City of Magic [5/7 spots taken] Closed For Now

Discussion in 'Fantasy' started by Lekiel, Nov 11, 2017.

  1. #1 Lekiel, Nov 11, 2017
    Last edited: Nov 22, 2017 at 2:10 AM
    RP Based off the World of Andarun: ANDARUN - A World Reborn (wip)

    Interest Check: A Tale From Andarun - Small Grp Detailed

    OOC: City of Magic OOC

    New Characters Submission: City of Magic Characters

    ~City of Magic~​



    Due to the nature of this RP, the details of the story differ slightly, depending on the Homeland and class of your character. For simplicity's sake, the default alignment of your character will be 'The Dominion of Arya'. You may however, pick any nation. If you'd like to stick to the story strictly, Bloodsworn or Aryan characters are suggested, but not mandatory.

    Character Gender's available: -


    . . . . | . . . .​

    It started in the most peculiar of ways. Though perhaps not the most unusual, depending on how you see it. A border town, within the northmost reaches of the Dominion comes across a decaying body of a soldier floating down the stream. Now, such floaters though very rare, was not unheard of by villagers. The truce between the three kingdoms opening up travel throughout the lands, giving the keys to errand adventurers to go out treasure seeking. This floater would have simply been dismissed as another stupid hapless soul, had 'he' (if you could give dead bodies gender) been discovered by simply folk.

    But as fate would have it, a particularly enthusiastic patrol captain and his men spotted the body as they were making their last rounds for the shift. Excited at the unusual sight (now, you must forgive him as patroling borders can be really boring as of late; the most action a Dominion soldier would have these days would be to see their Bloodsworn counterparts and hurl insults at the pointy ears. Unless one were placed within Wretched infested territory, but that's besides the point). Now, upon recovering the body and searching it, our dear captain discovered a tattered map carefully rolled up in a worn but otherwise intact leather casing, effectively protecting it from the stream waters. Eyeballing the corpse, our dear astute Captain deduced that this man was no simple adventurer. Though very much faded, one could assumed that he wore the colours of sorts. The body belonged to a soldier (there were also other trinkets found on the body to confirm the suspicion). Though from which army was the question.

    Fast forward a month or so (cause I'm really lazy at story-telling), the body and map now resides within the walls of Midranthos, capital of the glorious Dominion. Ambassadors from the other two regions had all but confirmed that the soldier belonged to neither one of their armies. Embroiled within their own internal politics, the Vanharen and Aryan Lord was quite intent on dismissing the peculiar situation; that is until their Bloosworn counterpart remarked that the map depicted a region towards the north of his Kingdom. Mr. Vanharen snorted the claim away and took his leave, all dramatic with his green smoke and eerie theatrics.

    Now, one must understand, that the people of Andarun understand, that their world does not end beyong the Skyreach Mountains north of the Bloodsworn. One should understand however, that it is extremely difficult and nigh impossible to cross said mountain range; as only a very small handful of people have ever done so. Reports of what lay beyond, was simply that of a winter wonderlan- I mean, desolate landscape, with nothing to offer.

    Long story short, Mr. Bloodsworn happened to know of some relatives who had been across the mountain range, (oooh destiny oooh plotfixing! oooh!) and thought it would be interesting to see what they could find. Mr. Arya, acting very "Arya-like" was not impressed that Bloordsworn had made up his mind based on Arya's own findings. Hence, he declared that he too will send an emissary to the north.


    You my friends will be playing an Aryan hero chosen by the Aryan Lord to partner on this expedition ^-^! It is worth noting that officially, the three kingdoms have no interest whatsoever to see what lies beyond the mountain range. The Bloodsworn have sent expeditions many many many years prior (though not very far north) and have seen nothing worth the cost (both monetary and lives) lost, and still maintain that view; the ambassador really just thought he'd send someone on a whim with zero expectations... cause... fate.

    The Aryans are in this because the Lord just didn't like the idea of someone potentially benefiting themselves at his expense (no matter how minuscule the possibility). How he decided to choose your character is up to you, as well as your character's personal motivations for going on the trip.

    I will be playing a Bloodsworn guide, one of a rare few people who has traveled into the Northlands *-*!


    ~Character Application~​


    For this RP, you may choose any of the 'normal', 'special' or 'elite' classes.

    Just a basic character skelley will do, as below:

    Name:


    Age:


    Gender:


    Homeland: (The Bloodsworn, Arya, Vanharen)


    Race:


    Class:


    Equipment: (Please be mindful of the limit one person can carry ^_^ ; )


    Appearance: (at least 3 lines, include a picture if you have one. Otherwise, add more description to define your physical features)


    Personality: (Optional, can be discovered through the story anyway ^^)


    Character Background: (Character background and history)
    . . . . | . . . .
    ~THE CHARACTERS~​



    • [​IMG]
      . . . . | . . . .​

    • @Lekiel
      Name: Talyndra kaelas`Farandir

      Age: 28

      Gender: Female

      Homeland: The Bloodsworn

      Race: Anarhin (Sun Elf)

      Class: Stormlord

      Equipment: Silver bound spellbook, Heartwood dagger and Ghastwood elven longbow. Talyndra's ivory colored moonstrand mage robes is embroidered with gold threads and woven onto an enchanted leather bodice to make it more resilient than ordinary robes. Compact slingpouch with usual traveling supplies. She also wears a slim black choker, inlaid with a swirling milky white gem.

      Appearance:
      [​IMG]
      Talyndra is blessed with high cheekbones, chestnut brown almond shaped eyes and small slightly upturned nose giving her a rather impish look. Olive coloured skintone further solidifies her heritage as one of the anarhin. Luxurious amber coloured tresses falls to the small of her back, which she usually braids at the sides to keep in check. She stands at a towering 5 feet 6 inches, glorious! Talyndra possesses a petite body framework with just, only just, enough curves in the right places.

      Personality: (Leaving this out for now)

      Character Background: Talyndra, younger of only three children born to Lord Tasaldan Farandir, was what her people would call a larle`. In commons, bastard. Lord Tasaldan's only wife, having passed away giving birth to his first daughter. Talyndra's mother was a mere maidservant of the house, was compensated before being sent away shortly after Talyndra was born. Given the fact that she was the younger of two daughters, and an illegitimate child, Talyndra was fortunate that her father chose to acknowledge her; but only to the extent of providing for her needs and education. Despite his generosity, any sort of inheritance was entirely out of the question, not that Talyndra minded. Without the burden that usually comes with being a 'proper' child of a prominent elven lord, she was mostly left to her own devices. This gave her ample freedom to pursue art in all its forms, for she loved it; and would've spent all her days immersed in it if not for the fact that she was sent to Heartfire Academy to learn the ways of a Stormlord.


      Right at the onset, Talyndra proved to be trouble, trouble of a different sort. Talyndra's powers were sporadic to say the least. One moment, they would fail her completely and the next, they would be blazing uncontrollably albeit powerfully; to the cost of damaged school property. Her mentors blamed her lack of concentration for such uncontrollable magic. Despite that, she managed to complete her studies and even work, at her father's behest (well, he didnt speak to her... he wrot- he bade one of his servants to pen a suggestion), as a tutor at the academy. Talyndra knew her father was slowly wiping his hands clean off her, gradually cutting her off in what he deemed was the most ethical way.


      Talyndra's bow was given to her by Tanadris, her older sister and also Calenfar Captain. Also the only person in the whole House Farandir who didn't look at her askance. Tanadris taught her how to wield it, and though Talyndra's mastery of the elven longbow is fair, it is nowhere near as skilled as a regular elven Ranger.

      . . . . | . . . .​

    • @Blue Aisle
      Name: Luis Hanar

      Age:
      27

      Gender: M

      Homeland: (The Bloodsworn, Arya, Vanharen): Arya

      Race: Human

      Class: Inquisitor

      Equipment:
      - Crossbow
      - Poison + Holy arrows
      - Rapier (imbued a bolt sling)
      - Smoke bombs + poison vials on his belt
      - Pendant (a memento)

      Appearance:
      [​IMG]

      Unlike his siblings, Luis did not inherit the bright blue eyes of his mother, but instead sports an unsaturated grey, much like foggy glass. He has short black hair that's parted to the side, brushing over his left brow. His features are not grand or fancy, but simply clean and sharp, much like his steel.

      His robes consists of blues, blacks and silvers, allowing him to disappear into the night.

      Personality:

      Character Background:

      Luis was the second son of a hunter. His family consisted of his parents, sister, and older brother. Of all his siblings, he was the youngest. They grew up far from the glorious cities, in a modest dwelling in the deep woods. His father and brother would hunt for game almost every afternoon, but young Luis had not joined them. It was not because he was not interested in hunting, but he could not. As a child, Luis was rather sickly. His mother often brewed herbs for him, and forbid him to go out when the wind was high, or the air cold. On most days, he sat in his room, reading the impressively scarce collection of writing available to his father. He dearly envied his father and brother, as well has the great hunts they pursued.

      As fate would have it, however, a boon can come in disguise, as it was his weak body that had saved his life.

      One night, the older two men of family caught word of a great beast, apparently the height of a mountain. The two were awfully excited, and left the house immediately, only to never return. It was a heartbreaking dent in the family of course, but even their livelihoods have disappeared, as they no longer had game to sell, and no hunter to fill the winter stock. Desperate to keep her children fed, his mother moved them into the city, selling their old stone home to a local lord. There, she found work as a chambermaid, but it was still barely enough to feed her two children. Perhaps it was because of his mother's hardships, or because of his self loathing, Luis' illness had vanished as if by sheer willpower.

      He went under training to become an inquisitor, for it spelled for good coin, and because he enjoyed working in solitude. His strength laid in strategics, along with deft hands and a smooth tongue. His aim with the crossbow is immaculate, the blood of a hunter did run through his veins after all.

