Fantasy Ashes of the Paragons [Main Thread]

[Blood Born Angel]

In a world torn apart by war
there lies one last glimmer of hope...

Far in the North;
huddled in the ruins of a forgotten kingdom
the last of this worlds Heroes plan their final quest...

Will those that inherit their calling stand up to the trials ahead?
Will they rise up,
and become the new Paragons of their time?

We shall see...

- - - - -

46 AR
8th of The Golden Tempest​

Fall had crept over the Highlands, and with it a frosty bite to the morning air. A soft white coated the fields as if a million diamonds lay scattered in the dawning light. Smoke could be spotted drifting over the rooftops as villagers lit their stoves to shake off the morning chill. The world was still and quiet. Serene even. The only ones who did not partake in this visage of peace were two cloaked men; their silhouettes gliding over the streets as they made their preparations. Today was the beginning of their plan to make sure this kind of peace could remain once they were gone. A plan that would hopefully see the beginning of a new era, and stave off the darkness they had been so desperately holding back all these years...

When the first villagers made their way out onto the streets and began to open their shops, a notice could be seen posted upon the workshops doors. It hung by a crooked nail, and lazily fluttered whenever a breeze flew by. Upon the parchment read words many had been expecting, but only a few had truly prepared for.

To all aspiring adventurers and heroes, the time is finally here.​

We know that many talented individuals have taken residence in our beloved village. We have spoken much on this,​

and wish to formally extend an invitation to any within our midst to take part in our plans for the future of our home.​

Quite possibly, the future of our world as well.​

Avak and I will now officially take on pupils to learn the ways of war and sorcery. We will make you into the most​

distinguished adventurers of your time. One day, we hope to call you all Paragons as well.​

If you feel the future calls for your further strength, meet us at noon beside the windmill. There we will discuss this​

further, and much more should you stay. We look forward to working with you, and wish to thank everyone in the​

village who has helped get us this far. We couldn't have gotten here without you.​

​

Caelum Mavro Asteri​

​

- - - - -

Caelum stood, arms crossed, face turned toward the freshly harvested fields of grain. The windmill spun lazily beside him. A soft squeak in its hinges told the Paragon that he still had some room to grow in carpentry. Perhaps he'd take a look at its balance in the next few days. While recently finished the building had yet to see much use; with its stores empty and millstone untouched. Caelum could take a day or two to optimize the building. That way when they started production they wouldn't run into any snags. The man knew he wouldn't hear the end of it if the town couldn't produce some bread by first snow. What a spoiled bunch they'd all become.

The thought brought a smile to his scarred lips. It had been many long years since a group of people had been so dear to his heart. Perhaps they would soothe this weary soul of his yet. His eyes closed in a silent prayer for their continued good fortune, and he opened them once again to peer over the fields they took so much pride in. It was a wonderful view from this hilltop.

"You look like an old man when you make that face," a gruff voice interrupted. Caelum turned to the man in question, his one good eye boring into his companion like a sapphire dagger. The other slowly closed, it's hazy blue hues not much use to him anyways.

"Says the one who can't get out of bed in the morning because of his aching back, huh."

The grizzled old man gave a short bark of laughter, his hand running through the unkempt beard that hugged is chin. He sat upon a bench propped along the windmills side resting his feet. He did appear to be getting on in his years, but the man was still a hulking beast to stand beside. Even while sitting and wrapped in his robe the frame of the man was impressive. He gave Caelum a mock smile, giving his partner a snide retort.

"Not all of us can be blessed with your perpetual youth, old man."

The two glowered at one another for a moment before looking away in unison. Soft laughter was shared for a minute between the Paragons. Truly, both of them looked like old men when they spoke like this. Caelum walked away from the crest of the hill and headed to his companions side. From here they could gaze out over the town. Houses dotted the landscape, and people hard at work milled about in preparation for the long winter. Pretty soon there would be the individuals who answered their call climbing up this hillside. It would be time to train the next generation of Paragons.

"Ever thought you'd take on an apprentice again, Avak?"

"It has crossed my mind now and then. Though I still have my reservations. The world has grown soft since we left."

"Perhaps... But I feel there is much potential with those that have been showing up on our doorstep. These children could very well surpass us one day."

"Hmm, perhaps. We shall soon see, won't we?"

 

[FireMaiden]

Valya Deveril
Location: Old Town Tavern/Inn
Interaction: Open
Mentioned: N/A
From the outside, the old hunters cabin still looked like it had been left to rot. Smoke just barely rose from the chimney, the signal of a dying fire, embers more than likely. The leaves and snow both having been left to pile up outside. The cabin wasn't in the town itself, but the outskirts, apperance didn't matter much I suppose, or maybe the ruffian who called the cabin her home enjoyed a messy yard. The cabin inside was nicer, furniture kept up, the bed made, though if you looked closely, you would notice the well hidden empty bottles. The contents of which were maybe hard to tell, but they helped a certain elf get to sleep at night.

Speaking of sleep, despite the fact the bed was made, a mess of snow white hair was spread across the pillow, pointed ears sticking out from the blankets. The huntress, even though uncharacteristic of her, had not gotten out of bed yet for the day. Perhaps she needed the sleep, or perhaps it was thanks to her long night drinking with....who had she been drinking with? Knowing Valya, it likely could have been half the town before the night was even half way over. At least the half that knew how to have a good time, some of these louts were stick up and too good for her...or underage.

Anyway, the sun creeping in through the dusted windows would soon reach the slightly covered face of Valya Deveril. Her eyes twitched, trying to block it put without turning over or moving the blankets over her head, but of course, the sun was more powerful than her eyelids. It was only an annoyance really, but a really annoying annoyance that would soon cause her green hues to open. With a groan, and the uncomfortable cracks and simultaneous relief of various joints piping as she rolled over, Valya began to process of willing herself out of bed. She was in no meams a morning person despite her early routine, and most mornings she faced the same issue of wanting to just got back to sleep. Of course, Valya gladly would if she could afford the luxury, but nobody but the Paragon's could do that here in Old Town, and even they chose not to. Besides, Ricard said something about having work for her, and he normally paid well. She wasn't a mercenary of course, but coin was coin, and his joins normally involved hunting wolves or some other big game to feed the Inn. Her kind of work.

Getting dressed was never a hassle as always quick with Valya, as she almost always worse the same damn thing. Slight variations of course for different weather, but, you can never go wrong with what what works, yeah? Other people often ask if she gets cold, of it or actully works for hunting, cause for some reasons, humans worried for no reaons. Anyway, the chill outside paired with a snow sent a smile to Valya's lips as she grabbed her hunting bow and quiver. The old wood of the porch cracked and cracked under her and she stepped out and down to her yard, and began the short hike into town.

Old Town was both a place she could call home, in a sense maybe, but she didn't belong here. Valya knew that. The polite smiles and slight waves of the people passed on her way to the tavern to wait for Riccard were just a curtiosy. Without her, they wouldn't have certain pelts or herbs without rocking their own hides. And what the was life of an elf? She wasn't particularly close with anyone, friendly with most, but not close. There were a few that would come and join her sometimes, and of course, the ones who would often drink with her, but she still didn't consider anyone her friend. Reguardless, she wouldn't dwell on it much longer as she entered the empty, and technically closed tavern.

"Riccard here yet?" Without greeting the man behind the bar, as she was only a few minutes early, Valya took a seat on the least brolen stool. The man in the other side sighed.

"Lass, you know him. He's probably hungover, trying to talk himself into Harlow's house," He replied. "Aren't you going to go talk to those Paragon's though? Do you really have time for running errands"

Valya shrugged, "Bah, who knows. Those old bastards aren't going are they? They should know everyone who wants to come say hi has their own business to handle first. They can wait. Now, give me an ale while I wait." The man chuckled, and rolled his eyes, giving her a pint of a pale ale.

