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Post by Avery on May 31, 2014 13:52:55 GMT -5
Medieval was a roleplay event run by Carrie and Icon over the summer of 2014. The story took place in the fictional Kingdom of Kyth, 700 years in the past, where a variety of factions competed for a suddenly-vacant throne. The factions, each with different roles, had to accomplish quests throughout the game in order to earn points. The game side of the event was split into rounds, each of which coincided with a new story thread for players to advance the plot; the effects of the game influenced the story, and vice versa. This thread was initially split into individual threads for each round. A Narrator post at the start of each round detailed the major events of the previous “night” as well as advanced the overall RolePlay plot. There were also intermittent mid-round Narrator posts to further advance plot—there wasn’t one of these every round, or even most rounds, but they are there occasionally, so Narrator post doesn’t automatically equal a new round. Each round had a title that, when all put together at game-end, formed a little “story”. Beneath, you’ll find that story, divided up to indicate separate rounds, with the number being which round it was—there were 14 gameplay rounds, each accounting for a “day” in the RP save for rounds 4.5 and 12.5, which took place still in the previous round’s day. In addition the gameplay rounds, there were two epilogue rounds of sorts—one that took place immediately after the events of round 12.5, and the other that took place nine months in the future. The game saw four different “sides”, so to speak: three factions, and then merchants. The factions were House Jade, House Stallion, and the Shadows. Jade is a storied noble House deeply entrenched in religion and magic; Stallion is a technology-oriented noble House focused on progress; and the Shadows are a rebel group comprised of peasants. The merchants sold various goods and services to the factions. There were also unaligned peasants at the start of the game who had no allegiances, but throughout gameplay, were recruited and absorbed by the three factions. Each person in the game had a different role. Those roles are: Roles
House Jade:
Archmage: The Archmage is the most skilled wizard (or witch) in the land. They deal with learning and casting spells… as well as sometimes teaching known spells to others.
Priest:The Priest is a devoted disciple of Lord Woo. They are committed to doing good for their feathered lord, and they practice this by making protective talismans and sending them away to vulnerable citizens of the kingdom. The Priest selects roles to receive talismans, not names of players.Scribe:The Scribe acts as a secretary role, keeping track of House Jade business and doing “errand” moves. Seer:The keen Seer observes outsiders to the House in an effort to discover what actions they performed in the night; this helps to ferret out the roles of outsiders. **
House Stallion: Baker:The Baker whips up delicious bread and sends it away to other citizens of the kingdom… thus requiring recipients to either eat the bread or pass it on to another, the former which carries a risk in case the bread has been tampered with-- but the latter eating up (ha, ha!) the recipient’s night action. Bookkeeper:The Bookkeeper acts as a secretary role, keeping track of House Stallion business and doing “errand” moves. Inventor:The Inventor is a master of crafting and technology. In the night, they learn to create items or use existing ones… and perhaps at times teach others how to make known items. Sneak:The careful Sneak observes outsiders to the House in an effort to discover which items they hold; this helps House Stallion discover the roles of outsiders. ** The Shadows: Bodyguard:The brave Bodyguard helps to ensure the rebellion doesn’t die… literally… as well as doing grunt work for the cause. Interceptor:The Interceptor seeks out items sent in the night-- and can choose to tamper with any item that they come across, causing anything from blotted out Messenger messages to poisoned booze or bread that will knock out of commission for the night anyone who partakes. Mimic:The Mimic observes outsiders to the rebellion in the night in an effort to learn their role… and once observed, the Mimic may use a stunted version of any ability they come across (though not without serious drawback and risk). Scrivener:The Scrivener acts as a secretary role, keeping track of Shadows business and doing “errand” moves. ** Merchants: Assassin:The Assassin observes people in the night in order to learn their role-- and once the role is learned, the Assassin places a bounty on the person’s head. Once certain conditions are met, the Assassin may also be hired by factions or individuals to carry out hits on those individuals with bounties. Keymaker:The Keymaker crafts keys that may be sent out or purchased by other players. They work in a team with the Locksmith. Locksmith:The Locksmith crafts small lockboxes containing a singular item like bread, booze, currency, or even keys, that can be sent out or purchased by other players. They work in a team with the Keymaker. Racketeer:The Racketeer observes players and sells learned information to individuals or factions. Starting on night three, certain other (helpful) items will also go for sale in the Racketeer’s shop. ** Peasants: Alchemist:The Alchemist learns how to create items and may also use them-- though of course, the Alchemist’s items are of lesser impact than the mighty Inventor’s. Alchemist items are unique from Inventor items, but if recruited by House Stallion the Alchemist uniquely benefits the House. Amnesiac:The forgetful Amnesiac attempts to figure out their identity-- and once it’s figured out, new opportunities will open for them. Drunk:The Drunk selects another person in the kingdom who will then be role blocked for the night (if the action is successful)-- so any actions committed by the target will not go through Jester:The Jester selects a person in the kingdom to distract; if the distraction attempt is successful, the target will be role blocked for the night. Knight:The Knight selects a person in the kingdom to protect. If any ill deeds are attempted upon the target in the night, the person will be shielded from harm. Magician:
The Magician learns and casts spells-- though, naturally, is not as powerful as Jade's Archmage. Magician spells are unique from Archmage spells, but if recruited by House Jade the Magician uniquely benefits the House. Messenger:The Messenger selects a person in the kingdom to send a 100-character message to any desired role. The sender can then communicate anything they wish, within bounds; the Messenger is told only who was selected as the recipient, not what the message contained. Thief:
The Thief selects a person from whom to steal; if the person owns any items, one will randomly be taken from their inventory and added to the Thief’s. Vagrant:The Vagrant selects a person to latch onto in the night. Any quest points earned by that person will instead be awarded to the Vagrant. Vigilante:The Vigilante selects a person to observe. If any naughty actions are performed by the target in the night, they will be jailed the next morning, with the Vigilante told only that they were naughty, but not what they’ve done in particular. There were a lot of characters who you’ll meet throughout reading the RP, but for simplicity, we’re only going to list here the player characters—that is, the primary character held by official players. Those characters are, listed by their game-start affiliation to prevent spoilers (and this means all Shadows are listed here as peasants: The RP primarily took place in Medieville, the capital of the Kingdom of Kyth. A map of it can be found below:  "Kyth is a united kingdom with seven separate regions, each headed by a great noble House. The present monarch rules from the Raven's Keep castle in the small, independent city-state of Medieville, located in the central part of the kingdom. Medieville is somewhat of a region unto itself, and is a political hub and cultural mixing pot, comprised of people from all parts of the kingdom. At the game start, the noble Houses have all sent contingents to Medieville to attend the funeral of the recently deceased King Starmey Eagle, of House Ascension, who was tragically stricken by a sudden, severe disease." And here’s a map of the entire Kingdom, with general descriptions of each province:  The seven great Houses, with regional descriptions, are: House ArachRuling over the region of Veresia, with its bustling capital city of Aran, House Arach's sigil is a spider. Overseen by the stern but fair Lord Sylk, the region of Veresia specializes in exporting luxury goods to the rest of the kingdom, with a large population of merchants and artisans living within its borders. Unlike the rest of Kyth, its citizen worship not Lord Woo, but a leggy deity called simply Spyder, leaving fine silk linens as tithe at the shadowy temples that dot the region. House AscensionRuling over the region of Rindfell, with the mountain-top capital city of Avia, members of House Ascension have sat on the Kyth throne in Medieville for several generations. Their sigil is a raven. Back in their home region, the late King Starmey's cousin, Lord Heron Thunder, rules with a stoic, calculated approach. Most of the kingdom's iron, gold, and other mined products originate from Rindfell. The vast Royal Aviary, containing dozens of species of birds and located outside Castle Avia, is also of note. House BooveenRuling over the region of Kine, with the agricultural capital city of Hereford, House Booveen's sigil is a cow. Kine is an expansive region that is comprised primarily of farms and rural stretches. Overseen by the impertinent Lord Miller, Kine is arguably the harshest of the regions for peasants, and was recently the scene of a years-long drought and ensuing famine. The late Queen Daisy Olive, mother of Destiney and wife of Starmey, was a member of House Booveen. House BrachyuraRuling over the region of Albion, with the seaside capital city of Websteros, House Brachyura's sigil is a crab. Lord Webster is an affable lord who has helped to make Albion the kingdom's leading exporter of sea-wares-- and men from Albion comprise nearly three-quarters of the King's Navy. Be cautious on the beaches of Websteros, however, for I hear the marine life is not always amiable to outsiders. House JadeRuling over the region of Corvus, with its sparkling capital city of Solis, House Jade's sigil is a phoenix. Headed by the pious Lord Everett, the peoples of Corvus are expected to be dedicated devotees to Lord Woo, and to appreciate the gravity of magic and tradition. House OphidRuling over the region of Elacs, with the hectic capital city of Copperhead, House Ophid's sigil is a snake. Lord Melvin is a cunning and bristly noble who is not overly concerned with "making nice" with the other great Houses, but rather focuses his energy on cultivating the interests of his region. He also keeps a practical zoo of exotic snakes to honour his House, and lets a number of them freely slither the streets of Copperhead, so be mindful where you step... especially since purposefully killing one of the serpents is a capital offense in Elacs. House StallionRuling over the region of Bern, with its capital city of Destrier, House Stallion's sigil is a horse. Overseen by the Grand Duke Alain, the peoples of Bern are highly progressive, both technologically and socially, when compared to the rest of the kingdom populace. Larger versions of each map can be found here and here. Since the relationships/family ties of Kyth’s monarchs is somewhat ah, insane, Gelquie drew up a nifty family tree! Some of these characters you’ll find in the RP from the get-go. Others show up later. Others are mentioned but not physically in the RP. If you are wondering “What is Courdon?”, well. You’ll find out.  With direct link for zooming in purposes. … trust us. You’ll find out.