      In recent days, Luis received a letter from the King himself, detailing an expedition into unexplored territory beyond the mountains. He was confounded at this summon, for the King has never contacted him before. Perhaps he thought Luis had worked with too many of his officials. It's well known that an agent who knew too much was only a nuisance, and Luis wondered if this was an astute way of leading him to his grave. Regardless, he took the offer. The expedition itself was of little attraction for him, for he preferred to hunt men than animal. Indeed, there was another reason. It is said the mythical beast, perhaps the same one his predecessor had chased after, could be beyond the mountains. This was by no means a noble act of filial piety, but it was something he'd always wondered about. He desperately wanted to see the beast, to have a glimpse of the atrocious creature the two men had been tracking before they disappeared.


      . . . . | . . . .​

    • @yuckeroni
      [​IMG]
      Name: Nadya Lothric

      Age: 36

      Gender: Female

      Homeland: Vanharen

      Race: Heaten`hua

      Class: Vackhan

      Equipment: Melora: A scythe that was created to be deadly in close range. The sharpened, bladed edges are meant to cleave through objects and living beings, if wielded correctly, those in front and behind the user will be hit. The blades are stained with gore and smell like strong iron if close enough to it. The scythe was previously unnamed, until after the user had been eliminated by her better half, her Bondmate.

      Clothes: Yet, the only clothes she has are the ones on her back, the numerous amounts of rags and robes that cover her being. Along with the warmth it serves, and hefty coverage from whatever weather, it also offers Nadya plenty of pockets and areas to stash trinkets, currency, paper, etc. Of course, these items would need to be light.

      Veil: An item that demonstrates her Heaten'hua culture, the veil covers and protects her face from dust. It's a little too dark under the decorated cloth, but Nadya has learned to discriminate the different colors.

      Appearance: Nadya is a little under the average human height, being 5'1" and weighing 107 lbs. Her black hair reaches her shoulders and is very much unkempt, as if it wasn't touched in days. Yet surprisingly, her hair stays pretty dry and oil-free. She seems a little sickly due to her pale skin and petite stature, but she's very much alive and well. Her eyes are a bright yellow, one of the most distinguishing features of her face. No scars are present on her face, yet all over her body there are bountiful spots of scratches, scars, burns, etc.

      Personality: (will add later)

      Character Background: Being born in Vanharen, into the nomadic tribe of the Heaten'hua, was of course,
      the extent of the life that Nadya Lothric had lived, up until the point she left her home for the Dominion.

      Nadya was an only child in her unfortunate family, all the children born had died just after and then the mother died in grief. So, she and her father lived off of collecting exotic spices and assisting with another family in their act of theatrics and performing arts. This is where Nadya would meet her future Bondmate, Melora, another young girl her age. They would become the best of friends, but unbeknownst to them, they would be chosen to be potential Vackhans. Due to their childish outlook, they would not know the true responsibilities of their sacred duty until later in life. All they knew was that their sacrifices would be beneficial to their race.

      As the two aged, they became even closer and stronger. The relationship between Melora and Nadya was now more than just a friendship, they were pretty much united through their love and kinship for one another. While Nadya wielded the bow, Melora was a master of the double-sided scythe. In all honesty, Nadya, compared to Melora, was weak and it was expected that the scythe-wielder would come out as the winner, but in the end,
      it had turned out to be Nadya who would emerge victoriously. Unsure of it was due to Melora's conscious wish or that Nadya simply knew of the other girl's weaknesses, Nadya herself was confused at her win, yet feels no regret, and so continues to fulfill her duties as a Vackhan.

      Once she reached the age of 26, however, she'd become bored of her tiring lifestyle, it had become too familiar and predictable for her liking, and so she escapes from her home (to the disappointment of her father and everyone else) to the comforts of Miransar, where she lives her rather fancy and luxurious life there. There, she lived by working doing odd jobs for Vanharen nobles who didn't want to do it themselves. Personally, she had no issue doing so, it was rather interesting and way more enjoyable than living her nomadic life. And so, due to the admiration of the Vackhans there, she managed to get chosen for the expedition, another adventure and odd job she's excited about, glad that it wouldn't be anything like her nomadic tribe.

      . . . . | . . . .​


    • @Con-Amore
      Name: Sirris of House Regalia, formerly Sirris Clegaine

      Age: 29

      Gender: Male

      Homeland: Arya

      Race: Human

      Class: Regalian

      Equipment:
      Straight-sword- A standard, seemingly ordinary sword composed of solid silver but with a highly ornamental-organic looking hilt characteristic of a rapier. The blade itself exudes a soft radiance, dulled by conflict and plights long since vanished and forgotten.
      Prayer Book- Highly sentimental, contains scripture detailing practices of followers of lolos, as well as a variety of chants and incantations that manifest into divine magic. The pages are gilded in a brilliant gold; and its white leather exterior is inlaid with an ornate depiction of House Regalia's coat of arms in silver and gold leaf.
      Blessed Armor- Close-fitted Elaborate plate mail composed of silver and mythrill which has been consecrated and soaked in holy water. This does nothing to boost its efficacy in battle. Feathers of swans make up the entirety of its cape, which trails behind in the same fashion as a bridal veil. Over the years it has been stained a grave ashen hue. Its unique visage is iconic of Sirris' persona.
      Divine Blessing- A quarter-filled golden flask containing holy water blessed by the clergymen of Arya's church of lobos. It has the ability restore vitality and undo general irregularities, but it seems as if there isn't much remaining.

      Appearance:
      [​IMG]
      Sirris' face is very structured and symmetrical. His fair skin is indicative of Arya's nobility. His pallid hair, which is always cut short sets him apart from other Aryan youth, in his younger years it was viewed as a deformity. Sporting a decisively average build among soldiers, he stands at 5'11"
      Personality: Much to the dismay of his comrades at the serious, hyper-masculine house Regalia, Sirris is a grossly incandescent, flaming ball of positivity. He is an indispensable friend to many, but his habit of constantly showering peers with positive affirmations, and sense of humor--or lack thereof exhausts the energy of all those in his presence. Oftentimes, it takes him ages to understand jokes, leading people to wonder how he even got this far in life. Raised in high society, Sirris, apart from physical prowess has absolutely no practical skill or knowledge. He makes up for this with immense enthusiasm and passion; nothing he does is half-hearted. On the other end of the spectrum, he has an avid respect for the faith, which he feels forever indebted to. Humility is his best quality. And yet, insecurities often lead to self-deprecation and self-sacrifice. While it is difficult to offend him, he finds grudges difficult to appease.

      Character Background:

      "Oh, sweet champion of blessings,
      rise, if you would."

      Little is remarkable about Sirris' childhood. Unable to even enter the world correctly, he was conceived strangled by his umbilical cord. Through the efforts of the church, his life was spared; under the condition that he was promised to its service. In time he would take this obligation freely, and willingly. As a youth, much of his time was spent in poor health, and as a result he was not permitted to leave the estate, but, surrounded by his parents whom loved him dearly, that was enough; there was no greater joy. They worried that he wouldn't make friends, or his health would decline further, or that he wouldn't amount to anything productive in his life. And they chose to bury that fear inside themselves, for he was here, and they were happy. That was all that mattered.

      As he progressed into his pubescent years with newfound vigor, Sirris found himself drawn to the church of lobos. Though his father mandated that he serve as a page, he was still a devout follower, attending sermon every day of the week without fail. It was at this time that he forged a close connection with the church, and decided he would devote his life to it; he wanted to become an acolyte. His parents, enraptured that their only born finally found purpose was content in his decision, and supported him to the full extent. It would have worked out so well, had his proficiency with miracles not been so poor. Regardless of how fervently he prayed, his incantations rarely manifested into magic.

      And so, masking his ineptitude, he refused to neglect other sectors of his development and indulged in academics and swordplay. Much irony was found in the fact that he excelled in these areas, despite bearing no passion for either of them. After emerging victorious at multiple sword fighting competitions throughout his youth, it was apparent to everyone that his calling was among sweat and blades. He found success as a squire. Even the church declared he would become a fine warrior. He wondered if he would regret this, but every time he looked back at the smiling faces of his entourage he muted his distress.


      At the humble age of 17, Sirris was ordained into knighthood. In secret, he took every opportunity to hone his divine magic, and though great strides have been taken since his first prayer, his miracles could still only be considered mediocre at best. And yet, he was the only knight to possess this unique set of skills, and his efforts did not go unnoticed. After each war, he built favor with the church and the public. On one occasion, he used his divine magic to cauterize the amputated limb of a fallen comrade in the midst of battle. An action that saved their life. After the conflict boiled down, it was revealed that they were actually a Regalian, and consequently Sirris was offered a position within their ranks.

      With a heavy heart, he accepted the proposal; he knew that taking this path would mean abandoning his dream of becoming an acolyte. Sirris could not help his lack of talent in that regard. Passion should never overlap service. The church rejoiced at this decision. It was from them that his armor was bequeathed. In the following two years, he would adapt a unique fighting style combining his offensive miracles and swordplay. Despite his talent with the sword he is still, in comparison to other Regalian below average in terms of strength. For what he lacked in that sector, he made up with his higher proficiency with miracles. From time to time, he questions if he made the right decision, but finds comfort in his strong network of friends.

      Now, Sirris has reached a period of stagnation in terms of progress. He feels as though he has hit the pinnacle of what he can achieve within the borders of Arya. Once again, regardless of how hard he trains, or how fervently he prays, time has stopped for his reality. Sirris is the only member of the house of Regalia on standby as the Aryan Lord's request for an expedition far north arrives. Panic ensues, and Sirris' obsession with progression leads him to accept without much foresight. The world is so full of precious experiences and wonders. He can't afford to miss another moment.


      . . . . | . . . .​


    • @The Gunrunner
      Yes, I dare to add a theme song.