"You're gonna kill me girl."

"All part of the fun Mavric!"

 

[Frenzy]

Alan walks down the uneven cobblestone roadway. One of what used to be many that used to be in this once great city that he once called home. The new settlers called it the "Old Kingdom" for some reason but it was a little over a month ago that it he witnessed the streets bustling with activity and the sweet smells of perfume shops and food cooking in the inns. Little kids weaving through the crowds playing tag with little puppies chasing playfully after them. The sing-song of vendors calling out a list of goods they have for sale. All of it seemed so recent yet it has been gone for centuries now. He had met an old farmer and had been helping him in the fields in exchange for food and a place to lay his head at night. The old man had told him what he knew of the "Old Kingdom" and the village on the outskirts they have labelled "Old Town". This is where Alan was heading now.

As he entered Old Town Alan noticed a crowd gathered around a door to a workshop. Men and women, and even children, we're elbowing their way to get closer to what looked like a parchment hanging on the door. Alan lingered for a bit and waited for the crowd to thin out. Crowds we're never his sort of thing. They made him anxious. When the last bit of the people finally got to look upon the parchment and walked away Alan walked over to it and began to read.

What the hell is a Paragon? he thought.

Whatever it is it is probably no match for a knight of my skill!

And with that, Alan decided he would pay these Paragons a visit. More out of curiosity than anything else. There was much to learn in this new world, much has changed, and Alan needed to know anything and everything in hopes of learning the fate of the past.

 

[Lu-Lu]

Nasadi I'l Sadahin
Location; Streets of Old Town
Interaction: Open

Gold gleaming bright under the morning sun, a stark contrast to the black silks that whirled around, twisting and turning like wisps of smoke that danced in the light breeze drifting through the otherwise empty courtyard. The girl sung as she danced, the ornate golden claws that adorned her otherwise bare feet clicked against the cracked stone floor, the ringing of steel against stone beating out a tune that only added to the voice that carried sweet melodies around the ancient stone walls that surrounded her. Fanged canines bared, a toothy smile cast towards the heavens as she threw her head back, her arms raised, hands grasping at something yet unseen, almost as though she were trying to embrace the sun as it made its journey across the skies.
ޯ' ސޕލެނދިދ ަނދ ޕލަޔފުލ ސުންި ޮފފެރ ތހިސ ޕރަޔެރ ތޮ ތހެެ ިނ ތހަނ

A language unfamiliar and undecipherable to those without a shared heritage, her voice carried high above the walls of the Church and its courtyard, its sound akin to the singing of the birds that gathered in the springtime, or the chimes that hung in the windows of the Village. There was no true comparison for the singing voice of a Ljosalfr and to hear its song was an incredible delight, a treat so rare that many did not realize it for the Ljosalfr had not been seen in many a century. The priestess followed her daily routine singing the praises of Freyr'rsol and his Sisters Three, Blessed Children of the All-Mother, so that they may provide what is sought; clear skies and good hunting, safety from the war raging in the Southern Lands and bountiful harvests before the coming of the Long Winter.
މަޔ ތހެ ރަދިަނޗެ ޮފ ތހެ ދިވިނެ ރުކލެރގުިދެ ޮުރ ދެސތިނޔ
ތހެ ބލެސސިނގސ ޮފ ތހެ ަލލމޮތހެރ ގުިދެ ުސ ަނދ ޕރޮތެޗތ ުސ
މަޔ ތހެ ފިެލދސ ގޮވެރނެދ މޔ

Nasadi finished her song against the comforting sounds of life continuing on in the Village; the steady beat of the blacksmiths mighty hammer, the tiny squeak in the hinges of the windmill as it whirled along in the wind, the voices that chattered idly as time continued to pass them by, all pleasant melodies to the ears of the woman as she gathered her scarce belongings and exited the Church courtyard into the bustling hub of Old Town. The Village was abuzz, the anticipation could be felt in the air and so she followed the throngs of people until she had discovered what seemed to be the source of the commotion. A notice of sorts hung about the doors to the workshop fixed to the wood by nail, it was at too great of a distance for her to read but the chatter of the gathered group was enough a source of information for her to get a good grasp on the situation.

"Did you see? Two of the great ones are taking apprentices!"

"The Paragons are accepting apprentices!"

The Village gossip was on nothing else and the excitement seemed so palpable that she doubted that anything else would be discussed over the coming days. These men were the saviors of these people having saved them from wandering the ruined land and providing them with the tools on which to survive and the priestess thought she might like to see these men of renown, especially the one called Caelum for she had heard whispers that he was a priest of some kind, one called a Child of the Sun; though for now her business lay elsewhere and instead she meandered her way through the crowded streets making a beeline toward the edge of the Village, where the great fields stretched out into rolling hills.

 

[Unicorn666]

literally no one:
unicorn666: you want a post written at 2 AM?

Silas Heoru Ure.
Old Town | Open​

What a day - first, Silas woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare where the sword kept screaming something unintelligible at him, and now he finally realized that the map he had inserted into his left forearm was wrong and he had to tear it out. At least the weather's good enough for flying, with seemengly no strong winds to throw him overboard. At least, right now there aren't any. Like some kinda.. foreshadowin'.

"I'm sure nobody is going to suspect anything and think I'm some sort of terrorist who's about to bomb the absolute shit out of this town as I'm flyin' by. I mean, if I wanted to, I ccould mix some concoctions and reagents to make alchemical fire, but I don't really wanna make any more stops for resources.. and the hell am I thinking? That's pretty illegal, like.. everywhere, so I shouldn't do that."​

The young man spoke to himself, which is usually a sign of either mental illness or loneliness (in his case most likely both), tearing a yellow piece of papyrus out of his left forearm and flinging the map off the plane. Quite the peculiar sight, to be honest. The massive paper plane that seems to be capable of carrying a man through the air, that is, although I'm sure if you saw someone tear off a piece of their skin and walk away like it's nothing would make you stutter for a moment. The poor map was left behind, torn apart by both time and the air as it vanished in the distance. Passing by a windmill, Silas saw a couple standing nearby. Some sort of friendly hang out or otherwise, he waved at them as a sign of friendliness. Just to make sure they know he's not here to repeat that one incident with the pl- wait, uh, that didn't happen 'ere. Right.

The appearance of the man clearly said he wasn't from around, and if anything, most likely carried a nice amount of money with them. Their clothing looked fresh and stylish, quality leather adorning almost every piece, and a blue brooch that depicts a blazing torch shone in the daylight on the right side of his pale-green coat. The lazure colors twisted and mixed in the light, making the torch seem alive and actually set aflame. Most likely a visaul enchantment, or perhaps a master's work.

Clearing his spectacles, Sil looked below at the town he was flying by. He had no reasons to stop and say hi, so his plan was to just fly by. There was some sort of buzz, or so he thought after looking at the gathering 'round the streets. The gathering was ahead of him, but it wouldn't be long until he reached their position.

"Eyy, small fellas. Y'all look like a bunch o' ants n'.. and.. other insects from up here. That's a lie, I'm only like 30-35 feet in the air. 37? 37. Speaking of air, feels like I should br- SHI-"
​

The man quietly spoke to himself right up until a strong gust of wind hit the plane, causing it to turn and spin. This design was mostly experimental, and his fear of it being unreliable if affected by strong winds has just been confirmed. The plane was attached to the man with a colorless string, so once he went tumbling down the plane turned upside down with him. Thanks to the design of the plane and its dihedral, despite the fact it flipped it was still usable. Si quickly conjured a paper rope from his right wrist and had it shoot out at the plane, attaching itself to it and effectively turning it into a parachute of sorts.

