable, but the wear from the day’s walking saw everyone asleep quite quickly.

    Sunrise again marked a quick breakfast and the breaking of camp as they continued their trek toward Ventha. For five more days they picked their way through thinning woodland and crossed the Northern Taithros river without incident-- save for startling a family of river otters. Half of their day today had been spent with a few of their number carefully entering the small town of Halen Mill to restock some of their supplies and check for any sign of soldiers.

    So far, it seemed, most of the Empire’s units were concentrated along the Northern border. All the better for them. Still, they didn’t want to risk staying too near the town and pressed onward to put a few more miles between them before setting camp. Since crossing the river, the woodland had turned largely to grassy plain though, in the last few miles, the party had made their way back into the cover of trees as they skirted around the edge of what promised to be a dense expanse of forest. The smaller trees around the outside of the forest, however, looked somewhat worse for wear. They were stunted and their leaves hadn’t come back well after the winter, leaving them small and sparse.

    After five days of walking, Kholas was definitely beginning to feel the physical strain. Having finally gotten some amount of sleep, he found himself able to (for the most part) keep up which came as an unexpected surprise to him as they were covering somewhere around sixteen miles a day-- from what he calculated from the map, anyway. They had, perhaps another seven days of walking if they kept their current pace...and if they weren’t caught.

    Part of him had worried that the seemingly-endless time spent walking would leave him trapped with his morose thoughts, but trudging over rough terrain and hauling a heavy pack took so much of his focus he had little time to think of much. In an effort to distract himself from the ache in his knees and feet, he’d attempted to run familiar equations and experiment results in his mind, though particularly difficult patches of landscape left him stumbling both mentally and physically and he quickly gave up on anything more than focusing on his feet and, occasionally, the map.

    By the time Linnae had called camp for the evening, Kholas nearly dropped where he stood. Taking an extended break to allow Mel and Penny to check around the town and gather new supplies had made it all the more difficult to get moving again. Slipping his pack from his aching shoulders, he pushed it out of the way and began gathering wood for a small fire.

    Over the last few days, they’d fallen into a comfortable routine of setting up camp, each of them knowing what was needed and what they could provide. Kholas had, quite quickly, been relegated to collecting firewood and checking on everyone’s health with Laceae. It took only a few comments about his own eating habits to reach a unanimous decision not to let the goblin anywhere near the cookpots or food preparation.

    Night had fallen in earnest by the time their small fire was burning and, just to ensure they had enough wood to last the night, Kholas decided to make another sweep for any easily-accessible branches he might’ve missed. Having strayed a bit beyond the light of their fire, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness of the forest around them. Insects were beginning to emerge and the whining chirp of field crickets droned against the background sounds of the forest.

    And then a different sound, faint yet distinct, caused sensitive ears to flick then stand erect. There was a snap, then a rumbling and a rising and falling, then another sharp snapping. Moments later, an orange, dancing light flickered to life, barely visible through the dense trees. Still, that flickering quality of light was unmistakable-- someone else had started a fire. And, from the growing brightness, it seemed it was much more than a small campfire.

    Icy dread clutched at Kholas’ stomach as he hurried back toward their own camp. The rumbling was now distinguishable as voices, and it sounded as though a large group of people had suddenly begun speaking.

    His first thought was of a unit of soldiers and he arrived back at camp, gesturing at Miri to stop stoking the fire.

    “There are people,” he hissed, pointing over in the direction of the other fire. It had now grown large enough to just make out, even from the light of their camp. “We need to move.”

    No sooner had he gotten the words out, the distant group began singing, though the words were impossible to make out from a distance. Frowning at this, Kholas turned to look at the small spot of light, head tilted in puzzlement. “What,” he said, squinting through the trees, “in the everloving fuck is going on here?”

    His answer came in the form of a loud, sharp scream.

  • The party is about five miles southwest of a small town called Halen Mill. They are on the edge of a large forest, but the trees around the edges are looking pretty sad. Many of them are stunted and don't seem to be coming back, despite it being midway into spring. What leaves the outer trees do have are small and some of them are straight-up dead. The further you get into the forest, the healthier the trees look.
    9UEwUwG.png

 
. : Eulalia : .