      Name:
      Glazist Phairnaul, 'The Wanderer.'

      Age: 42

      Gender: Male

      Homeland: Vanharen

      Race: Human - Undead

      Class: Deathknight

      Equipment:
      Full-body plate-mail, the rims lined with a thin layer of yellowed brass. The suit includes a customized Armet helmet, wherein the visor has been flattened for the purpose of better visibility.
      Chipped and battered two-handed danish Axe.
      Chop-focused arming sword, the crossguard and handle reaching equal length. The blade itself has been heavily inscribed in the vows and chants of the Order of Spring.
      Flat oval shield, the front showing no emblem.


      Appearance:
      [​IMG]

      A beast of nightmare capable only from the deadlands, he stands at around six feet with broad shoulders. The build suggested by the armour presents what is expected of a warrior, no more and no less, though much of the real damage is covered by the steel plates. Typically, it is only the face which is exposed - A face that holds no secrets to his state; the eyes are under a sheen of white, a paleness shared throughout his cold dead skin. The flesh of the face is torn in many areas, revealing muscle tissue and stained bone. Where the flesh remains, there is a sickly red lining the wounds. The armour itself is well made, and well kept after - Polished and shined, though the many scratches and dents show it is certainly far from new. The rims of the gauntlets, pauldrons, and helmet are lined with a yellowed brass. The helmet itself is a customized armet, wherein the mouthpiece is flatter than usual for the purpose of better visibility. The sword and armour together are covered in writing; the former features many of the chants and vows of the Order of spring, with "Of Life and Death I Am King, For Both Do I Bring" displayed along both edges. However, the armour is highly personalized, writings of a variety of exploits and experiences. It reads much like a personal account of the wearer's experiences, though whether or not they are his is to be discovered.

      Under the armour is a variety of similar wounds, a mix of gashes and cuts made by both weapons and bites. The body seems as if something had been feasting upon it before his resurrection. Of the wounds caused by weapons, many of such openings have been closed by stitching. But most attention-grabbing of all are his tattoos; from neck to toe, covering every inch of skin and bone under the head, are a massive variety of different forms of tattoos. They are a chaotic mess, difficult to understand at first glance; most are merely messages written in the common language, together reading like a mixture of reminders or short notes together forming a manner of visceral journal. Others are depictions of faces or scenes - The latter including everything from battles, to festivals, to interactions, and so on.


      Personality: (Optional, can be discovered through the story anyway ^^)
      You'll find out!

      Character Background:
      Clara, Federick. They are names he might have once felt certain about once - The names of his son and wife. But he could feel no certainty over them now, merely floating possibilities in a sea of his amnesia. When he was first raised, he remembered what was most recent; the assault on his patrol, his throat sore from yelling orders to the men, and the shock he felt when blades first started piercing his flesh. He was a sergeant in Haagsfrot's army - He knows that now. He was married and had a son, of that he was... reasonably sure. The nature of his family was still hazy, but he felt hopefully sure that there were no other children of his that he'd fail to recount. Thinking of his wife gave him a sense of loss, one of the feelings he'd come to learn how to use in his piecing together of the past - If he felt loss, then it meant their death was before his own. It seemed likely Clara's death was long before, and likely somewhat... peaceful, in a sense; sickness, or perhaps childbirth? Whatever the nature of it, she was not one of those to be claimed by what had overrun him and his men.

      His memories were fractured, but there were still things he knew and understood - He was part of the army during the Darkest Days, when Haagsfrot went under siege in the unrelenting swarms of the Wretched. When they brutalized their farms and villages, likely too damned stupid to even know they were slowly starving out the city. In their rush to evacuate, dark infections and other beasts had made their way behind the walls. He remembers the outbreaks of the slums, places who's history is still remembered in the continuing use of their names - Bloody Square, The Black Tavern, the Corpse Pit. Even in undeath, he would never forget those horrifying days.

      He was not the only soldier to reawaken from that horrible nightmare - Deathknights were not common, true, but following Haagsfrot's devestation it had immediately set itself on creating policy to ensure such an event never repeated itself. Such policies included hiring on veterans from across the Deadlands to train its soldiers, changing recruitment and equipment standards, creating new drill policy, and so much more. As Haagsfrot worked to recover and prepare for another wave, the fields of dead from the battles past were slowly being raised for combat. The plentiful dead and growing militarism of the city was extremely attractive to Harbingers searching for worthy Deathknights, and here there were many veterans of a brutal conflict.

      Those who were raised were one of the extremely lucky, to have been killed where there have been witnesses to their past experiences. Glazist could slowly learn of who he is, though it only bred a feeling of loss and confusion in him - What was he to do now? His wife died long ago, and his son did not survive in the starvation of the city. He had no family, and now so few friends. He was not alone, but this is where the history of the Order of Spring begins. Together, these Deathknights find solace with each other. The Order of Spring does not begin for some time later, but even so these men serve the military of their own will - Hunting the Wretched and serving alongside the military.

      The Deathknights slowly come under recognition, earning themselves the official titles of their being. It is from here that the resurrected theorize the creation of their order, a group dedicated to the ensuring Haagsfrot's history never repeats itself. It takes time, but the Creed is slowly created amongst fierce debate and consideration. Eventually, it is ready for official sanction - And so, the Order of Spring began. Glazist has served them ever since, lending his sword and axe to them for years. However, his service in Haagsfrot is considered quite short considering his years of service. Without doubt, he has spent far more time outside the city's walls than in.

      Glazist is one of the most well-traveled of the Order's members, having served throughout the Deadlands. From the northern woods to the eastern swamps, he has scoured the dying land hunting the Andarun's curse where he can. But yet again, he grows to feel he is not doing enough - Trapped within Vanharen's borders, hunting the scourge only in one of the three dominating nations. Then an opportunity comes his way: An expedition up north, collaborated between the three nations. Glazist gladly accepts, his combat experience and time in the wilds perhaps boon enough to assist the others. For himself, however, he hopes to create an opportunity for his Order to serve outside their homeland.

      The Order of Spring:
      "We dedicate our lives to what is beyond us. Suffering lives inside us, and one day only inside us. We have walked knee-deep in blood and bone, seen brothers and sisters fall, felt steel beneath the skin, seen our homes turned to ash. Shadows of what once was return, not to take vengeance but to protect. This is my sacrifice, of myself unto myself. I dedicate my life to the creed, and swear to do all I can so the Darkest Days or any other horror are never known again. Of life and death I am king, for both do I bring - For the Order of Spring."
      Many years after the Age of Decay, the city of Haagsfrot is slowly flooded by ever-burdening specks of Wretched across its farmland. The result is a lengthy siege, with soldiers fighting desperately until reinforcements finally arrive to relieve the city. Though Haagsfrot did survive, the horrors it faced has affected its culture heavily; its populace is heavily militaristic, frequently taking efforts to quell pockets of the Wretched wherever they are believed to be present. In this climate, the Order of Spring was born; an order made solely of the undead, originally of veterans from the 'Darkest Days' during the Haagsfrot siege. They were used to great effect against the continuing infestations deep in the city's woods, and have since become a highly recognized and respected asset within the city.

      Their creed is to protect all Higher Beings, believing from example that the horrors of the Haagsfrot siege could repeat itself elsewhere. Its members are meant to view themselves as a disposable necessity, their second chance solely a purpose to ensure others do not share their terrible fate. To that end, they are ruthless hunters of any threat to that deemed worthy of life - No mercy can be found for the wretched here. There are times where other Higher Beings are deemed unworthy of existence, though there are strict rules to qualify such individuals. Interestingly, a threat to an order member is not itself grounds for death, though it is frequently justified on the grounds that the death of an order knight means lack of protection for others. Regardless, the macabre point is made - The Order are second to the Higher Beings, and all must be done for their safety.

      The influence of the Order outside of Haagsfrot varies quite heavily; while they originate from the city, there is an uncommon practice wherein members ply their services elsewhere. To travel from the city and hunt for the locals of far-away towns and cities is neither encouraged nor discouraged from within, but highly respected if such a choice is made. Still, it is not common; the closure from the Order's teachings, and the new comfort found in the newfound comradery, are simply not available outside of their original city. Those who choose to serve elsewhere, and truly do so, are perhaps the best that even the order has to offer; the most dedicated in the creed, surpassing even its own teachers.

      Membership is highly difficult to obtain, limited to just one hundred knights, and potential candidates are tested to their extremities. Their will, mentality, and physical abilities must all match the standards of the order to be considered. Many have applied for their opportunity, hoping to find a sense of purpose in their unlife or a closure to the loss of their old life. Those who succeed do so from high dedication, and indeed find their place in the world as a result.

      . . . . | . . . .​


    • Name: Wynnter Velatha formally, or simply “Snow”.

      Age: 28, With a birthdate near the solstice of winter.

      Gender: Female

      Alignment: Neutral

      Homeland: She was born among Bloodsworn lands

      Race: Child of the moon, Isilhin Elf.

      Class: Rogue

      Equipment: Wynnter is a rogue, and only brings what she sees fit. In her possession, she carries a few essential items. That said, she hasn’t had the opportunity to purchase equipment for the journey quite yet.