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Post by icon on Jun 6, 2014 1:00:21 GMT -5
Once upon a time...
It happened very suddenly, in the middle of a blistering hot summer, like a lightning strike on an otherwise clear day: first, an onslaught of chills, followed rapidly by woes of the abdominal vein, and succeeded swiftly after that by a high fever, lethargy and then…
Then he was dead.
King Starmey Eagle, of the great noble House Ascension, stricken in the prime of his life by a mysterious and quick-acting disease. The time from symptom-start to rigor mortis was a paltry two and a half days. And once he was stiff and dead, word of his demise spread through the vast Kingdom of Kyth like wildfire-- couriers sent hurtling through the night, whispers carried on the wind, all the rest of the great noble Houses summoned to the capital of Medieville for the forthcoming funeral.
In the wake of King Starmey’s death, the denizens of Kyth wondered about quite a large pool of things: why had he gotten sick? Was it deliberate? Why had such a healthy man gone to the ether so suddenly? But mostly, their minds drifted to one particular thought: were they really going to let her sit on the throne next?
The her in question was Princess Destiney, a vapid thing of twenty, although one would have never guessed it from her maturity-- or absence thereof. What she lacked in wits she made up for in beauty, but Woo knew that beauty did not make for a good monarch.
Of course, none of her younger sisters were any better suited to the role of leadership either. If only the king and his late wife, Queen Daisy of House Booveen, had borne a more suitable heir to the throne; however, fickle fate had sent them only daughters, though they’d asked, begged, and even pleaded for sons. Instead they’d been blessed again-- and again-- and again by a slew of daughters, eight in all, ending with a pair of ginger-haired twins that, with their birth, just so happened to end Daisy. After the fair queen’s death, Starmey’s advisers had begged him to remarry, but he’d refused, so bereaved was he. And so the cliff-top castle of Raven’s Keep was filled with the pitter-patter of dainty little girl feet, and now that Starmey was dead, one of those little girls-- grown in body if not fully in intelligence-- was poised to take the throne.
Destiney Raven, blank-eyed but beautiful, slated to rule over the entire Kingdom of Kyth: all seven provinces, each mountain and river, every beach of Albion and field of Kine, all the pastures of Bern and churches of Corvus. She would ascend about a dozen days after her father’s funeral, the traditional iron crown placed upon her empty (though pretty) head.
It was, objectively, quite terrible. And yet--
“She’s unmarried,” went the murmurs. “No ring upon her finger. And whomever eventually places that ring… well…”
Well. There was much contained in this one breathless word. A ring on Destiney’s finger meant a husband at her side-- a king-- and one day soon, his heirs running about the Raven’s Keep. His blood poised to take the throne one day. His House ready to slide into the monarch’s position, with all of the accompanying power and wealth and glory.
“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” murmured Grand Duke Alain in Bern’s capital city of Destrier, upon hearing of Starmey’s untimely death. “This could be our chance-- a Stallion on the throne at last. We can send a handsome suitor to the funeral… woo her when she’s grieving…”
South in Corvus, Lord Everett of House Jade smiled as a similar idea drifted into his head. “House Ascension has sat upon the throne of Kyth for several generations, now. Perhaps it may be time we return to another House in charge… a much, much older House…”
**
The noble contingents arrived steadily over the next few days, marching into Medieville with much pomp and circumstance. By the day before the funeral, all had safely arrived and were scattered about the capital-- some imposing upon the local inn, others camped in posh tents, and others still leeching upon the “kindness” of local peasants who’d offered to put them up (albeit, there was never a real option for said peasants to decline hosting duties).
Weary from the road, most of the nobles quickly bedded down and kept a low profile. But not the members of Houses Stallion and Jade. No, sleep was for the planless, the undirected. Those without plots brewing in their head and engagement rings hidden in their travel bags.
Because come the funeral tomorrow, it would be show time. In the wake of the funeral would come the enormous mourning feast, a banquet prepared in memory and honor of the late king... and after that, the political negotiations would begin.
**
“Dare we attend it?” whispered a voice, low and thick, its owner huddled at a back table in a dark, hot tavern.
“Might as well,” murmured their companion. “Be good little patriots, sad over our poor dead king.”
“Shouldn’t be seen together, though,” added a third.
“There will be knights everywhere. Watching,” cautioned a fourth. “The whole royal guard-- hell, probably half the royal army--”
“They won’t notice us,” interrupted the first.
“How can you be sure?” asked the fourth.
“Simple,” said the first. “No one ever sees the shadows.”