Eulalia had been in worse situations, she was sure of it.

But as the heavy rope around her wrists once again bit harshly into her skin with every movement she made, she couldn’t presently think of one. She couldn’t tell if she was more concerned about her heart racing in fear or the bright flush of rage on her cheeks. The latter was mainly due to the fact that her jewels had been unceremoniously ripped from her. Her bag of handcrafted goods were now mixed on the ground with the pieces she’d been wearing that night, much to her annoyance. She’d spent months in her workshop on a few of the necklaces and circlets that were now smeared with dirt.

Her bag seemed to be mostly in one piece, which was a small blessing. A handful of notes and letters were hidden within the inner lining that she’d been tasked with delivering to various rebels during her usual trade route. She’d traveled this specific route more times than she could count, and yet, she hadn’t been prepared for an arrow to sing from the bushes and drive itself into her tail. It’d been enough to keep her from darting off before they could reach her, and unfortunately, there were only so many people that she could fight off.

Her lips twisted into a displeased scowl at what her cousin would say if she knew where Ula was at the moment. She’d always warned her not to travel alone, yet Ula had ignored her. To be honest, she enjoyed the solitude. After spending so much time sucking up to aristocrats so that they’d either buy her merchandise at a premium or would spill secrets useful to the rebellion, she found satisfaction in being alone or with those whose words didn’t have a million different meanings.

“Are you certain that you’re pronouncing that correctly?” Ula drawled at one of the chanting cult members nearby. The woman regarded her coldly and didn’t answer. Ula considered making the woman forget why she was there, but the nasty bruise on the right side of her face was a reminder that others seemed to have noticed when she used her powers of alteration. Although she counted herself lucky that it, along with the bleeding wound in her scales, was the worst of it. If she didn't burn that night, then she would easily be able to walk away with no lasting effects.

A shame.

She had watched as the twenty or so humans had begun a pyre, leaving her tied to a rickety carriage that she was surprised wasn’t added to the blaze. She shifted again, inkly locks unbounded and wild as she tried to shake some feeling into her arms again. Having them bound above her head for so long had left them pricked with pins and needles. But she figured that she wouldn’t have to worry about it for much longer if she was thrown into the fire before her. She squinted at the fire, trying to figure out exactly how many hooded figures chanted and sang around it but gave up after they all remained inkly blobs.

“May I ask another question?” Ula sat up, glancing at the woman again. “What exactly was that concoction you put on me earlier? I smell like my mother’s garden.”

The woman only began to sing louder as Ula began to feel her wrist slipping from one of the ropes.

“If you plan to eat me, I would recommend at least fattening me up a bit.”

The woman’s voice only grew louder and more piercing. Ula tugged at the ropes once more, feeling one beginning to give.

“As for the seasoning, perhaps a dash of-”

“It is not seasoning.” The woman finally hissed, glancing over at the lamia. “It is a part of the ceremony.”

“May I ask the details of the ceremony? Seeing as I am the guest of honor?”

“You’re a sacrifice, you daft creature.” The woman snapped, giving up on trying to rejoin her off-beat and off-key brethren in their singing. Before Ula could give a lazy smile and continue tormenting her with half-witted questions, a man approached with a blade the size of Ula’s forearm. The chanting grew in volume with every step he took, crescendoing into a blur of mispronounced vowels as he finally stopped in front of her and knelt.

Ula attempted to look unbothered as the blade dug under her chin, not yet drawing blood. Half of her hand was tugged out of her bindings, but she paused her struggling as she eyed the blade.

Perhaps this was the worst situation she’d found herself in. At the very least, it was in the top five.

And without any hope that anyone would be able to hear, she inhaled deeply and let out the most piercing scream that she could manage as she tore one hand free from the ropes and punched the man squarely in the throat. While one hand was free and there was no longer a blade at her throat, she was still tied to a carriage and surrounded by poorly dressed humans.