      • Locksmiths/Thieves tools.
      • Adamantine Dagger (Weapon and Keepsake)
      • Typically carries multiple “Disposable” Daggers, she currently has four.
      • Small coil of rope
      • Steel Necklace (Memento)
      • 25 Empire gold coins
      • Sealed Waterskin

      Appearance: As an Elf, she stands at an average height for females. She stands 4’9”, just beneath the shoulders of most humans. She has a manageable length of smooth, pale white hair, which falls just beneath her shoulders when let down. Her eyes are a pale green, almost like leaves on a tree amidst a cold morning. She is pretty, but in a subtle way, with smooth cheeks and a shimmer to her figure. But her looks will easily fool anyone, as she claims. She is typically seen wearing a cloak, over long sleeves and pants. She tries to hide as much of her pale skin as possible, usually under dark-colored clothing.
      [​IMG]


      Personality: Wynnter is a very odd character. As an acquaintance to anyone, she is very polite and almost formal. She is nice and warming, but at the same time distant, as if she is discussing business and barters. She believes that making enemies is actively working against oneself, and will avoid doing so. That said, she won’t hesitate if she sees no other means out of a situation. On a personal level, Wynnter’s character really starts to blossom. Being a rogue and all, she isn’t one to instantly trust someone, however she is still human, or rather, elf. She is a mix of loving, warm-heartedness and cold calculativity. She can be the nicest, most caring individual anyone could expect. Almost motherly, or at least in a way. Not much of a leader, she is a proponent of reliance on one’s self. She excels at doing so, but can work with a team if need be. She can be strong-headed and almost arrogant at times, but is a good person to befriend.

      (Her character is a tad complex, And she might not make sense right now. It should unfold better in story and dialogue.)

      Character Background: Wynnter was born amidst a harsh time within the Bloodsworn lands, or at least where she lived. Born in the winter months, her mother had little access to care during the harsh months. Raised by a father alone, she took after him in attitude and lifestyle. Her father was a soldier before his age got to him, and he settled down. He lived a roaming lifestyle, traveling among the many lands of Andarun to experience sights, or that’s what Wynnter thought. She later learned that her father was gathering knowledge as an Enchanter, one who imbued weapons with magic. He made small fortunes, selling his services for fractions of the cost of others.

      His profession kept the two happy for many years, traveling to ‘See the sights of the world.’ However, his profession slowly led him to involvement with many, well, outcast groups of people. Thieves, bandits, raiders and any of the sort came for his skills. Wynnter lived with her father until she was twenty-five years of age. On her 23rd birthdate, her father gave her a blade of extreme quality, a blade made of lightened Adamantine. A dagger of pristine quality, worth more than everything they owned, or so she thought. A stout six-inch blade inlaid into a silver hilt, that weighed less than one forged from steel. Little did she know, her father had stolen it from a very respected merchant, and one that forgot little, and forgave less.

      Her father, in the little time she saw him, taught her how to use the blade, along with others of its sort. He first taught her to use it plainly, in the palms of her hands. She learned how to use it in melee, and she proved herself a natural. She soon began wielding one in each palm, gaining the confidence to face her father with wooden counterparts. She always lost, of course, but the margins slowly began to close. He then taught her how to turn a simple blade into a projectile, lethal at short ranges. By the time she was 24, she was more than proficient in both throwing and fighting with daggers and knives. She had never used them, sparing her practices with her father, and she once hoped she never would have too. Nevertheless, she was comforted by their presence. She began carrying hers everywhere, hiding it in a sleeve or waistband. However, she never thought of why she did. She never thought much of the blade, except how to use it.

      Well into the next year, everything seemed to be doing just fine. It seemed her father was happy for once, they had even come into some money. Even though it was little compared to most, it was still enough for them, plenty even. But his past would catch up to him, and tear everything apart. She knows now that what happened was because of what he did, and wasn’t just meaningless assault. She later learned that between faulty sales and shady dealings, the merchant he stole from had came for her father. She lost her father that night, along with any resemblance of family.

      She’s remained alone since, where she traveled from city to city, before her name caught wind among the courts of the Bloodsworn. It didn't take her long to figure out she was being watched, but she couldn't fathom by who. She lasted three weeks in the wilderness, before a figure appeared above her in her sleep. She tried to fend him off, but she was little match for a Court Assassin. Call it a stroke of luck, or a change of fate, but the Assassin wasn't there to kill her. Because she was something the Bloodsworn needed, an outcast. Someone with no ties, no true friends, and someone without a reputation. She didn't have a choice if she went with the man or not, and was soon in a carriage being taken... somewhere. She was taken to the school of Infiltrators, a royal academy. Somewhere where she couldn't stick out more. Never told why, she was taught the basics of being an Assassin. and while she passed most her tests, she wasn't fond of not knowing why.

      It wasn't until nearly two months passed that she was pulled from her classes, and simply told to "Get ready to leave". She took everything of value with her, but little else. She was more than skeptical, but had learned the hard way that keeping silent was best for her. She was brought to a large, open field, where she was finally told her purpose. She was to cross the territory to the north, with only a handful of others.

      . . . . | . . . .​


    • . . . . | . . . .​


    • . . . . | . . . .​
     
  2. #2 Lekiel, Nov 13, 2017
    Last edited: Nov 13, 2017
    ~PROLOGUE~


    One Week Ago "Seler`Tanadris, amin sal rangw`uuma mankoi amin aut`caela!" The younger of the two women cried, wringing her hands in the air as she turned away. She crossed her arms over her chest, a frown on her face as she fixed her eyes on a painting hanging by the wall of their house. An Isilhin warrior sat astride his stallion, leading a charge into a horde of Wretched, backed by the colourful pennants of his clan and allies. His features were clearly depicted, but the cleanliness of his facade was far from the scarred and battleworn lines of Father; if ever she could address him in such a familial manner.


    "Talyndra... Saes last`amin." The other replied, gently but firmly, her voice pleading. She reached out to grasp the shoulder of her step-sister, trying to get her to turn back. A servant dressed in a neat but subdued dress glanced curiously from a balcony overlooking the immaculately decorated living room. On the wall, just behind where the two sisters stood, a pair of crossed runic elven blades - the family heirloom - glinted in the warm glow of the elemental lanterns.


    "There are many other rangers who know the area! Why can't you send them? I'm sure they can attempt the crossing!" The protest was spoken in commons, though Talyndra still refused to turn around. At first glance, both women were starkly different, as night was to day. One with long flowing golden locks and olive skin while the other was fair, pale skin so translucent it almost seemed to gleam like the moon. But while the younger woman had let her brown hair flow freely, gently cascading about her shoulders, the other had pinned her long dark hair back out of her face; a common conduct of someone in her line of work.


    "Ile sinta`tanya naa a'risa." The older woman sighed. "We are perhaps the only two who has ever gone beyond the Skyreach and traversed the wilderness... I mean, there are the others... but I doubt any amount of gold would make them attempt that pass again. I would've gone myself but-"


    "You can't. Your duties won't let you..." Talyndra interrupted, her voice flat. She was resigned to her task, there was only so much she could argue. In truth, she knew there was no other way. She had only resisted just because she felt she had to say something. Turning around finally, she gave her sister a hug. "I don't know if I can do this, seler. I've always had you to back me up. Out there, I will be on my own... I've heard your tales of adventure and everything and I'd always longed to go.. but now that it's in front of me.."


    "You'll be fine, don't worry. If I'd had the slightest thought you aren't capable, I would not have suggested you to go." Tanadris smiled as she embraced her sister. Then stepping back, she grinned. "Besides, I think its time you took a breath of fresh air away from your books. You really do need to get out you know? I heard the Deadlanders are sending a lady, and there'll be two edans from Arya. They're not all big hairy and bad, little sister.. lighten up, put on your best smile, wriggle your hips and you might make a friend or two!"

    "Seler!! I'm not that bad!"


    ~Near Present: Night Before Meeting~

    Sleep did not come early for Talyndra. It wasn't that her mind was troubled or anything. She just felt the urge to keep moving. Her Mentor at Hearthfire Academy had given her an early leave, and as such she had made her way to the neutral town of Haven and stayed at the Three Dragons Tavern; which was to be their meeting point. She had been waiting and resting for a couple of days so energy-wise, she wasn't all that tired. After a quick bath (she knew it would probably be one her last in quite a while) she changed and settled in for the night. Writing in her spellbook, which she used as a journal by lamplight, she finally fell asleep just before midnight.

    When she opened her eyes, it was still dark. Pushing aside her bedcloths and stretching away the last vestiges of sleep, Talyndra drew apart the curtains to stare out the window. The pale warm glow of dawn was just edging over the horizon and she took a moment to breathe in the fresh air. Not for the first time, she wondered again about the nature of her task. All she knew was that she was to guide three others into the Northlands, further even than she had been before. What they would really find, was shrouded in mystery. Most people did not know the lands past the jagged ridge of razor sharp mountains known as 'The Knife'. It was only because her sister was one of the few surviving members of an expedition to the North that Talyndra knew about it. After many of the rangers perished trying to cross the Swerdrun, those that survived vowed to never return. Except for Tanadris. Having an indomitable spirit, the then ranger vowed that she would never be beaten by a mere mountain range. When she knew that her younger step-sister had a hypersensitivity for feeling shifts in the elemental planes, Tanadris devised a crazy but ultimately, successful plan to cross the range. Even then, the two sisters had only successfully crossed the jagged mountain pass twice. The elf let out a sigh as she burried her worries, then she turned and gathered her things.

    It took almost an hour but finally, she finished organizing their trip, sending a courier raven off to the airship captain in Fairgale that they were due to arrive by evening the same day. Nevertheless, the sleep she had was refreshing and Talyndra was more than eager to be on her way. She had changed out of her day clothes and was now wearing the robes of her calling. Whatever the occasion, she had always felt more comfortable in the ivory dyed moonstrand and leather bodice of her Storm Maiden robes. The dress-robe was also one of her greatest pride and joy; she had personally seen to its design and had also painstakingly infused its threads with warding magic.

    Settling into a chair in the near empty taproom of the tavern, she ordered a simple brunch of water, bread and dried fruit while she waited for noon.

    ~Present: Sometime in the Afternoon~

    The elf stood fidgeting impatiently as she stood on the porch of the tavern. Leaning forward with her chin resting on the palm of one hand and the fingers of the other drumming the wood of the balcony restlessly, she cast her eyes about, searching for someone. One of the four Bloodsworn rangers who had joined her glanced over at the elf, a frown creasing his otherwise smooth forehead, as he and his companions sat astride their mounts.