'...Well, there goes my plan of just flying by. Guess I could.. check out the town? God I hope nobody knows me here, I don't want to be stuck in a conversation with someone who studied my blood cells as they stared at the muzzle of a blue gun. I don't want to be stuck in a conversation period. If God exists, nobody knows the name Ure here. Second period.'​

The Artificer thought to himself, descending with his paper parachute. He happened to land a few feet away from the large gathering near a building with some sort of announcement or notice paper attached to its entrance. The plane was right beside Silas, and he began folding it into a much smaller piece he could carry behind his back. It folded naturally, as if that was part of the design. Its edges were sharp and its paper smooth white, the pieces as thick as a finger. As he tucked it behind his back, another fear of his was confirmed. Someone uttered the word "Ure" as he was packing his stuff.

"..Checkmate, clerics. God doesn't exist. Change my mind."​

Sil quietly muttered to himself, fixing his spectacles. The expression on his face was that of a disappointed, yet expecting to be disappointed person. It didn't stick for long as his half-closed eyes opened and the smirk's lunch break ended. He walked past everyone, lifted his spectacles off his eyeballs and quickly read the paper.

'Paragons? As in, people regarded as perfect examples of a specific characteristic? Someone who can help me with my goal? Gasp, that's juuusst what I need! How.. how convinient. At the same time, that seems oddly fishy as if it was written for this to happen, but I like paths of least resistance so I ain't gonna complain. Makes my life easier.'​

The man's movements were quick as he headed back towards the windmill, taking a gamble and putting 2+2 together, as if in an attempt to escape any awkward need for introductions or conversation. Whether he was successful or not is beyond science.

 

[Ronan]

[div style="background-color:#74645A; height:100px; max-width: 346px; width: 100%; float: left; margin:5px; padding:5px;"][div style="background-color:#CFB09B; height:80px; padding:10px; color:#fff; font-size:12px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify; margin:auto;"][class=blackWhite]width:90px; flex-grow:1; opacity:0.5; filter:grayscale(100%);[/class][class name=blackWhite state=hover] filter:grayscale(0%); opacity:1; transition: all .5s ease;[/class][div class=blackWhite][div style="float:left; background-image: url(http://i66.tinypic.com/okpe9d.jpg); height: 80px; width: 80px; background-size:110%; background-position:auto; border:1px solid #fff; padding:0px;"][/div][/div][/div][div style="position:relative; bottom:95px; left:100px;"][div style="font-family: 'times'; font-size: 20; color: #61574E"]SLEEP NOW, 'GOOD' MOLLY.[/div][div style="color:#61574E; font-size:10px; line-height:11px; overflow: hidden; text-align:justify; text-transform: uppercase; margin-right:104px;"][MISSING] has told me about the [MISSING], about the Gods and their love. But, do the Gods love their creations? I am an automaton created by human hands, would you ever think to love me? Of course, I do love you, isn't that how you've made me?[/div][/div][/div]She didn’t join her for church today.

She usually does. Molly five or six days a week will sit in the back of the cathedral and watch her friend sing. A nymph whose songs are larger than the building itself, too grand for it’s four walls where the sunlight punctures the cracked stain-glass windows making a striking kaleidoscope of colours across the uneven floor.

On the days Molly doesn’t join Nasadi she goes into town with the money made from scavenging and purchases food and water. It’s the least she can do with expenses that go unused since she is an automaton. She goes to Serious Loaves, a curiously named bakery where she buys two large loaves of bread. Why the loaves are so serious, or why the bakery is named Serious Loaves, she’ll never know; but it’s run by a young couple recently moved from Ald-Goret. The couple know every first day of the week to set aside two loaves for the frequent customer. They greet Molly the same, presuming her to be alive, and that she is buying the loaves for her and a young Nasadi, who they pay compliments for her devotion to the church. I heard her singing again today. She sings so beautifully; more beautiful than the singers in Ald-Goret.

Molly does not sing. She doesn’t need to.

‘Thank you,’ she tells the couple of Serious Loaves. She drops four barons on the counter and squeezes out of the busy shoppe and onto an even busier street, too overcrowded for a day of rest. People were supposed to be in their homes with their families. That’s why Molly buys bread on the first of the week when it’s calm and quiet.

But not today.

Today, people are huddled around shoppe doors, clamouring about a notice hammered to several of them. She ignores the crowd and forces her way through the throng of people, apologising when she bumps shoulders or when she must walk in front of someone shorter. Molly is tall. Astonishingly so. She stands taller than most of the citizens in the Old Town, and taller than most people in the Motherlands, and she’s remembered for her height. She’s impossible to lose in a crowd. Fiery red hair and a tall woman. A torch in the dark.

As she struggles through, she finds Nasadi at the edge of town, just before the green glade of hemlock umbels, and comes up next to her, still carrying the loaves in her arms, now squashed from the masses. ‘Ma’am?’

Lu-Lu

 

[Hextremus]

SIGRUN PANAHIN
Outside OLD TOWN
-------
Sigrun Panahin's first observation of the day; sunlight hurt.

Sigrun Panahin's second observation of the day; so did his body.

The young man's eye cracked open, forced to by that damned sunlight. Stone dug into his back, as it had for hours at this point, prompting him to roll to one side. On his stomach, grass tickling his nose, he sighed quietly. It was something he did far too often. Sigrun grunted with effort as he braced his hands against the dirt and pushed himself up onto his knees, his gaze immediately finding the Old Town just a short distance away from where he'd found himself sleeping these past few nights. On a nearby hill, against one of the many stone patches one could find scattered around outside the town. The town he'd stumbled across just a week or two prior while serving as labour for a band of travelling merchants. And all for a woefully small pay.

At this point, he'd take whatever work he could.

Sigrun adjusted the cuffs of his battered purple jacket, adorned with holes and patches and a hood that had never seen use, before starting towards the Old Town for another day. He brought nothing with him, his only possessions the clothes on his back and the Accursed Eye. Speaking of which... a light breeze set his disheveled hair rustling, the tight black bandana covering his left eye stark against his pale skin. His good eye closed for a few brief seconds, opening again as the air around his bandana rippled like water. A mirage took its place, a pair of vibrant purple eyes now gleaming in the sunlight.

Much better, even if the whispers wouldn't stop.

The walk to the town passed slowly, like time itself was thinking 'I wanna make this guy's life even more shit right now'. Sigrun muttered a quiet thanks to time as he entered the Old Town, pulling his coat around himself. Bustling, as per usual. Seemingly even more so today. Just his luck.

Before he could process much, a shadow passed overhead. Sigrun slowly directed his gaze skyward, his gaze settling on a paper airplane. With a... a man. Flying on it. Straight out of a god damned fairy tale, a fantastical story in the flesh. In the paper. The paper-flesh? It was something incredible, it was something extraordinary, and it was something that Sigrun completely ignored as he continued further into the town.

Why did he continue to remain at this town? He considered it as he drew his coat further around himself, sighing quietly. Oh, a crowd- the man touched down on the street in front of him, his paper plane now a paper parachute. The look Sigrun directed at the strange man could be considered... bland. At best. The look didn't shift as the man folded his multipurpose sheet of paper up and muttered something about beating Clerics in Chess before striding away to observe the thing that had drawn the crowd. Sigrun shook his head with mild annoyance at the number of people gathered, preparing to continue walking.

Except... did someone just say Paragons?

The young man stopped in his tracks, looking down at the well-trodden ground. The voice had been right. The voice that had told him to stay had been right. Nothing out of the ordinary there, not that Sigrun and the company he was forced to share were anything in the ordinary. He shook his head violently, pushing the thoughts from his head. He wasn't able to push the whispers out of his ears.