Lovely.
 
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Aetherian Horror Story


Collab with @Rainjay and @Lillian Gray

Penelope tried to sleep.

She lay on her back, with Jack sitting on her chest in a neat ball of fur, and stared up at the sky through the canopy of trees overhead. It reminded her of all the time she spent traveling with Beaumont. All the nights they spent in the middle of nowhere because they were too broke, and looking for rebels. But now he was gone. Left on some important mission with Phineas. He’d hardly said a word but he seemed so content to help. Penelope already missed him.

When Kholas left, her eyes followed him lazily through the tall oaks on every side, until she could no longer make out his bat-like ears. He’d been gone for some time. Penelope thought she was starting to hear things. Maybe she was a bit tired. The forest lit up, slowly at first, and she thought it was just her eyes playing tricks on her when she heard the old language she studied at the academy. Then she saw Kholas, his shadowy figure made visible only by the light which radiated around him.

He hissed to them about people. People in the woods? Surely not.

“Sounds like singing.” Penelope sat up, and Jack ran off to find a new place to sit. “An old… oh what’s the word--”

Someone screamed.

Now she was awake. Penelope was definitely awake. She scrambled to her feet and peered into the woods. Somewhere far beyond she could see faint shadows moving about. How many were there?

“I’ll go look.” Penelope offered. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay hidden.”

"Tha' hell?!" Despite her grogginess, Rahne awoke from her sleep with a start, shooting to her feet. "Wha's goin' on?!" She stumbled forward a bit as she wiped the sleepiness from her half-closed eyes with one hand, the other pulling her sword free from its scabbard and raising it high. What was a much-needed rest accompanied by a pleasant dream had been shattered by the piercing scream, scaring the soldier awake.

She had been ready to swing it, and likely would have, had she not seen that everyone was okay. The enemy hadn't found them, and everyone seemed pretty peaceful. But then who screamed? She nearly missed that Penelope had also woken up, and might have sat back down if she hadn't spoken.

"Ah'll come with ya," Rahne declared, lowering her sword, "No way ya' should go out on yer' own, n' ah' ain't gettin' back ta' sleep after hearin' somethin' like that." Not until she found the source.

Laceae dropped the hem of her cloak with a start, her sewing forgotten as the not-so-distant scream filled their sleepy clearing. The nymph staggered to her feet and on top of the fallen log she’d been resting against, and from there she could see what the others saw--the light of fire in the woods. So, the soldiers had caught up with them.

Except… Penelope was right. An odd chanting was just audible over the party’s quiet talk. Since when did soldiers sing?

She slid down from the log and came to stand next to Rahne. “I don’t think any of us are,” she said. “We should hurry. They could be hurt.”

Penelope reached for the first weapon she could find in her pack, a small dagger that would service her only if she remained stealthy and low. She had skill with a blade but no proper blade to even use. Bringing the lyre would have been more amusing but hardly useful. A shame that Beaumont wasn’t here to let her be ridiculous and that she had to make any sort of decision on the matter at all. She shook the thoughts from her head and waved the other two women on.

“Stay low, let’s just get close enough to see what’s happening…” Penelope murmured so gently the other two would hardly be able to hear her at all. “If we need to run, we go straight back, alright?” She krept onward until she could make out some sort of circle. There were somewhere around two dozen heads all clad in dark robes. There were humans and horned alike, all chanting the same phrases, over and over. It sounded entirely like an old language she had studied, but the words were too ill pronounced for her to make sense of them.

Penelope began to count, dreading the number as it rose ever higher. Their party might have been able to take them, had Malik not been wounded, Linnae without a functioning arm, Kholas exhausted, and--- Penelope rescinded her thoughts. They probably would not be able to take the odd looking lot in a fight. Not without some kind of distraction.

Ula knew that she had to move. Her emerald eyes darted to the fallen dagger, lunging for it the same second that her brain processed what it was. Those same eyes snapped up to the man who had previously held that blade as he scrambled back up, his arm outstretched towards the blade in her hand. Before he could reach her, however, his expression became dazed as though he had forgotten what he had been trying to do. She took that moment of confusion to slash it wildly in front of her before she jammed it under the rope on her still-bound wrist.