** And so the game begins...You heard it here first, folks, Medieval is officially up and running! =D The first round, Day 1, will end in roughly a week. This gives you plenty of time to get your actions in for Night 1, as well as the opportunity to begin roleplaying and starting to unlock some of those quests! |
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Post by Avery on Jun 6, 2014 1:21:09 GMT -5
Kelcey Kidde was in love. He felt it with every muscle in his body, each beat of his heart. Each breath he took was laced with passion, each step he took marked by amour. He awoke in the morning with his beloved’s name dripping from his lips, and went to bed at night with it swirling through his brain. Destiney.On a balmy summer’s eve, as a bright sun set over the horizon, Kelcey’s heart ached as he thought of her. His Destiney! An orphan, just like him! Perched atop the rickety roof of his barn, knees drawn up to his chin, Kelcey gazed up at the Raven’s Keep castle, which towered over the city of Medieville like a stone god. Inside those walls, his love was all alone, hurting for him. Well, probably not all alone—she had courtiers and servants—and seven sisters—and probably aunts and uncles come to comfort her—but… she didn’t have him. Kelcey let out a despondent sigh and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Oh, how he wished he could hold her and comfort her in this time of need. He didn’t understand why no one would let him into the castle; but the knights always chided him and chased him away like he was vermin when he tried to gain entry. “Lousy goat herd,” they’d grouse. “You don’t understand,” he’d say. “Desi and me are in love.” “Sure you are. Now git.” But no matter the guard’s dubiousness, it was true. Destiney and Kelcey were in love. They’d met only once, about a year ago, as Destiney was doing one of her royal tours of the city to grace the peasants with her presence and remind them that their monarchs appreciated them so—and it had been just a brief meeting—and from afar—and maybe met was not the correct word so much as spotted one another, but! It was an instant connection! Their eyes had locked. Destiney had smiled at him. Then waved. Waved! At him! And since then… Kelcey would send her things, through his sibling, Laurie, who worked in the castle. Embroidered socks, drawings and shiny baubles he’d ‘borrowed’ from the marketplace (he would pay them back once he and Destiney were together proper, and he was rich). And sometimes Destiney would send him things back! Letters usually, which Kelcey couldn’t read, but he’d trace his fingers over the markings and savor them, because they’d dripped from her quill. The best thing she’d sent him was a locket. Real gold. He could have sold it, it would have fetched a pretty penny, but he could not betray her so! It was his most treasured possession in the entire world. Now, atop the barn roof, Kelcey sighed and ran a finger over the locket. He knew that tomorrow at the funeral he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the royal family, but still, being in close proximity to his love at all was a small solace. “Kelcey, will you get off that roof!” a tinny voice shrieked. Kelcey frowned and glanced down. His sister, Daria, stood with her arms crossed and lips pouted. “What do you need?” he asked her. “For you not to fall and break your neck!” she huffed. When he did not seemed moved by this request, Daria added, “Plus, how will you go see your lover girl if you’re dead?” Her tone was laced with sarcasm, but she had a valid point! Kelcey gave one last furtive glance at the towering Raven’s Keep, and then carefully slid off the roof. Tomorrow, he said to himself. I’ll see her tomorrow. It’s only a day away.Goat herd Kelcey Kidde sits atop his barn roof and gazes wistfully at the castle, thinking of his love, Destiney. His heart aches for his loss, but he's excited that he'll get to see her tomorrow. As he's day-dreaming about her, though, his sister comes and tells him to get off the roof. He obliges, reminding himself that it's only one more day until he can see his love in person once again... though probably just from afar, the woe.
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Post by icon on Jun 6, 2014 1:54:04 GMT -5
Aines of Ascension was in need of a drink. He felt it in every single one of his feathers; the more stressed he was, the more he picked at his plumage, and some of them were already beginning to come loose. And while a good deal of it came from fretting over the late king's death, his immediate stress all came from her; every move she made completely threw him for a loop, challenging him to hammer into her head yet another reason that she ought to actually start thinking about politics (or thinking at all, he thought, but not out loud since that probably constituted treason of some sort). Destiney."No, I am not going to send a letter to your loverboy," Aines had told her, clacking his beak. "The job of a royal adviser is to oversee the monarch of Kyth and offer insight into complex political and tactical situations, not to hunt down a peasant so thick and so poor that he doesn't know how to tie the shoes he can't afford! Your father is hardly even cold, and the other Houses are approaching for his funeral as we speak. We have to arrange the ceremonies, prepare the Mourning Feast, and be ready to discuss the future of the kingdom! We don't have time for you to worry about true love. We don't have time for you to worry about any love!" "You'd understand if you'd seen him, Aines," she mumbled. "No, I wouldn't. Because I'm a bird. And also because I'm too caught up in trying to hold your father's kingdom together to think about your romantic entanglements!" Destiney had just sighed and looked wistfully out one window with a hand on her cheek, staring off into the distance. And then she waved her other hand at the letter sitting on her desk like she expected him to take it! Him! The royal adviser! Aines! It'll only be a few days before the king's body gets laid to rest and the feast dies down, Aines mused as he begrudgingly picked up the letter in his beak and flew out her window, and seven different Houses competing for the throne are bad enough without having to deal with her trivial pursuits as well.
Agony, he thought to himself as he once again made the descent from Raven's Keep toward the town below. No frustration so keen, when the one that she wants is a man who she's not even seen...Once upon a page appearance Came a corvid, whose adherence To his sappy, lovestruck queen came to him as a mighty chore; Picture now, that fool Aines dreaming That these dang houses might stop scheming And that the plot could start with seeming to be something, to be more; Quoth the raven: “what a bore.” Alternate summary: Meet Aines, adviser to the late King Starmey's now turned adviser to one Destiney Raven Ascension, and particularly displeased with his role as royal courier pigeon. He gripes about his job a while, then flies down to deliver Desi's letter anyways, the pushover. |
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Post by Jayeee on Jun 6, 2014 7:07:31 GMT -5
“Oh daddy, you must let me do it. I do so love to woo!” Garrick Stallion proclaimed as he skipped around the throne, pirouetting at each corner. “You know that the only suitable King is me, daddy. Think of all the coins we'll be getting if we force all the peasants in the land to watch one of their King's performances. I'll be more than a celebrity, my name will be rolling off the tongues of every noble, peasant and idiot as far as the eye can see. And if it isn't, their tongues will be rolling off my sword.” It didn't take much to gain permission to travel to Medieville as the suitor – after all, people didn't say no to Garrick Stallion. The word no was usually followed by a two hour interpretive dance session to portray the reasons why Garrick Stallion was always correct. Garrick turned to face the various knights, squires and council members in the throne room. “Spread the word: henceforth, Garrick Stallion shall be known as King. Not 'Future King' or 'Possible King', or even 'Obviously King'. I will be 'THE' King. If i'm not, then daddy will kill every last one of you. And i'll perform a hilarious jig at your funeral. How embarrassing for you all.” He flicked his shoulder-length blonde hair. “Now everybody watch me dance.” The new King pranced across the throne room, weaving through the present company with flourishes and the occasional jazz hand. Once Garrick had reached the door, he turned abruptly on his heel. “Applause,” he announced, his eyes narrowing as he closely watched. He pointed to a knight. “That one didn't produce an acceptable sound level. Have him fired and...” he trailed off while he thought. “I don't know, kill his children or something.” King Garrick Stallion was a dancer. And not just any dancer either. As the esteemed and adored son of Grand Duke Alain Stallion, he played a pivotal role in society. Once a month he had a play written for him and the performance was presented as an optional recreational activity for the residents of Bern. Anyone who didn't attend was hung. House Stallion was proud of their progressive standards, surging the world forward both technologically and socially. King Garrick took care of the social part. “So who is it that i'm wooing exactly? I never bothered to enquire,” King Garrick asked as he sat in a local tavern with a few members of his personal guard. “I suppose it doesn't matter anyway, I expect she'll fall in love with me after our first night together.” “Her name is Destiney, your uh... your highness.” King Garrick nodded slowly and thought for a while. He liked this tavern, the locals were so enamoured by his presence that they would just stare at him in silence. The peace and quiet was nice every once in a while. “I think we all know that i'll be the one marrying her. You could tell that much just by looking at the sigils. No lady would care to be represented by a hideous spider, or a common cow. No, the beauty and elegance of the stallion – that's what the world should see,” he mused. “And with King Garrick at the helm, seduction is all too easy. I bet I could even woo that spoilt little Lucinda if I pleased.” The barkeeper lent forward. “Ain't Lucinda yer neice?” King Garrick leapt to his feet. “She most certainly is, and I won't have you uttering such unsavoury things about her. It's people like you that are trying to ruin her little innocent mind.” He turned to his guard. “Have this man arrested, and executed after I return. Not a moment sooner – i've finally found a move to accurately represent the ultimate despair or having one's head cut off. I've incorporated it into my execution performance, i'd love to show it!” King Garrick shook his head as he left. “And it was such a pleasant establishment too.” He turned to one of his remaining guard. “Where is it i'm heading to again?” “Medieville, your highness.” “Medieville. I hope it's fun.” It hadn't taken them long to reach Medieville after they'd left the following day. King Garrick had slept for most of the journey – he had to preserve his energy for his new Kingdom, after all. “Do you think it would be distasteful to just perform my marriage proposal dance for this Princess during the funeral? One shouldn't waste time after all,” he muttered once they'd arrived at their manor. House Stallion had manors all over the land, their sigil emblazoned at least one house in every major region. Not quite the extravagance of their Destrier abode, but it would do until King Garrick could take his rightful place on the throne. “I don't understand why daddy couldn't provide me with some better company,” King Garrick muttered in his room. “That spoilt little niece and my lunatic uncle – how does he expect me to put on an adequate performance with this kind of troupe?!” Flinging the door open and handing a servant a brush to smooth out his hair as he moved, King Garrick danced his way towards the dining room, to be fed before he explored Medieville some more. Here begins the story of valiant King Garrick Stallion. Dancer by trade, handsome by right, this nobleman will go down in history as the almighty ruler of Kyth.