Paragons. What more did he have to lose? The strange paper man didn't seem to have much to lose either, so Sigrun trailed him to the two Paragons and the windmill they waited by. However, as the man approached them, Sigrun stopped and remained standing a good distance away from the Paragons, within shouting distance. Within raised voice speaking distance, at least. He wrapped his arms around himself and pulled his coat around himself again, tighter than before as he scanned the Paragons with his good eye. He looked quite lonely, standing there alone with a sad frown on his lips and a slump to his shoulders.

Of course, if one were to look closely, they may notice that his left eye would blink a fraction of a second after his right eye...

 

[FireMaiden]

Valya Deveril
Location: Old Town Streets
Interaction: Open
Mentioned: N/A
She only got about ten minutes of peace and quite before some of the morning rabble wandered in. It didn't bother her to much, she was just trying to nurse a mild hangover. Unseucessfully I might add. Most people were in for breakfast, or waiting for their work buddies before heading out to work on someone house or out in the forest. She recognized a few faces, mostly from passing, and their names she never bothered to learn. She honestly didn't exactly see a point, Valya, again, wasn't close to anyone in town. And that included Riccard, no matter what the weasel told you. And, speak of the devil..

"Valya! Rabbit! I feel like it's been weeks since I've seen you!" Riccard was a short man, at least by human standards, he was rather average elf wise. He was average in build, middle aged, crows feet at the corner of his eyes. His eyes and hair were the same color of brown, but his thining beard was blonde. She never asked why.

"It has been weeks, where have you been old man?" Valya replied, finishing off her second pint of ale, Riccard placing down a silver and asking for a round of whiskey. "It's not like you to disappear without sending me on some errands first."

The man laughed, harty, right from his belly. "I know! I was surprised too! But I heard you were busy, so I left you alone. Don't know what young folk get up to these days." He paused, taking a seat beside her, waiting for Mavric to pour them each a glass. "I was out visiting an old business partner in Arken."

That was certainly a surprise. "A friend out in Arken? I knew you were a ruffian Riccard, but associating with slavers? Didnt think you were the type." She spotted the side glance she gotbfrom her "friend" when she said that, the way her words came out too harsh. Well, harsher than she meant to at least. Riccard however, scoffed.

"Please. I may not always deal with what legal, but I don't deal with lives. Any man with dignity lives by that basic law." Valya nodded in agreement, the two of them sharing a moment of silence to drink their whiskey. "Well, I have a request for you anyway, two actully."

"Nothing new. What's up?"

"I found some an elvish...thing, on my way back home. I don't know what it is, and you're the only one who can read the old text who likes me."

"So you want me to read a dusty thing?"

"Yes, later though. The second may need more people, but..."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I may have stirred up some trouble in Arken, just a little, and grabbed the attention of a nasty lord. He sent some mercenaries after me who've camped out in the forest south of town. I'll pay you and anyone who helps, and you'll have fee reign of anything in their camp, yeah?"

Valya chuckled. Of course. With a sigh, with the elf stood, patting her human friend on the back. "Of course. For now, I have personal matters to attend to, alright? Better to sneak up on people in the dark an sober anyway." Riccard laughed, nodded and waving her off as she left the tavern.

She squinted, raising her hand and adjusting the bow in her back slightly as she stepped outside, turning down the street. She was headed for one thing, and one thing only. Near by was the butcher, selling some jerky. He greeted her warmly, and began to collect the few prices she wanted as she gathered the coin she needed the pay. Once everything was settled, and her breakfast was in hand, she was off towards the windmill.

 

[Lu-Lu]

(will fix the formatting when I can be bothered getting out of bed to use the computer)
Nasadi I'l Sadahin
Location: Outskirts of Old-Town
Mentions: Ronan


Though she did not sing the lips of the woman moved in silent prayer, her emerald gaze surveying the grassy glade before her, aided by the fact that she had climbed the low, roughly hewn stone wall and now stood atop of it, a task made easy by the golden claws she wore in liue of proper footwear.
Many peculiar things she had seen for such an early time of day; a man riding abreast a paper airplane who's structure seemed woefully dependant on favourable winds, another male who's true self appeared to be garbed in the rippling effects of magecraft, who's slow trek from the stone littered hillsides she had quietly observed with great interest. There were others, of course, the breath of the wind seemed almost electrified by such a gathering of souls though she was yet to observe them in the flesh.

It was on these thoughts she dwelled when the distinctive crunch of stone under shoe pulled her attention away from her prayers and when she turned to see who it was that approached, she was surprised to see that even stood atop the stone wall she barely topped the woman who stood before her clutching two partially squashed loaves of bread to her chest.
"Truly a child of Vor'syn, a blessing you are Molly.."
Her speaking voice was not unlike the melody she used to sing her prayers though there was an unmistakable curiousity in the tone she used.
".. although I do wish you wouldn't call me ma'am I fear I am a little too inexperienced for such a title."
A reference to her limited years, at twenty three she was young for one with elven heritage though perhaps old enough in the eyes of the much shorter lived humans. But Good Molly was neither Elven nor Human so by whose standards she lived was a mystery Nasadi was quite invested in unravelling. A woman who's height far outstripped her own with hair that shone like firelight against the nymphs deep black; the gentle albeit mostly unheard whirring of gears in lieu of a beating heart, and the delicately crafted wooden hands Nasadi found her quite beautiful; an automaton who stood against the best wishes of time, a true testament to astounding craftsmanship and in the eyes of the nymph she may well have been a goddess come to Sotiris.

Out of fear for the continued safety of the bread and her distinct enjoyment of the closeness they shared, the nymph leapt the short distance to the ground and gently pried the two loaves from the womans arms, grateful that she made such efforts when she did not require such things for herself.
"Today seems to be shrouded in the All-Mothers Blessings, dear friend. Perhaps we shall join the masses gathered at the windmill? I fear that whatever path is chosen today will greatly affect even our lives."

 

[Frenzy]

Now that right there is a work of art!

Alan had milled about the village for some time after reading the thing about the paragons. He was mainly people watching and getting a feel for the place. Now he was looking at the door of a tavern that wasn't always a tavern. He couldn't quite remember what it had been in the past. Stables? A mill house? It doesn't matter much. Standing just outside of the door was an elf. This elf had white hair and green eyes and a figure to die for. Alan had always had a thing for elves. They were around in his time too. They were mostly hunters and would be seen supplying the taverns and inns with meats and herbs.

But white hair? That was rare...

She certainly stood out in a crowd, even if she was short.

Maybe I'll get lucky and run into her another time. It's literally been centuries since I've laid with a beautiful lady.

Alan watched her as she made her way to a butchers shop.

Nice ass too...

After she was out of sight Alan left the wall he was leaning against, made a few more rounds around the village to make sure there weren't any secrets he overlooked, and then decided to go see what these paragons were all about.

 

[Zombocalypse]

Frenzy Lu-Lu FireMaiden Hextremus Ronan Unicorn666 Blood Born Angel

Within the great nation of Sotiris, in an isolated hamlet that may or may not be awesome, there laid a mighty orc ready to bash some skulls. And skulls he bashed, in the past. Not today. He was too smart for that shit. Actually, he was quite stupid, but for animalistic standards he was a genius. After all, what kind of animal is smarter than a man who knows the answer to two plus two? (Four!) Back in his humble but savage home encampment, this orc was an absolute beast (so to speak) who made mincemeat out of anything that threatened the way of life of his clan. His clan was called Gorovtus and they entrusted to him the magnificent task of becoming an actual explorer and adventurer, something that was probably a step above being mere forest dwellers in that place called The Forest of Secrets.