    Technically, none of the other three represantatives weren't yet late, but the elf was not one with ample patience. Of course there wasn't any real need to hurry, but that fact did little to still her fidgety nerves. She knew what her sister would say, she would tell her to be more patient. But Talyndra could not help it, she was unlike most elves, who were supposedly known for their patience and calm conduct. Talyndra snorted unwomanly at the thought.


    A chill wind swept across the front, and despite the fact that it was a little past noon, the air was pretty cold. Clouds drifted past, obscuring the sun as dried autumn leaves swept across the compound. Talyndra tugged her pale green cloak closer about her, stared down the pathway and immediately noticed a figure approaching the tavern.


    ~Translations~


    Language of the elves phrased from Common to Elven -


    Tanadris my sister, I don't get why I have to go!


    Talyndra... Listen to me please.


    You know that is not true.


    Seler - Sister

    Edan - human
     
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  3. A wrinkle formed between his brows as he wonders what should be packed. On the table was a horrible disarray. Luis had not expected it to be so hard to prepare for the King’s expedition. Whenever he journeyed, it was always done with an abundance of research, and a solid objective. But now, he was lost, as he had no idea what would await him in the winter lands. The day before, Luis had gone to the library, only to return, for the first time, empty handed.

    Across from him, Adorra laid on her arms as she stared up at the turmoil her brother was in. She smiled at him, seemingly gleeful at the sight. “Brother, I’ve never seen you so lost. I suppose the King lives up to his name, able to put you in such quandary with a single letter.” Adorra had contributed largely on to the mess on the ghastwood table. She had littered too many useless items would only burden him. It was apparent Adorra had never ventured far from home.

    Suddenly, her tone changed. “But Brother, must you really go?” There was a certain worry in her eyes as she looked upon him. Perhaps the reality of Luis’ departure had just set in. “Mother and I wouldn't feel at ease without you here.”

    Luis said nothing in return. Adorra watched him for a moment before sighing. “Oh, but do write would you?” She pushed ink and paper towards him, “surely you would find an eagle or even a pigeon to send your letters.”

    “Yes.” He replied dryly. He would be leaving with a heavy heart, he knew his departure had dug up unwanted remainders of the past. Having packed the last of what he thought would be useful, he walked over to Adorra and planted a kiss on her cheek before going upstairs to say a farewell his mother. They only hugged promised a swift return. Today was not the first time they had discussed his journey, and there was not much left to say. Even she could not bid him to reject a king’s summon.

    Luis left the house, and mounted his steed as he made for the tavern in which they were supposed to meet.

    It would be a long ride.

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------

    As the structure came into view, his tired mount had become fatigued as he was. The man was weary before his travels even began, and he can’t help feeling that he might have made a mistake. On the porch, he saw an elven woman, with a slightly irritated expression on her impish face. Luis quickly remembered the contents of the letter, that his guide would be a young elven lady. Luis dismounted, ignoring his aching limbs as he walked over to who he expected was Talyndra. She seemed to have noticed him as he drew near.

    “Lady Farandir?” He bowed. “Inquisitor Luis Hanar, at your service.” Luis took a seat at the nearby table. Usually, he would not do so, but he was really quite tired. He hoped his actions did not impose discourtesy.
     
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  4. #4 Lekiel, Nov 14, 2017
    Last edited: Nov 14, 2017
    Having spent most of her life in the Hearthfire Academy in Aran`Fadrasil, barely venturing any distance south meant that Talyndra had never met an Aryanite in her life. There had always been a significant amount of humans within the capital of the Bloodsworn, but most if not all of them, were Bloodsworn humans. She'd heard many a rumour about how Aryans that deserted the Dominion and sought refuge with the Bloodsworn had to wait several months in the border towns for all the excessive body hair to fall off and for them to be able to speak properly once more. Apparently one could smell an Aryan coming down the road from half a mile away, and they were a savage and war-hungry people; savage to the point that although they spoke in commons, no one could really understand what they were saying. Of course, with such rampant whisperings the only source of information Talyndra had, she wasn't sure what to believe. That being said, while most would've shied away from having anything to do with Aryans, Talyndra was actually rather curious and had longed to settle her curiousity. While most elves were inclinded towards upholding longstanding views and traditions, Talyndra often found herself having a more objective view of the world than her kin.

    Thus, when the smoky eyed inquisitor rode up to her, she arched a surprised eyebrow when he bowed and rather courteously addressed her with a title in commons. Somewhat perplexed at the contradiction to the stereotype, she decided it was best to return the man's courtesy in a similar fashion.

    "Mae govannen Loose Hanar. Well met. Yes, I am from House Farandir. You may call me Talyndra." Her alto voice lilted in a temporary lull in the breeze as she spoke, Talyndra crossed and open palm across her heart and curtseyed which was more of a formal Elven court greeting than one a Ranger would use on the road. She was phonically unfamiliar with the inflections of his name and thus the mispronunciation was somewhat unavoidable. She was well aware that it did not sound quite right, but was a little too self conscious to ask the human to repeat his name. The man promptly plopped himself on a nearby chair to another raised eyebrow. He did appear somewhat exhausted and though he did so uninvited, the unfolding meeting was turning out better than the spite filled greetings she had been fully expecting. Her chestnut brown orbs surreptitiously traced over the inquisitor's face immediately noticing the refined and clean-cut features. Definitely not big and hairy...

    "We're... waiting on two more-" The elf began but was interrupted by the appearance of the third member of their company.

    "Make that one..."
     
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  5. #5 yuckeroni, Nov 14, 2017
    Last edited: Nov 22, 2017 at 2:19 PM

    NADYA LOTHRIC
    [​IMG]The dim candle that barely illuminates her rented out small room only grants so much reading light for the Vackhan as she flips through a small book, her mind not even absorbing the information she reads as the pages pass. Moments such as this, where there was no thrill, nothing but silence, tired her out. The dullness of the stillness was unbearable for her, yet she can imagine Melora's melodic voice chiming through her ears, warning her to be more patient and understanding of the situation. 'Yet she's not here to stop me from feeling this way, is she?' She thinks to herself. As much as she would have loved to explore the town of Haven, outside of the confines of the place she'd taken refuge, Nadya was unsure whether the walk around would make her feeling of boredom worse. With a groan, she slams the book shut quickly and tosses it aside. The disheveled bed, her scattered equipment, and the thrown book were only small fragments of the evidence of Nadya's disorganized, seemingly-chaotic life, her impulsivity reflecting on nearly almost all aspects of her life. From the way she spoke, the way she acted, the way she dressed, the way she fought, it was obvious to those who paid attention to these clues that Nadya Lothric was not one to think before she acted. All this made worse by the dramatic flair she added to everything, a result of indulging in performing arts at a young age, due to her Heaten'hua culture.

    Yawning, she throws her arms up in the air, stretching as far and as high as she could, the sounds of bones popping along with the refreshing comfort of muscles moving making her feel just a tad bit better. With a sigh, she leans back in her chair, closing her eyes, in hopes that her intrusive thoughts would take her and pass the time much more quickly, so that the meeting between those she would be accompanying to the Northlands would appear faster. It doesn't take long before the thoughts do, and they travel to the idea of her home. Surely her father had already passed away, the grief of his child abandoning him (not to mention the old age) most likely caught up to him. Nadya had no concern for that matter, it was his time anyways, all she wishes is that he died peacefully, surrounded by his friends. It was a bit unfortunate to realize that he would have had no family members or loved ones at his side, but Nadya's mind jumps over that as quickly as the topic had come up in her head. Reaching up to scratch the back of her head, she wonders to herself about her lack of guilt for anything: her disappearance, disgracing herself, Melora--

    Swiftly, she opens her eyes again and gets up, and just as she had wanted, a good hour had gone by, and it was nearing the afternoon. After gathering her strewn paraphenilia and stuffing everything she could into her bag and making sure she had everything, she opens the door and makes her way to the porch of the tavern, the Three Dragons. As she walks, she can't help but question the name of the pub. "Why are there three dragons? Why aren't there one or two or four? Why dragons? Why do they have to name it something so harebrained?" Nadya mumbles to herself, perhaps a little too loudly. Despite the probability of the naming of the tavern being completely coincidental and having no real meaning, she took interest in questioning whatever, either for the hell of it or to just annoy others. Upon reaching the point, she takes notice of a few people already there, approaching an Elven woman and an Aryan man, who were engaging in the formalities of greetings. After the Elven does her curtsy, Nadya butts in with a smile as she drops her bag onto the ground. "A Vanharen, a Bloodsworn, and two Aryans walk into a tavern.. Ah, wait a minute..." Using her finger, she counts only the three of them, tsking at herself. "The other one isn't here, I can't say my joke just yet, then."
     
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  6. His breath began to slow as Luis listened to the elf introduce herself. She greeted him in elven language before addressing him again in commons, which he found to be quite… usual. She also seemed to be struggling with his name, which is a very common one. Luis had never needed to explain his name to anyone, but decided to oblige her, as the elf Talyndra was clearly struggling. “Loo-wiss.” His eyes danced around the tavern, and he was surprised to see a small figure emerge from the pub itself. “I did not think I would be the first one–I mean, the second to arrive.” Luis had thought he would surely be the last one, since he hadn't booked a room at the Three Dragons.

    A woman, who appeared to be a heaten’hua, strode their way to them. Luis has read about the race of Vanharen, but never been face to face with one. From her untidy appearance, Luis did not think she was of nobility, but he withheld judgment. Instead of introducing herself, she instead tried to tell a joke. A rather unusual form of greeting, he thought. The lady seemed rather excited by her own joke. She seemed strange... to him. While commoners were more lax with their words, it was still peculiar for one to do so with strangers. But Luis did not hate that kind of oddity or straightforwardness, in his line of work, those are the virtues that often go amiss.