His story begins in Bern, in which Garrick dances himself into the position of suitor to Princess Destiney, sure to win her hand in marriage and become the King. He travels to Medieville to start his seduction process, and heads to the dining room of the Stallion Manor to acquire food before exploring. |
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Post by Thundy on Jun 6, 2014 10:49:29 GMT -5
700 YEARS LATER...Tony Rayne, of no royal house but rather an apartment in Cleveland, Ohio, was walking down the steps of the office building where he worked to the parking lot. It had been a long day, with Tony staying late to complete some paperwork which his boss had insisted be on his desk by 9 AM. The time was just starting to reach into the AM already as he unlocked his car, a slightly battered and rusted Corolla that was suspiciously close to his own age. Throwing his briefcase and jacket in the back seat, he started the engine and backed out onto the road. The streets of Cleveland, were almost completely deserted, illuminated by the yellow glow of sodium street lights and a full moon that was making a mad dash for the Western horizon. Tony sighed and turned on the radio, it was tuned to the news, during the daytime it was useful for avoiding the traffic, but now it was just noise to accompany the rattling of the engine and the squeal of brakes that were on their last legs. When the car would finally give out, Tony dreaded it, a new car would eat considerably into his savings and his salary. The newsreader switched from national to local news. "...A lucky Columbus resident today was selected to win a trip to the International Space Station, financed by several private space tourism companies, the as yet unidentified winner will spend a full 2 months aboard the station." Tony sighed again. Why couldn't it be him? Instead of working a low key position in an almost unnoticed company where the only person that actually talked to him besides the boss, thought his name was "Rupert" for some reason. He said aloud to nobody in particular "I just wish that my life could be as exciting as that space-guy's." There was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, Tony, who had been waiting at a red light, nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise, the skies were completely clear when he had left work not 10 minutes earlier. The radio turned to static, and one by one, the street lights, lights of buildings, began switching off one by one down the street towards Tony's car. The air smelled thick of Sulphur and Ozone. He tried the accelerator, but the engine was deader than a certain King in the distant past. "Sorry about the car, buddy, it should work again shortly, getting here has its difficulties." Tony immediately froze. The voice had come from right next to him in the passenger seat, which was SUPPOSED to be empty. It was completely pitch black and Tony couldn't see who or what was now riding shotgun with him. There was the rough sound of match scraping across sandpaper and suddenly the car was flooded by the dull orange light of a match flame, a tall figure with a large beard, sporting long blue robes, a hat of similar colour, and strangely, a pair of Ray Bans, was lighting an ornate pipe made of what appeared to be gold and bone. "I...uh...what...are you doing in my car?" Tony managed to stammer. The man finished lighting the pipe. He snapped his fingers and car's interior light came on. "Well basically, I'm a wizard," He gestured up and down his figure, pointing out the robes and beard. "And I was in your neck of time and space and couldn't help notice that you said "I just wish that my life could be exciting" and I think to myself, now here's a bit of fun!" He took a puff of his pipe, it smelled like a combination of foul burning hair, but also lavender, and Tony guessed, foxgloves? Although he was dressed exactly like he thought a wizard ought to dress (minus the sunglasses at night), Tony was a sceptical man who hadn't believed in magic since he was a child, so this oddly dressed stranger was likely some crazy person that just hopped in his car on a whim. "You can't just jump into peoples' cars, man," Tony started. "It's magic, I don't have to explain anything to you," the wizard said, adjusting his sunglasses. "besides, where you're going, you won't be needing this hunk of steel anyway." "Look, magic isn't real, it's the 21st century." "Point taken," The wizard took another puff on his pipe, then pointed at the radio. A small spark flashed out of his index finger and into the radio, immediately it sprung to life and began playing "Back in Time" by Huey Lewis and the News "Great song, Huey let me jam along with him once in '83. Anyway, you're right, it's the 21st Century, not a whole lot of magic around these days. So I'm going to help you out, make your life exciting, as it were. I'm going to send you somewhere magic was really alive, because quite frankly I'm bored, not much wizarding stuff to do in Ohio." "I'm not following you." "This thing got a full tank of gas? It's a really long drive we're going on. It'll take about 700 years to get there." he snapped his fingers again. "Yeah I filled the tank this mor-" Tony never got a chance to finish speaking, for the ancient Toyota burst forward in acceleration down the street at a rate which was statistically impossible for early 90's auto-mobiles. There was a flash of light, a large bang, and several buildings had their windows blown out, but there was nothing left of the car, Tony, or the wizard, except for a patch of melted tarmac at the end of the road. Thus begins the tale of Tony Rayne, our office worker of the 21st century is catapulted through time and space with the help of a wizard in shades.
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Post by Lizzie on Jun 6, 2014 11:22:24 GMT -5
Princess Karma Crow, of House Ascension, was not happy. “But why does she get to be queen?” the princess whined to a servant, “ I want to be queen!” “Now, m’lady, you know that Princess Destiney is the oldest,” the servant said wearily, “And with your father being dead, she’s the one who’s rightfully going to be on the throne.” Karma shook with anger, rising to her feet. Her fists clenched at her sides, balling the silky, light green material of her dress into them. “But I want to be queen!” she shouted, shaking ever more violently. “Princess, you are the youngest of all of your sisters. It will be your time for a throne soon,” the servant said, attempting to reason with her. Karma responded by slamming a balled fist into the servant’s stomach. He grunted in surprise, and with that, Karma began to laugh quietly. The servant stood up shakily again, caught off guard by the princess’s violent actions. Karma shook there, half with anger, half with laughter, rubbing her now sore fist. That’ll show that servant, she thought. “Now, I’m going somewhere.” “But, princess, you mustn’t lea--” The rest of the servant’s words were lost to the sound of the chamber door slamming shut, and the stomping of an angry 8 year old going down the hall. The servant slumped against the door in defeat, too tired to fight the child. - It took a while to get down to where she wanted to be, but Karma easily hid from the royal guards and servants. Years of practice due to a large amount of sisters had allowed her that luxury. Karma, smallest of them all, easily went unnoticed in the large crowd of whiny, spoiled brats. It was quite easy to dodge the servants anyway, Karma thought. They were quite dead in the brain sometimes. Karma stood outside the bright, wooden door that lead to the room. There were words on it, words Karma had never noticed before. Her sister, Hope Crane, in a moment of kindness, had taught her and Aura how to read. Some of the words looked familiar, and Karma’s young mind spun as she looked up at them, engraved into the door. “Kee… Keep…. out?” the young princess muttered, peering up on the door with her chocolate brown eyes, “Huh, funny, Papa said this to me all the time. And the nasty servants even more.” Ignoring the warning, Karma used all her weight to push open the heavy door. She snuck inside, and it closed with a thump. Karma turned slowly around, and there was her prize. Unattended for once, laying on the lone table in the room. Nasty and pale looking, gorgeous eyes closed, her Papa lay there. A rush of… something, went through the girl, and she quietly and confidently went forward. She stood on her tiptoes, then eventually a nearby stool, when she still couldn’t see clearly. Karma’s hand, covered in scabs and dirt, but otherwise small and dainty shook slightly as she raised it. It eventually, after a quick look-around, found its way to the man’s-- her Papa’s-- face. It was cold, she could feel that. For once, he looked so peaceful. He wasn’t yelling at her, or a servant, or one of those horrid peasants. She stood there for a long time, gazing at his face. Her hand on his face. So when a servant approached, attempting to ready him for his services, well. “M’lady, what are you doing here?” the servant yelped, taken by surprise as he noticed the princess, “Get away from your father’s body.” Karma slowly turned around, ginger hair falling in front of her face, one hand still touching her papa’s own face. She showed no visible signs of emotion, and just stared at the servant, who was approaching rapidly. “He is very cold,” the princess said clearly, moving fully to stare at the servant. Her hand fell back to her side, and her brown eyes looked almost black in the poor light. Wordlessly, an almost unnerving smile appeared, her lips stretching out across her teeth. “Well, yes, he certainly is," the servant said, approaching the child more, "Now get away from there!” “But I don’t want to, I want to spend time with Papa,” Karma said. She did not hesitate before saying, “Do you think I could maybe have his eyes?” “Um, excuse me, Princess Karma? Could you repeat that?” the servant said cautiously. Karma hesitated for a moment, looking back at her father’s body. “His eyes. He had the prettiest eyes, don’t you think? Or his skin, I’d quite like his skin too,” Karma said sweetly, raising her hand to touch her own face, “Oh, if only I could be without these freckles!” “I do not think that is a good idea,” the servant hesitantly replied, and Karma smiled sweetly at him. “Oh, but I want them!” Princess Karma Crow spends some quality time with a few quality people, and doesn't get what she wants. A shame, considering she's a princess. |