A few days ago he arrived at the isolated hamlet they called The Old Town. The few days first, it was quiet, and then WHAM! Huge crowd. There was noise, something that although Brovtus was accustomed to, didn't appreciate. However he was curious. He looked around. There were lots of people, all less muscular than his uncouth frame. He walked past a bunch of people to the source of the commotion and saw some piece of writing.

Too bad he couldn't read...

He looked around to see if anyone can help him decipher what was written, for he knew the purpose of letters.

 

[DDC]

46 AR
Old Town, Market

Standing in the midst of the bustling town stood a robust old man, Brison, fashioned in a vendor’s apparel touting his goods to the public; cloaks stitched together from Harpy feathers, a few sets of leather armor from the tanned hides of Four Armed Bears and other gnarly dire beasts, beautiful dresses shimmering in a splendor of colors from the scales of Lamias and precious gems from mines, quarries, and some rare creatures - a variety of woven goods and more, all honored with a trademark of webbed threads shining translucently.

In the chaotic market, Brison felt a sudden fluctuation of power - nay, not power but rather a strong belief, or say a strong desire for power. They stopped shouting and wrinkled Their nose in displeasure, yet quickly masked Their face with a stubborn look as They continued to greet potential customers one after the other whilst scaring them or enticing them with his gaze and goods as they pass by.

“Teleportation? No, We haven’t felt any kind of spacial oscillation in Our grid. Underground? No, the mesh should’ve fluctuated unless the target traveled through the layer of the Forgotten Catacombs, and their strength seems to be too weak to journey that abyssal path. Must be from above the air then. By the Father’s belt! We would’ve been alerted of their presence even if they were in air - swimming through the Cloud Sea notwithstanding - were this a week ago.”

Annoyance surfaced through Brison’s wizened eyes as They recalled the matter of the Paragons’… advertisements… A sigh escaped Their lips as sadness seeped from the melancholy of a few hundred million eyes who witnessed the decay of time, yet annoyance quickly returned due to the constant disruption in Their net.

Brison reached Old Town a few months prior from the arduous journey beyond the wilderness whilst assimilating Themselves and Their goal as much as They can through the dangers of the world. Here, They set up a radar following Their plan and it proved to be effective as They caught on to a quite a few things but now it is being destroyed by the second due to the incoming traffic of people with strength or a strong desire, lusting after the position of the Paragon’s apprentice.

Annoyance rose to anger as Brison thought more about it yet was quickly quelled by Themselves. Closing Their eyes, Brison reformulated Their plans based on the current situation. Pity that Brison isn’t much of a schemer amongst Them and most are still in deep slumber while others are groggy, providing only a bit of intuitive response and knowledge from time to time.

Sifting through the warehouse, Brison picked up a few of Their best pieces and put it on display, They then touted with Their best - They guessed - as a plan was re-implemented.

While touting, a soft and gentle voice resounded through Brice's soul echoed by more than a million different murmurs, “A hundred thousand paths We see, three who will pave the foundation there be, the rest shall be paved as a hundred thousand paths stride through their destiny!”

 

[Impster]

Aris Stromholden
Location: Road to Old Town
Mentions: Zombocalypse

The rhythmic swaying of the wagon threatened to seal Aris's eyelids shut. The twenty-seven year old caught his head nodding towards his chest and jerked back upright in his seat. On the bench beside him, a man with weathered skin and a wiry grey beard snorted to himself. Exercising a generous amount of tact, the older gentleman kept his focus on the backside of the mules lumbering in front of them. Although the corners of his bearded lips did twitch upward.

Grinding the palms of his hands into his eyes, Aris opened his mouth to speak.

"About three more hands, I reckon," the wagon driver stated, anticipating his younger companion's question. "Put us in 'round midmorning," he added with a calculating look to the sky.

After a good stretch of his arms, Aris leaned back and peered curiously around at the countryside. They were traveling along a worn dirt track where short weeds reached skyward between the wheel ruts. Overhead the distant sun perched in a pale blue sky; the warmth of its rays stolen by the autumn chill clinging to the air. However, in defiance of the encroaching winter, insects still called out to one another from the nearby fields and butterflies danced in the air. Farmlands and fields passed by slowly on either side as the wagon steadily plodded onward.

With a twinkle in his eye, the wagon driver asked innocently, "Remind me again why it is I'm haulin' ya to Ol' Town fer again?"

At the question Aris practically began vibrating where he sat. He pulled one leg up on the bench to face the driver. "So three days ago I was talking with a pelter and he told me about this bard he listened to that moved him." He paused for effect. "A big, burly pelter. Was moved by the bard's storytelling." Aris shook his head. "This guy looked like he could've arm wrestled a grizzly bear and won," he said as he pantomimed winning an arm wrestle. Aris swung his leg down again and faced forward. "I learned that the bard was making his way to Old Town," he finished, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll tell you what though, I'm glad you came along when you did. I didn't realize how far away Old Town was. I was just so excited to find this guy."

The wagon driver just chuckled to himself and shook his head. "You're a strange un a'right."

Later that day, Aris slouched across a roughly hewn table dejectedly. His chin propped up on the table, he stared into his nearly empty mug of ale with dull eyes. It was as if a bucket of icy water had been dropped over his head washing away all his happiness. Shortly after bounding into the tavern, he learned that the bard had already left. And no one he had spoken to knew where his next stop was.

At the table beside his, a group of people sat discussing something in a hushed tone. One of the bar maids, short with long brown hair, dropped off some bowls at their table. Instead of leaving, however, she leaned in with wide eyes and asked in a conspiring whisper, "Is it true? The Paragons' invitation?"

"Aye," someone answered her. "An' I be more than a little concerned as to why..."

Aris stopped listening. His only concern was where that bard might have gone next. Draining the last traces of ale, he set the mug down and clumsily stood up, using the table to keep his balance. It was time he found his wagon driver. With any luck Aris could barter a return ride from him. He stumbled past the group's table and pushed his way through the door.
Once outside he glanced around. He hadn't seen fur nor feather of his feline friend, Levi, since before he dozed off in the wagon. Not overly concerned, the blonde haired man staggered up the street in search of the markets.

What he did find after a few turns, however, was a street crowded with people. For the tipsy mage, Aris found it difficult to navigate. He accidentally bumped into several people and stepped on a few feet as he tried getting through.
"'Scuse me. Pardon me," he mumbled to the people he tottered into. "I'm too drunk fo- Oomph!" Aris blinked up owlishly from the ground. He'd staggered right into the largest man he'd ever seen. And the greenest.

 

[Unicorn666]

will most likely edit later and add more details, gotta head to bed rn so this is all y'all get it
appreciate what'cha get, or else i might do absolutely nothing about it

'Who the ffffffffRICK is this nerd? Why's he followin' me? He the God of the Homeless? The fossil looks like he hasn't interacted with dihydrogen monoxide for a millenia. Not even Willy back from my hometown would be able to sugarcoat THAT eldritch being. Well, to be fair, he can't achieve anything at this point. Guy's been dead for like.. six years. God bless his sweets.'​

The Artificer's thoughts on the man trailing him were less than respectable, which should be expected. How his eyes weren't sliced in two after gazing upon the man is a mystery. Silas noticed him once he realized he's been hearing one too many footsteps cracking the snow beneath. He turned around and looked at this man, fully expecting to see someone who's just shy and knows what house he's from, but instead saw this fella. Well, they haven't annoyed Silas yet, so he just ignored their existence. And, if anything, the vibes he picked up from this guy told him he's probably doing the same.

"..Silas, hand me over to him."​

Gutter spoke up, the pommel of the sword looking directly at the man trailing behind.