    “Oh? I’m eager to hear it. Surely you could decide to indulge us, if not….” Luis looks upon the roads again, and stood from his chair. “I do hope he arrives soon. I’m Luis Hannar, an inquisitor. It’s a pleasure.” He smiled at her. Perhaps it was because she did not resemble an aristocrat, but Luis found his words came off lighter. Talyndra was certainly of noble birth, so there was a certain tension as he spoke to her, one where he must keep in line and mind his manners.
     
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  7. #7 Lekiel, Nov 14, 2017
    Last edited: Nov 14, 2017
    @Con-Amore are you able to reply in my pm? Just curious cause you haven't said a word and i rmbred you mentioned you couldn't start a pm cause of the new member rule. I can't remember myself if that applies to pm's you're invited to. :3
     
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  8. #8 Lekiel, Nov 15, 2017
    Last edited: Nov 15, 2017
    Their introductions had been rather abrupt and formal does far (or at least for her and the Aryan inquisitor. The Deadlander had a way of making things light, which was ironic considering the undead played a big part of her culture.). Not wishing to delay any longer, Talyndra had signaled to the rangers to lead on. After ensuring everyone had a gathered their belongings and had a decent mount, the group took off towards the north-west border of Haven. Their destination, the town of Fairgale; a major Bloodsworn settlement that had grown into a decent sized town over the decades as trade routes opened up between the kingdoms. As the first largest town anyone traveling into Bloodsworn lands from Haven would encounter, a temporary skyship airfield was developed up on a grassy plain just north of the town. Over time, the airfield grew in size as more and more merchants took advantage of the transport to cut short many weeks of travel towards the Bloodsworn capital. Today, calling the town of Fairgale as a busy logistics hub would be a very modest description at the very least.

    [​IMG]

    So it was, that as the sun was now barely visible over the tops of the trees, it found the group making their way over a well traveled winding road. The path was enclosed on both sides by tall ominous trees which seemed to grow taller and wider the further north they went; the canopy began to block out most of the late afternoon light shrouding the group in a kind of pale early evening glow. They had passed the border garrison just over an hour prior, the isilhin officer on duty waving them on after Talyndra had produced their official papers. They had been pushing their horses hard, and as they were nearing their destination the rangers slowed their pace to allow the mounts some rest. As this was the first time she was in such close proximity of two foreigners, Talyndra had been unsure how to react. The general consensus amongst many of her people had always been to shun and even despise any who didn't swear to the Bloodsworn Alliance. A stance which their four ranger escorts seem to subscribe to. Though they kept their own counsel for the most part, the four seemed to want to disassociate themselves from the others as much as they could. They trotted their horses a score feet ahead of the humans, occasionally breaking into a canter to maintain the distance, almost never glancing to see if the they kept up. Initially, Talyndra had kept her horse closer to the rest of her kin, though glancing back more than once to make sure they didn't pull too far ahead. Now that they had slowed down, she felt inclined to drift back towards where the Aryan and Deadlander was.

    "We're almost at Fairgale.." The elf spoke after a while, before adding "I know some of you have been travelling for quite some time..." her brown eyes glanced at the inquisitor as she said this. "I promise this will be the last you'll see of the road. At least our next mode of transportation should be less tiring and more enjoyable... I hope." Talyndra wondered how they would take to flying. Not many people could stomach it, and she had on more than one occasion seen hardened grizzled battleworn warriors turn to a pile of shaky legged mess the moment they lifted off the ground.

    Talyndra turned to regard the two humans, affording them a friendly smile before asking "So... anyone of you rode in a Skyship before?" As if on queue, there was a low rapidly beating hum coming from somewhere behind and above them, and before either of them could look up, there was a rush of wind as a Skyship dipped in low as it passed overhead, its lightsails glinting and gleaming in golden hues as it reflected the fading sun. The ship quickly moved out of view as it landed in a distant airfield, docking and perhaps unloading its cargo of trade goods and merchants.


    "Welcome to Fairgale, first merchant town south of the Bloodsworn Alliance.. and our last stop before the Northlands..."
     
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  9. #9 yuckeroni, Nov 18, 2017 at 1:48 PM
    Last edited: Nov 22, 2017 at 4:33 AM

    NADYA LOTHRIC
    [​IMG]Nadya shakes her head at the insistence of the Aryan man to hear her joke, putting the name to his face. Luis Hannar. Luis Hannar. Luis Hannar. Repeating his name like a chant, in order to remember it much more easily. "But is it really a pleasure? I'm sure you say that to everyone, don't you, Sir?" She puts a hand up, attempting to stop him from answering her question if he was ever going to do so in the first place. "Never mind, you'll hurt my feelings." Then, pointing to herself, and with an overdramatic curtsy, she introduces herself. "Nadya Lothric, at your service. Exotic traveler, doer of odd tasks, and now accompanying you all for this lovely expedition." Turning to the Elven woman, she straightens herself, and waves slightly, before letting herself follow everyone to wherever they were headed.

    Truth be told, the roads they traveled were more or less monotonous and uneventful. The thrill-seeker was hoping for something more than just riding horses to some unknown land. Nadya lets out a loud yawn, stopping herself short when Talyndra begins to speak. 'It had better be more enjoyable than this, then.' Upon hearing the hum of what seemed to be heavy machinery, the Vackhan looks up expectedly, seeing a Skyship in all its glory. "Ho, can't say that I have ridden one before." Now things were beginning to take a turn for the better, her impish grin is hidden amongst the fabric of her veil and rags. 'Too bad you don't get to truly experience any of this, huh, Melora?'

    "We're not staying here long, are we?"









     
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  10. Indeed, his companion was odd. Luis made a definite note of this as she chanted his name and asked him a question which she didn't hear the answer to. All for the better perhaps, he wasn't sure how to reply. Did the citizens of Vanharen not greet with pleasantries?

    His attention was snapped back to their elven guide as she informed them to set off. The other elves, rangers, he notes, starts riding far more front than necessary. Luis mounted his own steed, though still a little sore, he was feeling better after the small talk. Luis hoped his horse was feeling just as well. He gripped the reins once again, and fell into line behind Talyndra and her companions.

    The ride was slow and draining. The dense forest did not make travel any easier or lighthearted. He did notice Talyndra fell back from her brethren, out of consideration, or due to her obligations as their guide. She informs them that they will be using a new form of transportation. Luis only smiles back at the news. “Glad the horses would get some rest.” He silently hoped it was not by water or air, but he knew it would very likely be.

    Finally the scouts stopped, and in front of them laid a gigantic mass of metal. An airship. He groaned internally. Luis was by no means sickly--at least not anymore. He could do cartwheels or even balance like a street performer if he wanted, but for some reason, transportation other than carriages did not sit well with him. Luis was no stranger to these machines, he often had to travel far to hunt for wretched cults or disinter valuable information. Regardless, he avoided them where he could.

    Luis grimaced as they neared the ship. His Grulla seems to be happy to catch a break. He ran a hand under over the horse’s gray mane. “Now it’s my turn to distress.” He gave the animal a fruit from his pack, and promptly walked to the entrance.
     
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  11. #11 Lekiel, Nov 21, 2017 at 10:07 AM
    Last edited: Nov 22, 2017 at 2:33 AM
    "We're not staying here long, are we?"

    "Indeed we are not Nadya. No longer than is necessary. I hope to take off before nightfall." Talyndra quipped to the Deadlander. Her speech in commons lilting and melodic, as she shook her head to emphasize her point.

    . , ; ' ` ~ * ~ ` ' ; , . , ; ' ` ~ * ~ ` ' ; , .​
    Before long, the winding roadway narrowed down to a cobbled pathway as the trees lining the street gave way to decent sized lodges and stalls. Peddlers and merchants hollered out their wares, a surprising variety of goods from even as far east as the exotic Heaten`hua desert spices. Talyndra smirked inwardly, no doubt the sight of the inflated prices of goods Nadya could easily get from her homeland, would raise an eyebrow or two. Forced to slow down due to the crowds, they moved along in a single file, hemmed in on all sides. Despite the place being situated within the borders of her homeland, the sight of the trading post was something of a new experience for the Storm Maiden; having spent most of her life within the Mages Academy back home.

    Progress was slowed, but eventually, the crowds begin thinning... or rather, the roads began widening once more. However, instead of continuing on, the rangers took an abrupt turn and led them off the main path onto a grassy plain. The paving stopped to be replaced by a well traversed dirt path and before them, was the famous Fairgale airfield. Set out in a vale between two rocky hills and illuminated by the deep golden rays of the late afternoon sun was a sight to behold. Keeping to the town's namesake, periodic gusts of wind rushed unfettered across the open expanse. A gust of wind knocked the hood of Talyndra's cloak back, catching tendrils of her amber hair as she paused to take in the sight.

    A multitude of gleaming Solean Lightsails of the anchored Skyships billowed in the wind, cheerily greeting them in the setting sun. On either side of them, the shouts of airmen preparing the decks could be heard as Skyships of all sorts floated a couple of feet off the ground. Most were merchant ships, there were even one or two bearing the markings of Dominion Officials, with their steam engines chugging away and puffing smoke. Curiously, Luis the Aryan Inquisitor stopped before one of the metal reinforced steel behemoths, and walked near the entrance as if about to go in.

    "Heru en amin Luis Hannar, that is not the ship we seek. We Bloodsworn prefer our ships to be made of just wood.. it keeps our ships lighter and faster. No offense of course, metal is indeed more durable." The elf chuckled with a smile. "Come, its not much further."

