The Seven StarSwords | Adventure Reborn

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Lady Sabine, May 31, 2014.

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  1. The year is 1276 in the Ivric Imperial Calendar, though that has largely fallen out of favor due to the more accurate Venoan Calendar, in which it is the year 312.
    Picture credit to LMorse of Deviantart
    The Pale Citidel, once a proud and lovely complex, is now just a ruin. The Great Hall is largely roofless, but still contains handful of stone benches and rotting wooden tables. Behind it, the brick kitchens are largely intact save for the thatch roof. The quarters for servants and men-at arms lay in rubble; the stables and granaries are both beyond repair. The smithy will take some months to repair the broken chimneys and forges, though it is salvageable. The Spire's upper reaches are inaccessible for the staircases have long since rotted away, but remains otherwise habitable. The Library suffers from extensive fire damage, but the roof is tiled and mostly intact and the structure seems not entirely unsound. Grown over, the training fields and tourney grounds are largely unrecognizable.

    The sound of her axe splitting dry logs echoed off the stone walls, a lonely sound in the abandoned complex. For decades it had lain abandoned, forgotten, without even the humble sound of axes and a cookfire. Though spring had surely sprung, with flower and chirping birds and unexpected rainfalls aplenty, Ymber knew that a warm fire at night was not optional. In any case, she would want a hot lunch, and there were more than enough fallen trees around to give the Paladins wood for a month.
    From the moment she had stepped through the spot where the gates once would have been, she had felt at home. The sword still hummed quietly to her when she got close, content to be home and excited to be wielded again. It was not sentient, persay, but it seemed somehow alive. Her very blood sang to it.
    And to this place. She could practically smell the yellowed pages in the library, nearly taste the rough brown bread from the great brick ovens, almost hear the sound of wooden swords striking straw-filled dummies in the practice yards. Everywhere she turned, the strangest sense of deja-vu. And at every sound she glanced over her shoulder, feeling sure that someone would appear to tell her that she didn't belong, that she wasn't meant to be there and would be expected to leave. She had never been welcomed to anyplace before, really. Never fit in or felt at ease.
    Maybe, finally, something was going to change in her life. Even with the hard work of chopping wood, even without the comfort of a real roof over her head, even eating camp food, the life of a Paladin seemed terribly exciting and a huge improvement over everything before.
    What would her father think if he saw her now?​
  2. Bran walked around the structure, his hands behind his back and his shoulders squared, his steps echoing throughout the structure. His first impression was awe at the place. It was magnificent, and had drawn him in like a beckoning mother to it's long lost child; but now that he was looking inside, he found the building strategically and structurally compromised to a great degree. It's what happens when a building as ancient as the one he was in was left abandoned for centuries. He realized they would soon have to begin renovating.

    Sighing to himself, Bran walked out of the building and noticed a lanky woman who was chopping firewood, he stopped for a moment and calmly watched as she went about her work. He also took note that spring had returned, it was his most favoured season, being neither too cold nor too hot; it was the perfect season. "Do you need some help with that?" Bran called out as the wind blew a few loose strands of hair over his face.
  3. Kynth​

    Kynth had been wandering for days. Neither rhyme or reason could lend an answer, for she knew not herself. The more and more she let her glance wander off the faded and worn path, the more lost she became. Landmarks no longer held any meaning, towns had become further and further apart, and yet she did not care. With Azraeline hung across her back and the Sisters slung across her side, no force could challenge her.

    On the fourth day of her aimless voyage, rain had begun to lightly fall across the tall oaks above her. Fat, warm droplets fell from the green canopy and onto he faded grey greatcloak. If wind began to blow, it would quickly become a miserable day. Hours went by before the sun began to shyly gaze out between the pale grey clouds. With it came a rush of humidity, causing Kynth to slide out of her greatcloak and tie it to her pack. Still, sweat beaded down her face and fell to the ground off of her hooked nose.

    Give me cold wind over this blasted heat. She mouthed the words for fear of her own voice cracking or simply to avoid looking the fool, regardless of the path being devoid of all but herself and the occasional chirping of birds. In either case, the silence was appreciated by contrast to the usual sound of steel upon steel, screams of the wounded and dying, and the crackle of flames. Appreciated, but unsettling all the same.

    An hour passed, the sun was once more covered in a dull overcast smattering of clouds and rain began to drop in cold pellets that fell in massive droplets from the trees above, forcing Kynth behind her greatcloak once more. This went on for another twenty minutes before abating, bringing with it a fresh wave of humidity. Spring had just began and already she was growing weary of the inconsistent weather, insects, and constant sneezing that came along with its beginning.

    Lost in her bitter feelings to the spring weather, Kynth stopped abruptly at a change in the trail. What had been worn earth and grass had become a lightly paved road worn smooth and matted in dirt and dry mud. Following the pathway up a steep incline, Kynth stopped at the top, eyes taken upwards to a massive keep majestic in its state of entropy. Sun shone through a broken arrow slit, water flowed freely off an indent in one of the walls from recent rains, and dust circled in the light of the sun around the main gate, long since eroded away.

    Then she heard the split of wood upon axe.

    Being hungry gave him an edge. Being hungry kept him focused. Being hungry kept him from making ignorant decisions. It was a learned feeling, that emptiness in his core. He knew it, and he would never part with it for anything. As far as Vyncent Tant was concerned, nights spent hunting or in the dampness of a jail cell were all the same: hunger, and hunger meant life.

    As such, he sat knelt in one of the taller oaks dotting the woods surrounding the Citadel; he had seen it far earlier from a similar perch and figured it would take him until nightfall to arrive assuming all went well. There was a clearing about a ten minute march from his current perch. Nodding to himself, Vyncent began his slow descent to ground level and strode to the clearing. If nature was willing, he would have a deer by the end of the hour and be well on his way to the ruins.

    So far, Vyncent had avoided using Devesine to hunt. It would be far too easy to draw them forward and make a quick meal of it, and so it stayed firm and bound at his side in a leather sheath. His inner demons told him he should and be done with it, but it would take all enjoyment out of the sport. Still, this day called for a bit of 'foul play' as he called it. Placing the blade upon a worn stump in the clearing, Vyncent spent a moment feeling for wildlife, calling a select few to the sword, before taking position behind a rotted log ten yards from the stump.

    And then he waited. It did not matter to him how long it took, for they would come to the sword as a lion might come to bait. Ten minutes passed before the first deer came into the clearing. Despite a maimed hand, Vyncent was still able to lift and string a bow, though with less grace and speed than in his youth. His three-fingered hand held the bow itself while his right pulled the string to his cheek. A second passed before it flew, striking the deer a glancing blow to the leg. Cursing, he notched and drew another arrow, but it was too late.

    After a moment's pause, Vyncent gave the clearing one last glance before retrieving the blade from the stump. It would be another hungry day.
    #3 J_"Kraken", Jun 1, 2014
    Last edited: Jun 2, 2014
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