'No way, famicom. You're stuck with me.'​

The windmill was a few minutes of walking away from town. Or, well, at least for Si it was, 'cause this guy walks pretty quickly. Ain't used to having a party. The man pulled up his sleeve, took a red quill out from his right glove's wrist pocket and started writing on his left forearm. A simple journal note, not much.

"Gutter woke up. Wants to be handed over to someone else again. Dirty white tunic."​

That's all he wrote. Two sentences, 15 words, 81 characters. The young man tore the page off his skin once more, rolled it into a tube and sticked it into his belt. There were many other rolls, at least 15-ish. Some were yellow-ish and old, some were gray, and some were fresh (just like the prince of Bel-air) and white (unlike the prince of Bel-air).

The windmill was in sight, and so were the few men that stood near it.

 

[Blood Born Angel]

The Paragon's

The hustle and bustle of town seemed to grow a bit more fervor as word spread of their plan to train the younglings. From atop the little hill Caelum could even see newcomers making their way through the town. The timing of those unknown to him was peculiar, but he simply gave a silent thanks to The Father for this intervention of fate. Avak grumbled something about mages and their eccentricities, but was silenced by a swift kick from his partner. It's not like he didn't know magic too.

Among the first to arrive were a unique bunch, though that was to be expected. A babbling man approached who... tore his skin off? No, upon closer inspection it seemed to become a sheet of paper. Intriguing. The one who trailed behind this paper mage cloaked himself in a small glamour. Caelum had not prepared any spells ahead of time, so he decided against taking a peek. Soon after, a middle-aged man with the air of a soldier about him joined the group. To Caelum's surprise, Avak stiffened up a bit beside him. Did the old man know this warrior perhaps? It seemed unlikely, but one of his titles was "The Wanderer" at some point.

Avak had a look of disapproval, but that would probably be the norm going forward. Caelum had more of a neutral expression, though a bemused gleam could be spotted in his right eye. The Paragon's scanned the surrounding area, and could see more people who seemed likely to eventually find theirselves up on the hill, but Caelum wasn't just going to sit there in silence till everyone arrived.

"Well met travelers. You here to see what all the fuss is about?" As the words left his lips the good corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. While it wasn't exactly grotesque, a particularly nasty scar marred the left side of the Paragon's face. Jagged lines of marred flesh descended from his forehead, over the eye, and all the way past his chin. While he seemed lucky enough to keep his eye from whatever misfortune caused that wound, it's glassy blue hues clearly spoke of its usefulness.

His voice projected a great deal despite his soft tone. Most likely in hopes of letting those making their way up the hill listen in and not have to repeat anything. "Hopefully in a minute here we'll have a good breakdown of the request we have. In the meantime, feel free to ask any questions you might have. I'm sure this might be a bit out of the ordinary for most of you."

This was one of the revered Paragons and technical head to the village, yet his presence seemed a little... mundane. Despite the terrible scar his features were fairly normal. His clothes simple and unadorned. The very air of him nonchalant, and unassuming. Even his companion at least had his interesting cloak, and enormous stature! The one known as Caelum just screamed normalcy. Though, to anyone in the village able to perceive the ebb and flow of mana this would become an evident facade.

The two had hid their power quite well by limiting its pressure to only those in close proximity to the windmill. Its concentration was profound with the two of them side by side, but its touch would most likely feel no heavier than a summer blanket. Even now, they tested the newcomers. To approach them here was to enter a shallow pond of which the true depths were still a mystery.

- - - - -
Unicorn666 Hextremus Frenzy Ronan Lu-Lu FireMaiden
o.o.c.: I... think that's everyone? Hopefully you're keeping up with the role-play anyways to notice when I post. XD Just. little something to keep us rolling as people trickle in~

 

[Zombocalypse]

Impster

In the awesome town called Old Town, a mighty proud Orc stood there looking around. After he walked through a thick, busy crowd, he reached what was a sign with writing on it. But he couldn't read, so he needed to find someone to decipher things for him. The crowd was definitely rich with people of all backgrounds, of all ages. Kids, men, women... Brovtus had many choices of whom he'd ask for help on. So he looked around. He wanted to find a smart man, since illiterate people wouldn't be able to help him of course. First he saw a child, and thought. "Nah. Still in school probably, this snot nosed brat." Then he saw an old woman. "Her eyes may just be too degenerated..." Then a scrawny man bumped to him. Brovtus looked at this man, and immediately he thought... "The physically weak ones are usually the smart ones. He'll do." He talked to him with a naturally deep voice. "Hey... Can you do me a favor?" His axes were sheathed to his side.

 

[Impster]

Aris Stromholden
Location: Old Town
Mentions: Zombocalypse

Aris squinted up at the green man. Oh correction, a green orc. He had just opened his mouth to say something when a lady in a dark brown dress stepped on his fingers. The blond mage stared down at the offending foot for a handful of seconds before he started tugging at his hand. Once it was free, he tried to shake the pain away and stood up.

"Ow," came his delayed response. "Sorry, you said something?" He asked distractedly while feeling his pockets and checking his satchel. He wanted to make sure none of his possessions had fallen out after his tumble. "A favor?" Aris suddenly jerked his gaze back up to the orc and he exclaimed, "Hey! Would you happen to know of a bard that just left town?"

 

[Ronan]

[div style="background-color:#74645A; height:100px; max-width: 346px; width: 100%; float: left; margin:5px; padding:5px;"][div style="background-color:#CFB09B; height:80px; padding:10px; color:#fff; font-size:12px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify; margin:auto;"][class=blackWhite]width:90px; flex-grow:1; opacity:0.5; filter:grayscale(100%);[/class][class name=blackWhite state=hover] filter:grayscale(0%); opacity:1; transition: all .5s ease;[/class][div class=blackWhite][div style="float:left; background-image: url(http://i66.tinypic.com/okpe9d.jpg); height: 80px; width: 80px; background-size:110%; background-position:auto; border:1px solid #fff; padding:0px;"][/div][/div][/div][div style="position:relative; bottom:95px; left:100px;"][div style="font-family: 'times'; font-size: 20; color: #61574E"]SLEEP NOW, 'GOOD' MOLLY.[/div][div style="color:#61574E; font-size:10px; line-height:11px; overflow: hidden; text-align:justify; text-transform: uppercase; margin-right:104px;"][MISSING] has told me about the [MISSING], about the Gods and their love. But, do the Gods love their creations? I am an automaton created by human hands, would you ever think to love me? Of course, I do love you, isn't that how you've made me?[/div][/div][/div]'You are ma'am to me, inexperienced or not,' is the barest hint of a smile. She lets watches Nasadi tip-toe across the hemlock umbels, her voice a perpetual song and her movements an unending dance. A child of Vor'syn you are, too, Nasadi.

But there was something different about her today. Very rarely do they step into the glade - they are moreso the people who visit the cobblestoned walls and watch from afar. They appreciate the scenery and dare not to disturb its beauty. Which is why Nasadi's request visit the windmill was different. It made Molly uncertain. Nasadi's safety was paramount. The town was dangerously alive today and it was disturbing the peace. She would never dare challenge the nymph or oppose her desires, but at least, Molly could probe into this request.

'Why the windmill? If you seek fair winds, I know a town in the south that knows only that,' or perhaps the town didn't exist anymore? Was the town a fictional place from children's stories? That was the terrible anvil chorus of Molly's memories: they exist. She has not forgotten. Molly remembers everything from the beginning to end, but where was the beginning and end? The living have a concrete sense of time because time passes for them. They see themselves age with growing forehead wrinkles, deeper laugh lines, and skin elasticity. For Molly, her timeline was terribly distorted. Was the town she saw ten years ago in ruins or glory? Does ruin or glory come first? Was it ten years ago when she visited the town? Was it last year or a hundred years ago? With her perverted sense of time, the present is even suspectible to distortion. A week ago she could've sworn Nasadi was long gone from this world until she saw her face and resolved that she lived in the Old Kingdom and her present was with the kind nymph. Or was it two weeks ago when she forgot her present? Three? Does Molly always forget her present?