    Talyndra led the rest of the way in relative silence, until they neared the end. Walking past a particularly flamboyant galleon (complete with hanging tassels, who in the name of Anara woud add tassels to their skyship?), they suddenly beheld a majestic clipper. Its polished wood was etched with elemental runes and carved with cloud markings as its bow proudly bore a carved statue of a Wind Sprite. To any trained shipbuilder's eye, the skyship could only be described as an elegantly sleek masterpiece. And indeed it was, with its three broad masts and puffed up lightsails undulating against the wind, the ship looked as if it was straining to take off into the sky where it belonged. Along its front, spelled in hammered polished gold letters was the word Anarthiren. At the sight of the ship, Talyndra could not help as a wide grin brightened her face.

    "This... is the Anarthiren, my sister's crowning glory and also our ride to the north!" She proudly declared to the humans. A quick glance around and Talyndra surmised that the four rangers had already arrived and gone on board. She wondered what they thought of her when she had drifted back to join the others. She knew they wouldn't dare question her actions, as she was their superior for the expedition. Even as that thought crossed her mind, she surprised herself by quickly shrugging it off. It did not matter what they thought. She ran an appreciative hand along the polished Heartwood hull before turning back to the Luis and Nadya, a gleam in her eye. "Come on up! Do not worry about your mounts, they will be accounted for."

    She dismounted and hurried to the boarding plank. A bunch of hulking Nektara busy loading supplies looked up as the Elf passed, and waved in greeting. As they stepped onto the polished deck, Talyndra cupped her hands around her mouth and called out seemingly to no one in particular. Her gaze roamed across the breadth of the ship, as if searching for someone.

    "Quel`andune! Nae saian luume'mellonamin Elheim el`Naral!" Her rich voice rang out above the chatter of the handful of sailors loading the last few supplies. They stood in the center of the deck, Talyndra settled her eyes expectantly at the ornate doors leading to the bridge, for a moment there was no answering call.

    "Yallume! Aaye lirimaer, cormamin lindua ele lle Talyndra iel`Farandir!" A booming voice sounded from behind them. Talyndra gave a little cry of delight and turned to behold a smartly dressed Captain. Standing at over six feet, the man wore a dark forest green ship captain's coat, with emaculately polished silver buttons across his broad chest. A bicorn complete with white plumed feather sat on his head, and an elaborate rapier was tucked to his side where his hands currently rested. With his broad physical built, squarish jaw, deep set grey eyes and greying beard the Captain was quite clearly human. Though many weathered lines and even a scar decorated his visage, his eyes gleamed with a fire that would inspire the youngest of hearts.

    Talyndra stepped forward to embrace the man and Elheim returned the favour with a warm bear hug. Releasing the petite elf who had a broad smile on her face he couldn't help but remark, "The last time I saw you years ago, you were this tall..." He bent slightly forwards and in a slightly mocking gesture, placed his hand atop the elf's head. "Oh... you were the same height! I guess you haven't grown much taller since. Pity, you were an early bloomer." Elheim feigned disappointment as he shook his head.

    "Auta miqula orqu, Elheim!" Talyndra could not help it. She had always been sensitive about her height, though she wasn't particularly short, she nevertheless was on the lower end of the spectrum.

    "Tsk, tsk... manners child, manners." The bearded man shook his head, though he could barely contain himself and let out a chuckle at their little banter. As if finally catching sight of the Aryan, Elheim cocked his head slightly in the direction of the two humans and winked. "Has she given you lot any trouble?" It was more of a statement than a question as the Captain stepped forward and extended a calloused hand to Luis for a shake.

    "Vedui Aryan!" turning to Nadya, he afforded her a deep sweeping bow. "And you, m`Lady. Always a pleasure to meet one of the Heaten`hua. The spice trade has done much for my coffers as of late!" The Captain then turned to regard them both equally, his eyes sizing them up, as he finished his greeting.

    "Elheim el`Naral at your service! The elves call me Elheim the Emerald, though I dont quite fancy such suffixes. Regardless, I'm the Captain of this marvelous beauty-" the man gestured expansively over the vessel, "and also forever indebted to Tanadris, our dear Talyndra's sister. Which is why I jumped at the opportunity to provide some measure of assistance."

    . . . | . . .​

    ~TRANSLATIONS~

    Heru en amin Luis Hannar - My Lord Luis Hannar. My Lord for formal/unfamiliar acquaintance.

    "Quel`andune! Nae saian luume'mellonamin Elheim`el Naral!" - Good afternoon! It has been too long my friend, Elheim`el Naral!

    "Yallume! Aaye lirimaer, cormamin lindua ele lle Talyndra iel`Farandir!" - At long last! Hail my dearest, Talyndra daughter of House Farandir!

    "Auta miqula orqu, Elheim!" - Go kiss an orc, Elheim!

    Vedui Aryan - Greetings Aryan

    @yuckeroni @Blue Aisle
     
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  12. #12 The Gunrunner, Nov 21, 2017 at 12:45 PM
    Last edited: Nov 21, 2017 at 12:51 PM
    Glazist Phairnaul, The Wanderer

    He was late. That much was clear, to even suggest otherwise would be a delusion. His armour rattled with every step through the thick woods, it and the sound of his breath consistently reverberating in his ears. He had a horse, oh certainly - What emissary didn't have a horse? But wilds always have a way of hiding threats, and he had a way of attracting them... even in such special circumstances. A shame he lost the horse, but the knight was certain that the others would wait for him so long as it didn't cost them the day. A flash of red in his sight breaks him from his recollection, and he pulls his axe back from over his shoulder to check the blade - A smudge of something crimson remained on the edge, smaller than the nail of a finger. He frowns, wiping it away with the thumb of his glove. Hopefully there was no other mess to account for.

    Phairnaul pushes his way into the tavern. The festivities were what he would expect - Clinking glasses, loud drunken banter, the occasional belly laugh, music... Then it went silent. It was slow at first, a few disbelieving faces locked on his, until more and more were able to take notice. The knight merely stood in the doorway, scanning the room. He steps up to one of the tables, approaching a group of three - Two of which quickly jump form their chairs and back away, while the one closest is merely frozen in place. "An elf was here with four others. Where are they?" He babbles, hands shaking as he slowly points to the doorway. "L-Left, ser." Phairnaul follows the finger, looking to the door and back to the man. He leans closer, head tilting down and speaking low: "Are you sure?" Glazist slowly reaches out with his gauntlet, the cold metal outside his fingers brushing against the patron's skin as Phairnaul carefully holds his jaw. The undead's eyes stare into the other's, silently, until he can't hold the facade any longer - The posture cracks as he breaks into a hoarse laugh "Hah! I'm joking, I'm joking! Enjoy your drinks, and thank you ser." He turns, leaving the bar with the remnants of a dry chuckling, quite sure the other patrons were relieved he did not plan to stay longer. If the others were not here, then it is likely they had already started on the next stop of their journey: Fairgale.

    =============================================

    Glazist was sure to purchase a horse before setting off, not quite keen on being left behind. He worked the horse hard, having barely a need to rest himself these days. It was a hard few hours at the gallop, though the rider was sure to give the steed a rest every now and again; he had enough experience to know the limits of a mount, and especially the consequences of working one too hard. He could still remember the first horse he had following his rebirth. How long did it survive again? Barely a day, he was sure. Such things were one of the necessities of training in the Order, with so many who've had limited experience using horses in their new state.

    Again, his train of thought is broken by something entering his sight - The walls architecture of the merchant town stretches over the horizon, promising a coming end to his solitary travel. With an excited crack of the reigns, he forces the horse on to the town's borders. The winding road slowly narrows into a cobbled pathway flanked by the trees, opening to reveal the town's lodges and stalls. Merchants yell their promotions to their stocks and wares, encouraging passers-by to see the products for themselves. That, or merely listen to the tall tales a few of the more well-traveled merchants have in their minds. Phairnaul laughs to himself, pulling a leg over to the other side of the horse and dropping down to the cobbles. This was exactly what he wante- A traveling merchant steps up to him, at first bright-eyed and with an expression no doubt practiced for potential customers. "Welcome, traveler! Might I be able to present my wa-" he stops, the smile falling and his brows furrowing, "What... is wrong with your face? I- oh god!" the man retches in that moment, body bending forwards to vomit on the ground. The knight looks down, lifting a boot that was once clean... When the man sniffs and straightens himself again, Glazist can only stare... "Uhm... good day to you!" is all he can offer, before quickly scampering off. The knight can only sigh, wiping the boot off on an untainted portion of the road, and setting his helmet over his head, before continuing on.

    He steps through the crowds of customers and merchants, his decision to cover his face clearly a wise one as there is now a lack of such unpleasant encounters. Still the imposing armour, and the large two-hander draped over his shoulder, had a way of encouraging the others in the crowd to clear a path. Slowly, the crowd thins - He takes a left turn, and the cobbles change to a dirt path. Soon enough, his eyes are blessed with the sight of the Fairgale airfield. The breath is nearly taken out of him, his eyes scanning the docked ships - Hulking wooden crafts, each seemingly begging to return to the skies. As he continues through the rows upon rows of ships, he looks about the place like a child in a sweets-shop. Most were made of polished wood, beautifully crafted though his experience around such things was limited. The eyes turn away from the crafts though, scanning between them for his companions. It would seem he'd chosen the right time to do so, as he's soon able to pick out the pair he was sent for: An elf, a deadlander, and an inquisitor. He pulls his travel bag from his horse, pulling the beast with him to the gangplank of the docked craft.