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Post by Kozma on Jun 6, 2014 11:41:53 GMT -5
‘Who is Ignotus Travers?’ The question was repeatedly asked throughout Medieville yet no one knew the answers to it. No one knew this mysterious man and no one could tell you much about him. Where he lived was a mystery and his occupation was unknown. There was no record of his past and no one knew who his family was, so most guessed that he had none. Ignotus Travers was a complete enigma and no one could tell you why this was so. It was as if he had just appeared out of thin air in the kingdom of Kyth. Many had tried to converse with Ignotus but socializing with him provided little information about him for he would not talk about himself or his life. In fact, many found that socializing with him proved to be quite unpleasant for he spoke in a cold, monotone voice. Many of those who talked to him described him as completely emotionless. “He never smiled,” one peasant recalled, “his mouth was locked in an eternal frown and his eyes were as dead as the grave.” One of the most baffling details about Ignotus was his complexion. By all means, he appeared to be a young man about twenty years of age for his skin was completely smooth and un-aged. Yet his hair was completely grey and his eyes were faded like that of an old man. Because of his emotionless state and grey appearance, Ignotus looked as if all life and happiness had been sucked out of him. Many rumors flew around the kingdom that he had his very soul stolen by the devil. Ignotus ignored these rumors and went about his business, whatever his business was. Despite his cold and emotionless nature, many individuals in Medieville wanted to get to know Ignotus and quite possibly help him. For some reason, it seemed as if he had a purpose; it was like he was on some quest or mission but no one knew who he was or what he was doing. What is this mystery surrounding Ignotus? Would anyone ever discover why he was like this? Only time will tell… Ignotus is an enigmatic character; he speaks in a cold, monotone voice, his face is frozen in an emotionless frown and he looks as if he had all the life and happiness sucked out of him. No one knows who Ignotus is but it seems as if he is on some kind of quest. Will you be the one to unlock the mystery behind this strange man? |
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Post by PFA on Jun 6, 2014 12:03:42 GMT -5
" Woogardium Leviosa!" With a flick of her wand, the chair started to lift off the ground, floating weightlessly in the air. Jeniver smiled wide. The spell worked perfectly! She was getting the hang of this, after all. As one of the youngest members of House Jade, Jeniver was proud to uphold the household tradition of magic. Somehow she'd gotten her hands on an old wand—supposedly it once belonged to a great sorceress somewhere in her ancestry—and would practice spells with it nigh-constantly. She wasn't very good at it yet, but practice makes perfect, right? After letting the chair dance around in the air for a while, Jeniver smiled confidently, aiming her wand at it and proclaiming, "Reversum!" The chair started spinning around in circles. Jeniver's eyes went wide. Wasn't that supposed to be the counterspell? "Uh... stopus! Endium! Floorus?" She waved her wand furiously, trying to remember the spell to bring the flying chair back to the ground. "Wait! Come back!" "Jeniver!" came a shout from the other side of the door. Her mother. "Come along now; we must be on our way to Medieville for King Starmey's funeral." "Um... one moment!" Jeniver replied, futilely trying to grab the floating chair out of the air. "This is a very important diplomatic event. Our attendance is a display House Jade's goodwill toward House Ascension, and towards the people of Kyth as a whole," her mother continued. "It is a matter of grave importance, and we simply cannot be late!" "I know, I know!" Jeniver grumbled. She'd already been lectured several times on the grave importance of gaining favor with the princess... wait, grave! That was it! Waving her wand at the chair once more, she proclaimed, "Gravitum!" The chair stopped in midair. And then, it fell, breaking in pieces as it crashed loudly to the floor. Jeniver blinked. Um... oops. "Are you alright in there?" "Uh... yes, I'm fine! I'm coming!" Jeniver told her, hurrying for the door. The servants should be able to figure out what to do with the broken chair while she was gone, she figured. --- The trip was very long and very boring, but ultimately, House Jade had arrived in Medieville. Jeniver and her family settled into one of the finest rooms in the local inn, which had been set aside in anticipation of the gathering nobles. It was a nice room; not quite as nice as their estate back in Solis, but nice enough. "King Starmey's funeral won't be until tomorrow," her mother said. "Perhaps we could use the time to explore the town?" "Can we just stay here for a while? I'm tired," Jeniver replied, flopping onto the bed. "Alright." Her mother nodded in agreement. "We can have some time to rest. Then we can view the town." "Okay." Jeniver rolled over onto her stomach, looking around at the room. Again, it was a nice room, adorned with furniture as best as peasants such as the innkeeper could offer. It didn't match up to the furniture in their estate, of course, but peasants were as peasants were. Those chairs would still suit her purposes just fine. " Woogardium Leviosa!" Meet Jeniver, one of the youngest nobles of House Jade. She loves to practice magic with her old wand, as evidenced by her current fascination with levitating chairs... both at home, and when she arrives at the inn in Medieville. She's not very good at magic yet, though, so broken chairs ahoy. |
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Post by Dan on Jun 6, 2014 12:49:59 GMT -5
Lord Everett Jade did not care much for the capital of Kyth. It had been many years since he last visited Medieville, but it was exactly as he remembered, to his displeasure. First to overcome the lord of Corvus was the smells: foul, rank, fetid...he could barely think straight as soon as he was within the city walls. He would need to have one of his acolytes cast a perfuming spell on their accommodations, for the briefest of respites from the overwhelming scents. But even that would not mask the sounds and sights that awaited his entry into the city, and those were much harder to conceal with an incantation or two. The squelch of mud below his feet, the squeals of pigs and children alike, the cries for alms from the ragged lining the streets...these were the hallmarks of an indecent city. A lack of order, a lack of connection to Woo above, a dependence on the unimportant and fleeting: all a part of life in the capital city, he believed. But that could all change, if his plans were to come to fruition. And for that, he had to come to Medieville, to witness how desperately his help was needed firsthand. A light knocking on his chamber door took his attention away from the window overlooking the southeastern quadrant of the city. "Enter," he replied, his voice filling the cramped room. The door creaked open and his host entered with a slight bow, carrying a tray of fruits and cheeses. "Your breakfast, my lord," his cousin said, placing the hastily polished tray on his table. "I hope you found some rest? The path from Corvus is quite demanding." He nodded. "The Ashroad is not named for its tranquility, but our mages kept us safe from distress. And I slept fine, thank you, Marson." "Will you be needing anything else this morning? I could send Marietta out to fetch whatever you might need. Books, perhaps? Our city has many storytellers with intriguing stories that might take your fancy." He frowned. "I have little need for diverting stories today. No, I intend to meet with the High Priest of Woo this morning, for it has been too long since we last convened. Summon my council for the afternoon, please. I have much to prepare with them for the days ahead. Oh, and do be sure that my son is awake and dressed. He has a busy day as well. He must be primed for his meeting with the princess tomorrow." Cousin Marson bowed. "It shall be done, my lord." Lord Everett returned to the window. The clouds had parted; a shadow loomed over the city. He contemplated the castle on the hill, overlooking the city below it. Soon enough, it would be his. And with it, the Lord of Embers would restore tradition to this once-great city. Lord Everett Jade has arrived in Medieville with his entourage of mages, priests, advisers, and family members, ostensibly to mourn the death of their king. But he has begun to make arrangements for his own son and heir to meet with the princess on the morrow. If all went according to plan, he would restore Medieville to its former glory. |
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Post by Celestial on Jun 6, 2014 13:20:07 GMT -5