Of the present - that is another thing about Nasadi - she keeps Molly rooted in her present. It's the notes she leaves her with Get bread today! because that means it's the first day of the week and exactly one week has passed. Other times it's morning walks through the town or to the church that remind her that these places exist. But one thing is for sure: Molly will always remember Nasadi. These moments will always exist in her confused history.

She takes a step towards Nasadi, the grass of the glade as tall as her knees, and espies the white-fanned windmill in the distance, just barely turning over the rise of hills. It's irenic. The Old Town countryside is like something pulled out a painting; the green brake crowning the meadow and the windmill the perfect drop of dreaminess against the verdure. The people crowding windmill were harsh brushstrokes against the work of art. Molly feared for the living painting. 'Ma'am, I may not understand, but we shouldn't go to the windmill.'

Lu-Lu

 

[Zombocalypse]

Impster

Brovtus took note of the fact that the scrawny man asked him if he saw a bard. He didn't, and the following was his answer. "No. Now just help me will ya? I can't read. I want you to tell me what's written there. I'll give you umm... Mommy, or whatever they call them." He was referring to money but forgot the pronunciation. He was after all highly uncultured. All he really knew was warfare. And in the simplistic warfare he engaged in back in the Forest of Secrets, no literacy was required.

But this time, he needed to understand words written...

 

[Lu-Lu]

Nasadi I'l Sadahin
Location; Old Town
Mentions; Ronan

The obsidian haired Elven met her step in stride and the silks that adorned her slender frame billowed like whisps of smoke around the candlelight as she danced around her companion, the delicate tips of Nasadi's fingers traced across the woman's back, charting the passage of time that showed within her moth eaten raiment. Distinctly out of place. A beacon if you would, that drew the curiosity of the Priestess and it is what had kept her in Old Town thus far. But on this day that had started like any other, there were a great many peculiar happenings.
"The winds are favourable enough here, dear Molly, call it a childish whim if you must. Our visit will not be long, I do not idealize myself as an adventurer."

On this day she couldn't help but feel that the tides were changing, a sense of foreboding hung within the air intermingled with the presence of a great many souls. Not so distinct so as one could feel it, yet possessing strength enough for its presence to be known by those who dared look; it drew her closer and she felt truly compelled to follow despite knowing well that Molly objected to the idea. Kind Molly who worried after her well-being as best as one who does not feel can do, who's aromatic presence encouraged welcome rest to her wearisome feet. But Nasadi had always known that one day still the All-Mother would whisper sweetly in her ear and her time to continue her journey would come. She was, after all, not one to dwell in comfort for time would yet press onwards, irrespective of ones wishes. A moment is but fleeting in the passage of time as cruel as it was.
Yet still she turned once more, her back towards the cobblestoned walls of the Village and began the slow trek up the hillside; where hemlocks white tipped and delicate, a mist that hung over the grassy glade met the golden stalks of wheat that climbed the hillside, a song she sung as she walked almost dreamlike through the glade.
"The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering."

Feathery tendrils grabbed at her garments as she passed, its weightlessness apparent as the blackness of her silks seemed to float above the white, green and gold that threatened to engulf her.
The subtle points of her ears peeked through the curtain of hair that draped about her shoulders, twitching in amusement as the corners of her lips turned up in a mischievous smile for she knew well that Molly would not deny her such a request, whether she too would join her at the Windmill was a future yet to pass however she worried not for she had confidence in her judgement.
"Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves"

(And on the next episode of dragon ba- oh wrong show)

ps; Thank u Tolkein
pps; it's 5am halp

 

[Hextremus]

SIGRUN PANAHIN
OLD TOWN windmill
-------
That sword... was looking back at him.

Sigrun's good eye twitched slightly as it remained fixed on the sword resplendent on the hip of the man he was following. The vibrant purple eye narrowed in suspicion. It was faint, but it was there; voices, voices louder than those that surrounded Sigrun wherever he walked. Voices that the strange paper man couldn't seem to hear. Sigrun wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, pardon my French, but that could only mean one thing.

Focused as he was on the man's strange sword, Sigrun couldn't suppress a hefty flinch as yet another voice spoke up, this one hissing words into his ear.

"You h-hHave thaTt sword's atte-te-TEntion, brother-r."

Sigrun ignored the whisper that snaked its way into his ear, the young voice a harsh and distorted nightmare. Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him. Sigrun muttered this mantra under his breath, one hand curling into a fist, relaxing, then curling into a fist again. Over and over. To draw his attention away from the snakelike voice that had remained in his ear ever since that first Voidwalk, he returned his complete attention back to the sword.

It was definitely looking at him.

Sigrun stared right back.

This day was getting stranger by the minute. First a man flew overhead on paper, then parachuted down on paper, then wrote on his skin that was also paper, and now his sword was looking. You know what, scratch the day getting stranger, this paper man was clearly the strangest thing the entire decade had to offer... not that Sigrun was particularly bothered by that, as he decided to question the strange man about his strange sword later; the fact that he didn't feel like talking was not one of this day's strange aspects.

Oh good, the Paragons were talking. Well, Paragon. Sigrun ignored the normal one with the rad scar that spoke (real shocker there, huh folks?) , keeping his attention on the paper man's sword utterly undivided.

One could call it a staring contest, in a way.

In a very loose, grasping-at-straws way.

Or just... not.

 

[Impster]

Aris Stromholden
Location: Old Town
Mentions: Zombocalypse

Upon hearing Brovtus speak, Aris felt his heart rate pick up and his stomach started to feel a bit queasy. At least he was also starting to feel sober again too. Rubbing his sweaty palms on his pant leg, two thoughts struck Aris simultaneously. First, he didn’t want the orc’s mommy, let alone his own mother. A shudder rolled through the mage’s body at such an unspeakable thought. Second, he also didn’t want to offend the orc by saying these things out loud. Most certainly not a giant, muscular one carrying two axes. They could probably cleave his body into two halves as easily as slicing a tomato.

“I, uh,” he licked his suddenly dry lips. “No need to, um, give me anything.” Aris’s hand fluttered helplessly in the air as his mind raced. “How ‘bout we, um, call it a favor and you owe me one?” Hoping this did the trick, he quickly turned and read off the notice to the orc.

Glancing at the sky, Aris commented, “Looks to be about noon now. Might even be a bit past that.” Taking a closer inspection of the orc, the mage decided he looked like an adventurer or hero the notice was talking about. ‘Might even be why he traveled to Old Town,’ he speculated to himself.

Hesitating briefly, Aris came to a decision and offered, “Hey, if ya want I can show you where that windmill is.” The orc seemed a bit gruff, but nice enough. And if he was here to train under the Paragons then the least Aris could do was get him there on time. “I saw it on a hill when I was coming into town.”

The mage turned away from the crowd and began quickly walking down the street. “My name’s Aris, by the way,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s nice to meet ya.”