Her muscle strained as she cut it free, fighting off another cult member who had latched onto her arm. It took a few well placed jabs with the dagger, but she managed to shake them loose before she darted underneath the cart that she’d been bound to. Her hands scrambled to pull herself out the other side, the wound in her tail twinging in pain as she did so. Her face twisted in annoyance at the realization that she was leaving behind her things, but she supposed her life was a bit more important at the moment.

"She got away!" Rahne whispered fiercely, shaking a tightly formed fist in cheer. If it hadn't been for the fact that she, Penelope and Laceae had been outnumbered then she would have charged in right away. In fact, if she had stumbled upon this event on her own, she would have charged in anyway. Whatever these creeps were up to couldn't be good, it was like a sacrifice or something. It did not bode well with her.

"We should do somethin', right?" She looked to her companions for their input. "She could get caught, 'n then that's ta' end of her. Ah’ brought my sword.” She told them, hoping it would convince them to help, if they needed any. Every bone in her body was screaming for her to jump in, right now.

“I’m… gonna…” Penelope hesitated. If she could get to the cart she might have been able to help the woman heal her wounds and get out of there. “Just, I’ll be right back.” The horned woman darted off around the circle of light.

“What are you doing?” Laceae’s hissed after Penelope. She glanced helplessly at Rahne, rather unwilling to follow the woman into what was likely a death trap. Surely the cultists would follow the lamia--she looked wounded, after all, and was sorely outnumbered--and Penelope couldn’t possibly fight them all off…

… perhaps she wouldn’t have to. Laceae steeled herself with a deep breath before beckoning to Rahne. “Come on,” She began to move from her crouched position to circle around the clearing in the opposite direction Penelope had gone. “The least we can do is create a distraction for them. They can slip away in the mayhem.”
 
PAN TALL-BONES​
x

The forest towered above the camp. Like giant sentinels, the provided shade and safety, silent security standing over them. They had stood there for time out of mind, planted there in forgotten ages by their parent trees, from nut and acorn, and with the slow count of years, had risen to dwarf all but the even more patient mountains. An immovability of place fell on those who wound about the wooden pillars, as if nothing and no one could shift or disturb them.

Pan was making his best effort; he'd already sawed many logs in his sleep, and even as Kholas returned to bring news of the as yet unknown party, the Satyr remained thus. The stress of the past few days had at last caught up to him, and as soon as his belly had a taste of food in it, he'd laid his head on a rock and drifted off to pure amnesia. All through the hushed and distant ruckus, and even the scream of desperation, Pan had slept, snoring deeply. But then the chants and screams rose in tenor, cultists shouting for aid to search for their erstwhile prey as they unsheathed blade or mounted horse or cut aside encroaching branch.

He awoke with a start, springing to his feet in a manner that belied his bed-head and glassy eyes. Blinking rapidly, he cast his gaze about him. Kholas stood nearby, looking more agitated than usual, but he missed the Goblin's Nymph friend. Where was Linnae? Or Rahne? Or- the Horned girl. What was her name? Penny? His axe lay nearby, and he stooped to retrieve it.

"Wha's goen on?" Pan muttered the question toward Kholas as he approached. "Lotta screamin' 'n yellin'. Ah need tah git involved?"

As if already having made up his mind, Pan hefted his axe and began stalking off toward the sound of the shouting cultists, though still as yet within earshot, should his leader call him back.

tag: @DinoFeather

 
Miri considered herself to be rather sturdy and fairly good hiker. She had, after all, spent a lot of time in the mountains around her home. Still, nearly a week of continuous travel was enough to make her want to drop on the spot and sleep for 10 years.