Grand Duke Alain Stallion was everything a noble lord should be. Despite his advanced age, he had retained all the things which had made a strong an very effective patriarch of House Stallion. Only his handsomeness had faded but it had been replaced with the grace and presense that age had brought him. His razor sharp wit and intellect had only improved over time as his age brought him experience and while his fighting prowess was not that of a younger man, what little he lacked in strength and spryness he more than made up for with strategy and cunning. House Stallion had already been a strong house even before Alain had come into power but he had built them up even further during this long reign. Alain embodied the ethos of his house and happily embraced new ideas as long as they benefitted him. However, he was hardly a cruel tyrant. What benefitted him also benefitted his lands and his House. After all, prosperous lands made for a prosperous lord. Under his rule, the region of Bern had grown greatly in riches and in living conditions. New irrigation methods, farming techniques, technologies to increase the output of the peasants and craftsmen that lived in Bern, all were implimented as long as they were a sound investment. Of course, there were always some dissenters, there always were, but Alain always made sure they were dealt with as quietly and as efficiently as possible. There were people who said that Alain Stallion should be on the throne of Kyth, imagining what sorts of innovations he would bring to the whole kingdom but he had always distanced himself from them. Alain was loyal to his king. He had served him in peace and fought alongside him many times in war, sometimes even sustaining injuries in the process. But Alain never dismissed an idea. So when poor King Starmey died, he remembered those whispers. But at the same time, he knew that there would be others who had heard them, who would anticipate him coming to the throne but would hardly be keen on the idea. He took minimal risks when he had to. If the worst came to the worst, he still wanted to keep Bern and Destrier for his heirs. Which is why Garrick, the son he was least likely to miss, was going along as the suitor to Princess (or should he call her Queen now?) Destiney. If Garrick did become king, after all, Alain or his daughter Isabella could easily pull his strings if necessary. And if not, they would get to keep Bern and rule under the new king as they had done previously. Alain never made a plan where he could potentially come out as the loser. In the time before King Starmey's funeral, Alain sat in his cabinet calmly and coolly dealing with paperwork and making his plans. He was not staying long in Medieville but he needed to figure out who was going to be staying in Medieville. It would have to be somebody who was competent enough to do as they needed but whose death would be not too big a loss to the House. There was a murmuring from the chair opposite his desk. Alain looked up. "Good morning, Ambrose," he said calmly, glancing at his younger brother. Ambrose's eyes were no longer glazed. "What have you seen this time?" Ambrose Stallion blinked as he slowly realised he was now seeing the present. They must have gotten to Medieville while he was out and now they were in Alain's cabinet. Most likely because he had wanted to keep an eye on him. "Another vision from the post-painting time. There were many brightly coloured little ponies, much like the horses of our time, who had at some point learned to speak and carry out activities. Some of them had wings or were unicorns. Perhaps they are the descendants of the Great Unicorn?" Ambrose pondered before continuing. "They go around learning about the magic of friendship but I know our House is not interested in magic. Though perhaps these are horses who do magic might mean that us and Jade may unify? My visions are not metaphorical but they have to emerge from somewhere. Maybe from us and the Great Tax Unicorn?" "I don't know, Ambrose. You are the one who sees the visions," Alain replied cooly, returning to his work before his brother could ramble on about what he had seen. It was another useless vision. "I know, Alain but they do not tell me everything," Ambrose sighed. "But it looks like the near future ones are coming true." "King Starmey is dead, yes," Alain nodded. "What you saw was correct. Now it is time for me to act." Ambrose sighed and sat back in his chair. Of course, Alain had made a plan. He was everything Alain was not. He was a terrible fighter, a hopeless statesman, an incompetent schemer and if he was ever handsome, it had been completely overshadowed by how little care he had put into his appearance. All of this was down to one thing and one thing only: Ambrose Stallion had visions of the future. Random, unpredictable visions which would come suddenly and leave him paralysed as they played across his eyes and his mind. The only way he knew it was the future was because they rarely showed him things he recognised. Sometimes they made sense, sometimes they...did not. But it had to be the future. What else could it be? He had been struck with these in his early childhood for no apparent reason that anybody could see and they had continued throughout his entire life. Sometimes he would get several within the span of a day and then not see anything for the next week and sometimes they would be spread out evenly. Every time was a different vision. Some showed him things he recognised, some showed him the distant future and some showed him completely alien things. At some point in the future, the world would apparently become pictures too. It was amazing. Back in his room in Destrier, he had even tried to contrust a timeline in order to figure out the future. It was clunky and jumbled but perhaps he would get there. A new vision always threw him off. The future was so varied and so fascinating, he thought. It was a shame that nobody thought the same as Ambrose. If he had not been from a noble house, he would have been a beggar or a village idiot starving on the streets. But even as a noble, his visions affected his life. It was just fortune that he had been the younger brother, otherwise who knows how far the House could have fallen or what people, including his own brother, would have done to him in order for Alain to be the head of House Stallion. They had tried to marry Ambrose off to somebody else but nobody wanted their daughter to marry a raving lunatic, even if he was a Stallion. They could have given him to the Church of the Lord Woo and been done with him if it had not been for his father. House Stallion was a progressive house but it did not tolerate magics and seers. While others would have been convinced that Ambrose was posessed by demons or some other foul magics, his father was sure that Ambrose was simply mentally ill, nothing more. Magic was all well and good but a noble of Stallion could not be seen practicing magic. Any attempt to blame magic for Ambrose's visions was dismissed on the grounds that he could not control it. It was enough to quieten the most determined of his critics. Since he was harmless enough, he had placed him under his protection and let him get on with his delusions. Alain had followed in much the same vein. Until Ambrose had come to him, horrified and raving on about a great drought and famine in the region of Kine. While Alain was half-convinced that this was just Ambrose being his usual, insane self, something had told him otherwise. But he had nothing to lose by working to modernise the irrigation of the kingdom, especially in the south neighbouring Kine. Even if Ambrose's drought did not come to pass, he would still have an irrigation system which would increase yield. He had nothing to lose. Nevertheless, it was a surprise when the drought had struck. Kine suffered greatly but the southern regions of Bern were able to get enough water to sustain the crops. Harvests were lower but there was no famine and suffering as happened in Kine. Suddenly, Alain had found a new use for his brother's delusions. Ambrose was just glad that he could see the future and had resolved to work even harder on his timeline in order to predict more events. He tried to remember as many as possible and mentioned them to Alain. One of them was the sudden death of King Starmey. Alain had taken pains to keep Ambrose silent about that lest they think that they were planning it but nevertheless, he had been making arrangements. Now it was time to put them into motion. And perhaps, at least, Ambrose could be useful. "Ambrose," Alain said, leaning forward on his desk and steepling his hands in front of him. "Have you ever seen what happens after King Starmey's death?" "Not in the near future, no," Ambrose shook his head. "I know what happens afterwards technically but I never saw who the new king would be-" "Very good. But tell me if you do see," Alain nodded. "But this means the future is not yet set. So, I believe it is time for us to make our move." "I'm glad, Alain. I wish you all the best of luck and if I get a vision about it, I-" "Ambrose," Alain smiled. "I'd like you to be a part of this. You have skills which would be useful in Stallion's bid for the throne." Alain rules, Ambrose drools. Alain the magnificent chessmaster and very competent lord of House Stallion is making plans for what is going to happen after the funeral. He resolves to send Garrick to woo Destiney because he won't miss him much while staying in the background with his heir, Isabella, to avoid being killed or have their region taken away in the ensuing succession crisis. As he plots, Ambrose wakes up from his vision of ponies and the magic of friendship, which Alain doesn't have any use for. Ambrose has uncontrollable visions of the future, which were thought to be just a mental illness until he successfully predicted first the drought in Kines and now the death of the king. Seeing as he could be useful, Alain proposes to include Ambrose in the plan.