 

[Frenzy]

Alan Tothor
Old Town


The walk was scenic enough. The fields of wheat that flanked Alan's sides were freshly harvested and you could still smell the sweetness of the grain in the air. Alan thumbed the necklace that was hanging around his neck. He had discovered it when he woke that day and at the time he supposed it was a gift from the council to go along with his new promotion, whatever that was. Now he thinks of it as a curse. Once, while getting ready to bathe after a hard days work in the farmers field, he tried to remove it. He was met instantly with an enormous amount of pain and hurriedly placed it back around his neck, never to remove it again. he learned that lesson quick. It's chain had the look of tarnished silver and what would be considered exquisite craftsmanship in this time and probably in his own time too. Hanging from it was a pendant with the Seal of the Council engraved on it, complete with the eight points that represented the eight council members.



As Alan neared the windmill he could see a small group of people gathered around. He noted a man that looked to be made of paper but shook it off as maybe he just didn't get enough sun. Or any at all for that matter. Behind him stood a tall but way too thin man that seemed to be having a staring contest with the paper fellows ass. There were others too. Some tall, some short, some skinny, some fat. But none of them had white hair, the look of an elf, and a nice ass. Alan was hoping there would be a chance she was here but he couldn't see her.

Maybe later? Maybe not at all? Oh well... There's plenty more hens in the chicken coop I guess.

The crowd was focused on two men standing in front of the old windmill. One of the men was wearing the clothes that any commoner would wear. Mute grays, blacks, and browns. He also wore a gray traveling cloak with its hood down. He had an interesting scar on his face too. He was doing the talking. The other wore a black cloak made of thick wool. It had red stitching all over it that looked to be in the form of a raven. His hood and shoulders were adorned with raven feathers so black that the night must be jealous of them. He was wearing his hood up and the faced that it framed was looking directly at Alan and looked as if he just recognized something.

I wonder if he can tell my skill just by looking at me? I'm surely the most skilled fighter here among these common folks!

There was an old wooden fence post sprouting from the ground and Alan went to it and leaned on it. Leaning makes you look cool and tough but also nonthreatening. Here he watched the proceedings with a curious eye. The thin man was still staring at the paper mans ass. Scar face was asking if anyone had questions. In the distance a dancing nymph and a wooden girl were approaching.

Wooden girl? Now THAT is a weird one!

 

[Ronan]

[div style="background-color:#74645A; height:100px; max-width: 346px; width: 100%; float: left; margin:5px; padding:5px;"][div style="background-color:#CFB09B; height:80px; padding:10px; color:#fff; font-size:12px; line-height:12px; text-align:justify; margin:auto;"][class=blackWhite]width:90px; flex-grow:1; opacity:0.5; filter:grayscale(100%);[/class][class name=blackWhite state=hover] filter:grayscale(0%); opacity:1; transition: all .5s ease;[/class][div class=blackWhite][div style="float:left; background-image: url(http://i66.tinypic.com/okpe9d.jpg); height: 80px; width: 80px; background-size:110%; background-position:auto; border:1px solid #fff; padding:0px;"][/div][/div][/div][div style="position:relative; bottom:95px; left:100px;"][div style="font-family: 'times'; font-size: 20; color: #61574E"]SLEEP NOW, 'GOOD' MOLLY.[/div][div style="color:#61574E; font-size:10px; line-height:11px; overflow: hidden; text-align:justify; text-transform: uppercase; margin-right:104px;"][MISSING] has told me about the [MISSING], about the Gods and their love. But, do the Gods love their creations? I am an automaton created by human hands, would you ever think to love me? Of course, I do love you, isn't that how you've made me?[/div][/div][/div]Molly watched the nymph's dark and sultry dance, twirling around her with jewellery and coronet rubbing against each other to make music, and her braid an umbrage against the green. Her song was a summer breeze, light and warm. Molly viewed her as someone one who belonged to the painting. All she needed was the moon's light to cast shadows to match her hair. The moon would paint a fine pale queen of the Darkest Heavens and night.

As Nasadi traced a fingertip across her aged wooden back, Molly noted the sensation - a sensation not felt but one seen, and they were a strange thing. Sensations could be long and slow and greedy. They incite, they suffer, they consume, they break hearts, and Molly could not fathom such things, but welcomes the ghost of Nasadi's that could be. She understands that feeling embraces immortality. In all times does the sense to feel prevail.

Nasadi is flightless. She is a carefree spirit. Molly's fingers crack and squeak as they reach for the nymph who so easily spins away from her grasp. As Nasadi bounds up the hills, wisps of midday mists envelope her, and the automaton follows her, her long pants disguising her rusted knees and her hair a beautiful blend with the wheat fields. Bright yellow and orange, the colours of autumn in spring. She chases her up the cresting hill, parting the grain with her path until they reach the windmill, perfectly nestled at the edge of the field that folds into a meadow again. The winds are blowing; the windmill turns at a steady, dreamy pace. It is crowned by several people, all men, all different from the townspeople. She notes this and wavers in her chase of the nymph, picking now to seize Nasadi by the wrist with a sharp 'Wait,' her glass eyes striking her own soft, emerald ones. A staggering contrast, but kind all the same. A worried friend. Molly could never dream of hurting Nasadi or being uncaring. She cares too much.

The reason Molly seized the disciple of the All Mother's wrist was because, nearby, she had seen another strange man close to her height with a scar on his cheek watching them. Molly's loosens her grip on Nasadi, her wooden hand falling away and an unmistakable disparity with her otherwise painfully human features. 'There is someone, him - ' she says, tilting her head to the side. 'He has been watching for some time.'

Lu-Lu & Frenzy

 

[Lu-Lu]

Nasadi I'l Sadahin
Location; Windmill
mentions; Frenzy & Ronan & Blood Born Angel

Her progress was stopped in an instant, her wrist held taut within the others wooden grasp, those delicately crafted fingertips wrapped around the pale skin though there was no pain nor intent to cause the Elven so. Nasadi only turned her head, gazing over her shoulder, her voice lost in the wind that blew even stronger on the hilltop for she sang no more. Her silks were no longer smoke that followed its own whim, they were shadows that clung tight to her silhouette mimicking her movement they trailed behind. Resolute and unbending, Molly was immovable when it became a necessity and it took but a moment for her to voice what had concerned her so.
A male who stood taller than even Molly had taken rest against an old wooden post, cracked and weathered by seasons long passed and though his gaze wandered between the gathering that stood in the shadow of the Windmill that dominated, it was clear even from the distance that separated them that his focus had shifted and settled on their approaching presence.
Her emerald gaze studied the leather raiment that garbed the stranger, drifting silently across the iron vambraces that adorned his arms and the pauldrons that secured the fur lined cloak to his shoulders. Displaced was the word that came to mind as she turned once more to face her quiet protector.
"Pay him no mind, surely he is only captivated by your radiance. Human men are simple creatures and this one has a greedy look about him."

This man gave her a strange feeling, not intrinsically threatening yet now that she stood on the crested hill, the sense of foreboding grew ever stronger for now it could be felt whereas before she had only been aware of its presence. A presence that had quietly festered over the passing months as weary travelers and those displaced by the tragedy of war trickled in to the ever growing town that scattered the fields below and the sheer magnitude of mana that concentrated in such a small area sent chills up the spine of the magi, the delicate translucent hairs that lined her forearms stood in anticipation and gooseflesh rose on her exposed skin. It was an intriguing affair though her earlier statement rang true of its intentions for she chose not to approach any further, this was a gathering for those who sought power and prestige yet she had come only to satiate her curiosity for Nasadi desired neither. Well versed in the magical arts through her tutelage in the Queendom, practiced and refined over the course of journey who's end seemed no nearer than its beginning. She had sighted what had intrigued her so, her eyes that gleamed bright had spied upon the one they called Caelum and now she knew well his face and the icy blues that surveyed those gathered. A fervent wish to learn of his faith and the strength that flowed from him yet knew this was neither time nor place so again she withdrew to the safety of her companion and in her native tongue she uttered a prayer.
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