Over the last few days, Miri had fallen into a routine of helping build up the fire and roasting any of the mushrooms she picked up throughout the day. They were lucky to be travelling through the forest. Even if they hadn't taken that many supplies with them, it was easy enough to gather enough food for at least one meal a day. At Kholas's words, Miri looked up from her fire stoking, and started to put the fire out. "Whoever they are, they aren't very good." She whispered. Her eyes widened, "It sounds a little bit like they're chanting something. Do you think it's a cult?" She asked excitedly. "I've never seen one before."

Then she heard the scream. It was definitely a cult. She quickly stamped out the remains of the fire and waited in the dark for Penelope, Rahne, and Laceae to return. After several minutes of silence she started to get worried, "Should we go help?" She asked Kholas nervously. "It sounded like there were quite a few people. More than three at least." Although Miri was worried about the group that had gone to check, there was a part of her that wanted Kholas to say yes just so she could go take a look and see what "real" cult looked like.
 
Melsinde Blackfinger

She had always been a light sleeper. Even with the many days of marching, she had continued said trend, exacerbated by what she could only blame as age. Luckily, this was a situation to which she had grown accustomed, and so when the sound of chanting graced the air, she was already half-awake. The advent of a scream piercing the night had her on her feet swiftly, an illusion already pulled around her like a blanket to mask her as a boulder in the clearing. However, it became clear that their party was not responsible for the loud cry, and seeing her fellows creep towards the sounds of struggle, she too followed by a different route to see what the fuss was all about. Behind a massive oak, she peeked around, her view unobscured.

And as fates would deem, there seemed an issue with a cult... and a lamia. She had just enough time to see the snake-woman hustle beneath a wagon, and Mel bit her lip as she watched with worry the cultists begin to look for her in earnest. At her side, she heard noise and the rustle of cloth, just barely catching Penelope dart around the edge of the light. What was she...?

She was going to help her. The lamia had gotten free. They didn't have the time for this! It was not their fight!

Yet... that said, she couldn't deny the pragmatism of redirecting some of these cultists away from the group at hand. How to get them to reconsider... She had never encountered this particular brand of cult, and so her showmanship was not the least bit helpful. Oh, but to have Phineas here and he make an absolute ass of himself, to distract and to divert. But... perhaps, that might be key. She couldn't cast another illusion of a lamia -- that might confuse Penny, if she were looking to help the dear. No -- something to draw the cultists somewhere else and quickly.

Or.... to strike them scared, all at once.

As many cultists as she could see, she crafted an illusion just in front of their eyes, close as a cloth bag of choking black to blind them. She could not handle more than a few at a time, but perhaps they might consider this some form of divine judgment in the meantime, enough to reconsider continuing to harass that poor lamia anyways.
 
With all the noise coming from the clearing, Laceae was sure that none of the cultists could hear her own blundering through the woods--and she also wasn’t quite sure if Rahne was indeed following, or not. The timing of such mayhem was too important to bother checking. If they didn’t manage to distract the cultists before Penelope reached the lamia, they could very well lose Penelope and the lamia both to this weird sacrificial ritual. Or perhaps they wouldn’t bother with the ritual anymore and would just kill their sacrifice and the intruder. Laceae didn’t know cultists all too well. With luck, she wouldn’t find out.

When she finally found a small opening in the brush somewhat adjacent to the cart the lamia had crawled under, and opposite of the direction Penelope took, she pressed her fingers to the soft earth and began to call upon the old, strong roots underneath the clearing to wiggle forth from the dirt and twine around and snap at the ankles of the cultists in a manner not unlike the lamia’s animal kingdom cousins would. The irony of it amused Laceae some, giving her the much needed energy to push harder until she could convince one thick, stubborn tree root to erupt in front of the cart, blocking the gap the lamia had crawled through.

“That should buy them some time,” Laceae muttered. She wished she knew what was happening on the other side of the carriage; had a cultist followed and cornered the lamia before she could create her blockade? Was Penelope there yet--had she made it at all?

I really hope all of our plans aren’t as asinine as this! Though there was a bit of fun in watching cultists stumble around blind--by some illusion, she assumed--and tripping over very angry roots and their own two feet. They could all have a laugh later, after getting the poor lamia, and themselves, out of the mess alive.