    A sailor takes the reigns from his hands and gestures to board the ship, to which Glazist merely nods his helmeted head. His armour rattles as he steps up the ramp to the deck, albeit hesitantly in bringing himself to such a height. He's more eager to step to the more central area of the deck, wherein he is quick to reach the side of the elf and her company. Deathknights are far from pretty, that much is obvious. Many, at least in his experience, were chewed and in too poor a shape to go through life unnoticed. He, himself, was in one of the worse states a being like himself could be in without compromising ability. However, it is why he took care to find other means of proper presentation - The armour he wore was polished and shined, if the inscriptions were clearly rugged and unprofessional. The brass lining on the rims glinted in the sunlight, together with the imposing figure could hopefully keep him presentable. Regardless, he bows himself forward towards those presented, his two-hander kept in one hand for the blade to drape over his shoulder. "Glazist Phairnaul," he begins, straightening himself afterwards, "Knight from the Order of Spring. I'm your... fourth? Fifth?" He waves the correction away "Whatever the number is, I'm coming with you to the north. I suspect some of our lords find it easier if some of the expedition was dead to begin with."
    @Lekiel @Blue Aisle @yuckeroni
     
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  13. [​IMG]
    [​IMG]

    The advent of Daybreak scattered thin rays of arcing light through stained glass. Intricate tracery and depictions of religious narratives adorn every inch of the chamber. A procession of pews draws the sight to an altar, gilded in silver and affixed with precious stones. At its chancel, Sirris, donning white linen undergarments stands motionless. It is the church of lobos. A small congregation of Enrobed figures affixes plate mail to his figure. Another mounts his cape, draping a single decorative silver chain across the length of his back
    . "May this grant you absolution" one whispers as the deacons retreat to space deeper within the chapel. His blade slumbers on the altar beneath an iridescent leaf of Chantilly lace. To its left, a reliquary bearing the sigil of house Regalia. From it, he recovered his breviary and flask; the only provisions he deemed necessary for what he believed to be a mere excursion. The time for departure was nigh; Sirris took a moment to admire the grandeur of it all as massive doors slowly parted before him with the satisfying grate of a hinge ill-oiled. From behind, the words dripped from a mouth like molten silver, "Have a pleasant journey, sweet champion of blessings. May your duty bring triumph." --"Much obliged, your holiness" But in truth, no words could convey the extent of gratitude he felt in that moment.

    Through the sheer white silk chiffon drapery that lined the inside of his carriage, he gazed out the window, up at the firmament above, swelling with ashen blues and glimmers of apricot. He found himself enraptured by the visions of adventures he fabricated within himself to shroud the passage of time. Leaving his country should have been a familiar concept by now, but regardless of how many reconnaissance missions he had been dispatched to resolve, Sirris could never shake feeling homesick. Only then did it occur to him that, with the exception of the confines of battle, he had never interacted with, much less befriended anyone outside of his Aryan heritage. Panic began to set in; frantically, he produced a hand mirror from a compartment behind his tufted seat. Did he look right? He adjusted his hair. Naturally, he would want to appear presentable, given that he would be representing his country. What greeting should he use? Is that socially acceptable in their native land? Before long, he would find himself at the foot Fairgael.

    It was at this time that he and his coach parted ways. Unaccompanied, without a guide to aid him he would have to navigate a town completely foreign to him. There was no turning back now, especially considering he didn't even know the route from whence he came. He unfolded a parchment stamped with a seal of dark red wax. For nearly halve the day he attempted to discern the map; all he had to do was reach the pre determined location. It was so easy, and yet, he found it impossible. At every corner, the labyrinth of a city had dead ends and persuasive merchants with shiny wares. On the brink of defeat, he could barely make out the figures of the party that stood before him. Punctuality was indicative of discipline, and he clearly was not on time. Ashamed and lost for words, though he maintained perfect posture, all he could usher was a pathetic, but prideful.
    "Good evening."





     
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  14. As they went around offering their formalities, Talyndra was suddenly strucked by a sudden unexplainable chill. It wasn't quite a feeling of cold but rather an unnerving coldness of her soul. She saw Elheim's gaze shift to something just behind her, before she heard the unfamiliar voice call out in greeting. The stranger's voice was not extraordinary, if a bit raspy. The elf turned, and beheld a knight bedecked in full platemail. A helmet was set upon his face, obscuring his facial features from view. A sudden prickling of the hair on her nape cause the elf to shiver in spite of herself. The newcomer looked ordinary enough, and yet...

    "Vedui Glazist Phairnaul!" Talyndra offered in return. She paused momentarily, unsure of what to make of the knight. She knew they were expecting several more for their expedition, but had no idea which Kingdom Glazist represented. Not the Bloodsworn, that much was apparent enough. "From whence do you hail from?" The elf subconsciously rubbed an imaginary chill away from her arms. She waited for the knight's reply, but another call sounded from the side. Talyndra tore her eyes away from scrutinizing the towering knight to look at the source of the newest greeting. Aryan. There was no mistaking the silvery plate armor, adorned with gleaming embelishments complete with a feathered cape. Talyndra was no warrior, but the highly elaborate armor looked somewhat garish to be on the frontlines of battle. Nevertheless, the Aryan warrior carried himself with a confident poise, hinting at a very respectable skill in the melee.

    "Quel`andune Aryan. Good evening to you. Are you here on business of the expedition to the north? You are lucky we haven't departed yet." Talyndra directed the last bit of her sentence to both newcomers as she drew her attention to regard the two of them. The chill still nagged at a corner of her mind, causing the elf brow to furrow slightly, annoyed that she could not place the source.

    . . . | . . . ​

    Vedui - Greetings

    Quel`andune - Good evening
     
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  15. #15 The Gunrunner, Nov 22, 2017 at 12:29 PM
    Last edited: Nov 22, 2017 at 10:30 PM
    Glazist Phairnaul, The Wanderer

    Glazist watched the elf following his introduction, uncertain of what to expect. He could tell from her movements there was a discomfort there, though a naivety in her voice and words causes the knight to grin to himself. Dark as another may find it, the scene was certainly amusing... He nods to the elf's question, opening his mouth to answer but she becomes distracted by another member of their party - A man just a little shorter than himself, pallid hair, wearing a beautiful set of armour clearly setting him apart from the average warrior. Quickly, Phairnaul turns to reintroduce himself - "Good evening," he puts in a rasp, bowing to the new arrival respectfully, "I am Glazist Phairnaul, knight from the Order of Spring. I hope we are both able to serve each-other well." He keeps his body faced to the new man, though turns his head to the elf - she had asked a question after all. "To you, comrade, I am afraid you have not introduced yourself yet... And I believe it would be more interesting for you to find out my homeland through other means." The comment draws a light cackle from inside, a childlike feeling of mischief tickling his bones. The pale whiteness of his eyes were shadowed by the interior of his helmet - They often were - though there were rare moments where the angle was just right for the light to flash the interior, the dark suggestion of his being presented. Sometimes, he'd noticed, one would think it was a trick of their minds rather than the truth.

    His moment of comedy slowly dissipates, and he silences himself. Waving away his comment as if there was nothing more to interpret, he pulls the danish axe from over his shoulder and plants the wood against the deck to lean against it. "I hope we will not be waiting for long - I'm quite eager to find what it is like to take transport in one of these flying ships."

    @Lekiel @Con-Amore
     
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  16. The conversation held while walking down the corridor was short, concise, and to the point. The way she had learned to speak among the nobles.
    "Where?"
    "Airship, heading North. Mountains."
    "With?"
    "A guide, she is trustworthy. And a small party of others."
    "And coin?"
    "We didn't train you for nothing."

    Wynnter nodded calmly as he spoke, keeping her eyes locked forward. They passed through a set of doors that lead into a courtyard, the sunlight causing her to squint. She pulled her hood up calmly, doing what she could to keep the light from straining her eyes. Once through the courtyard, they passed through a large set of iron gates. A small bridge and the turn of a corner opened way to a large field, with many large, boat-shaped objects resting in midair. She had only seen such things a few times in her life, and never from this close. She caught her breath and kept pace with the man, her cloak blowing to the left ever so slightly as the wind caught it. A glance around brought the sight of bustling work, people unloading cargo from the ships, and one was even being lifted into the air, by seemingly nothing.

    The rest of the walk was silent, besides the low hum of voices from the many around them. There was a bustle and busyness that accompanied the commerce, a sort of organized function that made the airstrip a sight to see. However, she knew that they were not here for the business, as alluring it was. They passed through the many ships, four large prominent vessels accompanied by numerous smaller craft. She followed his lead as they made their way down the length of the field, towards a smaller section of the hub. She figured out that this area wasn't used for the larger ships, but rather smaller ones, most likely for transportation. It was then that she spotted their destination, a craft separated from the others, with a small group standing by a long, wooden plank that scaled to the height of the deck. She picked out a few figures, one of which was sure to be said guide. She stood with a subtle confidence above the others, one from experience rather than mindset.

    "Oh, what have I gotten myself into."

    Wynnter sighed as the guide closed the distance to the crowd, a sort of eerie atmosphere coming from around him. He walked with the deadly confidence of a warrior, but looked like a noble in luxury robes. He wore a cloth over his nose, keeping just his eyes visible under his hood. She looked almost unaffiliated to him, and she supposed that's how they wanted things. Most of the Royals wore fine garments and spoke like kings, while her cloths were barely holding together. She wore her cloak, the only nicely woven thing she wore. It was made of a grey fabric and huddled close to her form. Underneath the cloak, her clothes were of mixed quality, most having strands of fabric breaking from their weaves. She truly wasn't dressed for the occasion of flying. She felt her sleeve carefully, disguising it as a tug of her cloak. She felt the slim hilt of her dagger, which brought some reassurance to her. After all. it was the only personal item she kept.

    Her mentor found the guide just as easily as she did on their approach, and approached her slowly, careful not to interrupt. There was no doubt in her mind that her mentor had seen the guide before. She stood remarkably tall, Wynnter had to all but look up towards her, and she had an almost playful aura around her. They carefully scaled the plank, Wynnter falling behind as they did. She listened carefully to what was said, the shining deck of the ship making her eyes uncomfortable to open. "This is Wynnter, she has been sent by the Court to accompany you. So long as you oblige." Was all he said to the tall girl, and for a moment, Wynnter's breath caught as the gravity of the situation carried home to her.

    "There's only one reason I'd be heading north.."
     
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