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Post by Omni on Jun 6, 2014 16:10:37 GMT -5
A poor, helpless farmer was lying face-down on the ground, in the shadow of some kind of tall, hairy ape with four arms, and held in its grasp. The creature overshadowed him, pressing on the farmer's back. "Aw yeh... That hurts, doesn't it?" the ape spoke. The voice was clearly male, and the accent not quite Kythian. The farmer let out a whimper, biting his lip and curling up a little, fearing what was about to happen. "Ey now, just let me do this. It'll be easier that way..." But the farmer remained tense. The ape let out a small huff, grabbing the man with each of his four hands. He began to contort the farmer into an odd position, listening for the sound he desired to hear... ... *pop!*"There! Ya hear that?" the ape said with satisfaction, letting the man back into a natural position. "That's yer back startin' to go straight! The farmer just lied there, eyed widened with surprise. "...It didn't hurt." "Just like I tolja!" the ape reassured the man, smiling gladly. The man started to get up, only for the ape to hold a hand in his way. "Hold on! I'm not done yet!" He waited for the man to lay back down and grabbed a hold of him again. "Now, if ya could relax for me, I might be able to get the rest faster." The ape twisted the man - who was now much more relaxed - in a few more directions as a number of loud pops were heard. First he lay this way and we was stretched that way, then he lay that way and was stretched this way. After a couple minutes of this, he instructed the man to lay on his stomach once more, then proceeded to check his back again. "Alright, one more time on yer left. Arm over yer head." The man complied much more readily this time. His back moved more easily as the ape stretched his side and gave one last satisfying pop. "Alright, let me see yer back again... ... There, I think that'll do it. Try standin' now." The farmer paused for a second, one last pinch of worry coming to him, then slowly, carefully began to stand up. As he got on his feet, he stood there agape for a moment before his face began to break into a smile and he laughed. "No pain!" he exclaimed, followed shortly by his younger children beginning to clap and cheer. "It didn't hurt! My bad back's not so bad anymore!" "Amazing..." the farmer's wife said in awe. "And here I thought he could never work the fields the same way again!" "Nah, ya just needed a bone healer to get the bones back where they're supposed to be," the ape replied. The man held out a hand, which the ape shook with one of his larger, upper hands. "Thank you! Thank you, Orrin!" "My pleasure!" the ape, Orrin, replied as he let go. "Now, do go easy for a day or two. Ya don't want yer back goin' right back where it was." "Oh, of course. Do we owe you anything?" "Nah! Just consider it thanks for lettin' us stay here." Orrin said with a handwave. "And we'll be willin' to help out on tha farm while we're here," a dwarven woman spoke, her accent a much thicker version of Orrin's. "Should help make up fer the loss o' work while ya recover." "You don't need to do that for us!" the farmer's wife interjected. "I insist," the dwarf replied. "We're not going to be just lazin' about, takin' advantage of yer hospitality." She gave the cane she held a thump, as if to make her statement final. Again, the farmer gave a laugh. "First my back, and now this. I can't thank you enough." "And yer very welcome." Orrin gestured to a nearby horse-cart, albeit a small one. "Now, if ya don't mind, I'd like to unload our stuff before checking out the town." "Oh sure!" The farmer turned to his wife. "Is that okay with you, honey?" "Fine by me. Would you like something to eat before you go?" "Yeah, sure! All this travelin's left me hungry." Orrin patted his stomach with one of his smaller arms, his hand mostly met by the cushioning of hair under his too-small shirt. The farmer's wife laughed. "You can set your things in the back corner. I'll get something going." "Alright. Thank ya again." With a nod and a smile, Orrin turned and walked up to the cart. He carried things into the house with all four of his arms, using the moment to just be glad that they found someone who would take them in. Of course, they were peasants. Maybe they understood troubles better than most. A tall, hairy ape creature stands over a poor farmer, contorting said farmer's back and giving him an adjustment. The farmer thanks the ape (Orrin), who says to consider it thanks for letting them stay. The dwarven woman that Orrin traveled with also says that they'll help out on the farm. Orrin says he'd like to unload the cart and then check out the town. The farmer's wife offers for them to eat before he goes. Orrin begins to unload the cart, glad that they were able to find someone that would let them stay. |
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Post by Draco on Jun 6, 2014 17:03:44 GMT -5
A figure runs across the rooftops of Medieval, wearing a white outfit with black trim and a red sash around his waist. A white hood covers and black mask covers his face from view. Visible bits of leather armor, some lining flexible light metal armor were attached to vital spots for protection. He leaps from rooftop to rooftop with ease, even climbing up a few places that would be harder to get to for some people. All the while he kept his eyes on a single target, a woman walking down the street. After following a bit the crowds seem to thin leaving the woman alone standing outside a alley way. The hooded figure takes out a small scrap of paper and looks at it. A sketched image of the woman is on it. Placing a crossed out mark on it and puts it away. He removes a knife, positioning himself ready to pounce from the rooftop. Kriserris Darkeyes was about to make his first hit in this town. "You sir, are to flashy." Darkeyes quickly turns around to see where the voice was coming from. In the shadow of a chimney a dark figure sits watching him. He quickly turns back to his target to find her gone. Angrily he looks back at the shadowed man. "Who are you? And why did you allow my target to escape?" The figure steps out of the shadow so silently and slowly it was almost as if he was the shadow itself taking the form of a man. Unlike Darkeyes this man wore garbs that were all dark shades of color. He wore a dark grey tunic, slightly loose around the arms, but not so loose that someone could grab a hold of them easily. His pants were equally loose, and matched in colors. Darkly tanned belts were strapped along his waist and across his chest, holding small pockets and strapped with knives and other instruments. The outfit was finished off with black boots and gloves. He appeared to have no visiable armor or protection at all. Kriserris would have laughed at this any other time. Did this man think he was a assassin or something? The rest of this man's appearance was pretty normal. He didn't have much of a tan, green eyes, and messy black hair that looked to be just pushed back with his hands. He slowly walked closer to Kriserris. "I didn't allow your 'target' to escape. That was your fault for not paying attention." "You interrupted me!" "You allowed me to interrupt you." "Fine, whatever! So what about my first question?" The man grins and bows, arms spread out, and never taking his eyes off Darkeyes. "Davorin Silverkin. And like your self a... Assassin of sorts." "So what? You thought you could weasel your way in and take my target? Not gonna happen. You know the code, assassins aren't supposed to interfere with each others targets... Unless someone paid you off to interfere." "The assassin's code... It doesn't make much sense does it? I have no interest in your target. However, I do have two things I wish to tell you." Kriserris narrows his eyes and glares at Davorin. "One, I prefer the term Deader. You can miss a target, like you just did, and I never miss who I attend to kill." Davorin now stands face to face with Kriserris. "Two, there is only room for one assassin in this town." A knife is quickly and almost effortlessly placed into Kriserris Darkeyes' neck. Davorin gives him a little push, sending the white robed man tumbling off the rooftop into a very small pile of hay below. A small cracking sound could be heard upon landing. Looking down all you could see are the legs of the man sticking out, the hay hiding the rest of him. Davorin Silverkin quietly cleans his blade and places it on his belt. He sighs and walks away from the area, pulling a hood over his head. Kriserris Darkeyes is minding his own business, doing his job, stalking a target for money.
That is, until he's interrupted by Davorin Silverkin, the resident assassin of Medieval.
Davorin had two things to say to Kriserris.
1: He preferred the term Deader over Target.
2: There can only be one assassin in town.
And that assassin was obviously going to be Davorin. |
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Post by Gelquie on Jun 6, 2014 17:04:20 GMT -5
Thunk! .....Shhhhkt, shhhhkt, shhh... kt! "Ah no..." Sixteen-year-old Elin Ryer stared at the length of skin she had just cut from the beheaded cow at her feet. In particular, she was looking under the piece of skin, her lips curving into a frown at the long piece of meat she had cut along with it. There was a sigh from above her, and she turned her head to look up towards a buff and intimidating woman who had one hand on her hip and the other on a large axe. She was shaking her head. "Elin, you have to watch your wrist. And gentle motions. Otherwise, things like this happen," the woman said. Elin sighed as she set the piece of skin down on the floor and began cutting under the small piece of meat. "I'm sorry, Aunt Clare." Clare sighed. "Well, it's smaller than the last one. It's okay. We'll put it in the stew tonight." Elin finished cutting and threw the scrap of meat on the table. "Auntie, I thought we were having that special pasta dish of yours tonight. What did you name it... Lesbian?" "I was going to save that for when the Queen finds a husband to take the throne, and I still need to talk to the baker to help out. Besides, we don't have horse meat to pull it off right now." "Well, it doesn't help that you keep eating it," Elin pointed out helpfully. "Horse meat is a delicacy, Elin," Clare reprimanded. "We don't often get nice things, you know." "I know, I know," Elin said as she brought the knife under the skin of the cow again. Her brown face contorted into a frown. "But will the farmers be able to send enough over?" There was almost complete silence for a while, with the exception of the sound of the knife scraping against skin and meat. "Dear," Aunt Clare said. "The drought has ended. The farmers are doing much better now. And I'm sure that goes for your family too." Elin paused for a moment before sighing. "I know. They've told me as much. Still... I can't help but feel bad leaving them like that." "Don't be," Clare said. "You did the right thing. And I'm happy to have you here helping me. You're inexperienced, but you're a good worker." Elin let out a small smile. "Thanks, Auntie," she said as she finished skinning one of the strips. But Clare could see that Elin was still bothered. She thought for a moment before deciding. "Elin, I, uh... Why don't you let me finish that? It's about time to make that delivery of meat to the cook at the inn." Elin paused and looked up, gazing at her aunt with her brown eyes. "Well... If you say so," she said. She placed the knife on the ground before rising to her feet, and grabbing a towel to wipe her blood-stained hands. She then began untying the linen apron she had around her ragged, red-stained brown tunic that fell down past her knees. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" "I sure hope I will; I've been at this for over 15 years! At least!" Aunt Clare gave a laugh before kneeling down at the foot of the cow. "I've already stacked the meat towards the front of the shop. Take the cart and bring it over there. And remember, don't go away with less than what we've agreed, okay?" "Of course. I'll be right back," Elin said as she walked towards the front of the open-air shop, the sound of knife scraping skin whistling through the air. As much as she wanted to continue working, she did feel relieved to be able to go on an errand. One consequence of working in a butcher shop instead of a farm was her not being able to move around as much, especially with her leaning over animals for hours just so she could skin and chop them up. It wasn't as if she was ungrateful; it was fairly close to some of the chores she did on the farm, it kept her fed, and she liked being out in the open air. But that didn't mean she didn't want breaks. Elin patted her tied-up black hair with the back of her hand to ensure that it was still in place. Then she took her time putting the stacks of meat carefully into a rickety cart, and when she finished, she began wheeling it towards the inn. Perhaps she'd see some of her friends along the way, she figured. Maybe Kelcey, if he could stop talking about Princess Destiney for more than 5 minutes. ...Then again, with the King's recent death, Elin decided that this probably wasn't likely. Elin sighed and pushed the cart along towards the inn. She would appreciate the company regardless. Elin Ryer is a butcher who had originally come from a farming family. She helps run Medieville's butcher shop with her Aunt Clare, who has a taste for horse meat and might be related to a Mafia III character. They talk for some time as they skin a cow before Clare sends off Elin to deliver meat to the cook at the inn. Elin is now on the streets pushing a cart of meat and making her way to the inn. (She also wonders if she'll run into Kelcey ( Avery) and have a conversation.)
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Post by Elcie on Jun 6, 2014 18:57:20 GMT -5
No one in town had really noticed when Xavier Lynn started working for Ilsa at the King’s Arms Inn, and this was exactly how he preferred it. He’d slipped quietly into Medieville a couple of years ago and counted himself lucky that he’d been able to find room and board so easily. He counted himself even luckier that no one had questioned his presence in town. Xavier Lynn was a slim young man with dark red hair that was unusual enough to increase his value. There were a few other things about Xavier that made him valuable, but these - thankfully - were not as obvious to the casual observer as the color of his hair. He had never tried to hide the fact that he was from Courdon (his accent made that plain enough) but what he did not mention was that in Courdon he had been a slave, owned by one of the highest noble families in the kingdom that neighbored Kyth. He took care that no one in Medieville ever saw the brand on his upper arm, even though he knew it was unlikely that anyone here would know what it meant. This brand was one of the other things that increased Xavier’s value; it showed that he was noble property, and it showed that he had been fully and properly trained. It also carried the implicit promise of the harshest punishments on anyone who tried to steal him. He had, of course, stolen himself. Finally he’d stopped expecting slave-hunters from Courdon to break down his door and drag him away in the night, but the fear never really went away, not completely. Even after two years he had not quite got the knack of thinking of himself as a freeman. Currently, the fact that Medieville was flooding with members of Kyth’s various noble families was not helping matters in the slightest. He knew, of course, that his former owners were Courdonian and would not be among the families now vying for the throne, but he couldn’t help feeling wary of the newcomers all the same. And some of them were even staying in Ilsa’s inn. He shouldn’t really have been surprised at that. The innkeeper was always looking for ways to increase her profits. Sure enough, as Ilsa swept into the kitchens, she was humming cheerfully and tucking a pouch into one of the specially-made pockets hidden in her skirt. “You wouldn’t believe what they’re paying for our best rooms,” she told Xavier gleefully. “I told you it would be worth it to move all the newest furniture in there. Have you had the delivery from the butcher yet?” “Not yet, ma’am,” Xavier said. He always found himself deferring to Ilsa just as respectfully as he had to his masters - though at least when he forgot himself and talked back to her, she only laughed, rather than having him beaten. “I thought I would get the rest of the dishes cleaned while I wait.” “Good thinking.” She beamed. “Worth every penny of your wages, as usual. Be sure to press those nobles for some good tips tonight. They’ve got deep pockets.” “What are they like?” Xavier wanted to know. That was another thing that was nice about working for Ilsa - she didn’t mind him asking questions. “As posh as you’d expect. I think they’re unpacking their things in their rooms now, but you’ll probably get to see them later. Hope I can convince them to dine in tonight - they can have the private room so they don’t have to mingle with the common town riffraff.” She winked. “Tips. Be shameless, Xave.” With that piece of sage advice, she left. Xavier sighed and shook his head. Noble though they were, they were still from Kyth. Hopefully that would be enough to stop them from recognizing him for what he was. Xavier Lynn is a runaway slave from the neighboring kingdom of Courdon, where he belonged to a noble family that did not treat him especially well. Though he is still cautious and wary about being discovered, he has rather fond, protective feelings towards Medieville, as it's the first place he's ever felt something akin to safety. He is particularly protective of the King's Arms where he works - anyone messing with Ilsa or her inn is messing with him. His status as a former slave is only one of the things he would prefer to keep secret. GelquiePFA |
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neo username - dan4884 
