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[se] woven web of dreams
Forum: Mathair
Last Post: Amalia
23 minutes ago
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tit for tat
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55 minutes ago
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From the Ashes, part 1
Forum: Atheneum
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1 hour ago
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when water is as thick as...
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Rising Sun
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easy breezy
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Forum: Artisan's Guild
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2 hours ago
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The Count of Monte Caido
Forum: Ironbolt Penitentiary
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2 hours ago
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Coming Off The Rails
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  another story
Posted by: Kiada - 8 hours ago - Forum: The Settlement - No Replies

There was one thing Kiada was certain about. She had been a shitty friend. And despite that, there was a part of her that couldn’t quite face the music just yet. She had wanted to return to her dark, dusty home, to tell Seiji she was fine, but she hadn’t. She couldn’t. It had took months before she could even tell him about Ru’in’s death and why it had changed her so much over Longnight. This time, she’d have to explain her capture, and inadvertent “sacrifice” and her return.

But she knew he’d probably noticed Auni had finally left the home. The Luxere had been attached at Kiada’s hip the moment he knew she was back. And Kiada felt terrible for it, for not coming by sooner. She remained in the area, however, occasionally perched as her vulture self, outside the door to scout in and make sure he was alive and well. Yet up until now, she still couldn’t face the music. Soon, however, she realized it would just get worse and worse, and she wouldn’t be able to continue to keep it up without having to explain it further and further – embarrassing herself more and more as the days went by.

It was nearing dawn, and she and Auni began the trek to her home. She hopes the closer she gets that Seiji is awake – that she won’t frighten her friend. But most importantly, she hopes he’s been okay while she’s been gone. It feels like the blink of an eye before she’s on her doorstep, turning the door handle right before Auni bursts in to try and find Seiji – his hooves clacking along the ground bright and loud, and Kiada winces with the movement before stepping inside and quietly clicking the door shut.

Then she turns to face the music.

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  The Second Star to the Right
Posted by: Jigano - 11 hours ago - Forum: Shrine - No Replies

Some questions had answers within the Atheneum's hallowed halls, but others were like orphans, their answers lost to fire, or mildew, or the ravages of time... if they had ever existed at all.

Some gods were more likely to care about history and the potential answers it held than others, though. The Voice might have been one... but Jigano was wary of drawing her attention any more than he already had. His prayers to Ludo were usually of a more present or future nature, dealing with spirits and souls both living and dead, and he still had a healthy respect for Frey, though his fear had lessened with Rory's touch. Nor was he sure that Frey would care about the question he had in mind.

No, the white raven fluttered down like a ghost to the Shrine in the Glade he still thought of as a sanctuary, after a quick flight around to make sure there were no others nearby. He was a nervous bird as he alighted on a glowstone, just beginning to glimmer in the gloaming, and he took the time to breathe deeply, settling himself with meditation exercises before he hopped down to drop the single, perfect white stargazer lily he had brought on the altar.

Bouncing back, he flipped his wings to settle them, preening his feathers one last time to make himself look presentable before he bowed his head, chirring softly as he began his prayer.

Safrin, Lady of Stars, I would ask your help. I fear that I alone will not be enough to protect my friends in the days to come... and I would seek your guidance, if you are listening.

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  will you get up off your knees?
Posted by: Amalia - Yesterday, 03:40 AM - Forum: The Outskirts - Replies (6)

Attack. Defend. Repeat.

It is a simple drill, one she knows well, muscle memory making the work easy and light. Strike. Jab. Block. Sweep. Her feet move fluidly, leopard paws latching into the ground. She has been trying out different form combinations, giving herself more versatility, more skill, trying always to improve. The leopard's teeth, the owl's talon: every form offers another tool, another weapon in an arsenal to wield against her foes. The staff is red light in her hands, red as her anger, red as her blood.

Today she has chosen the leopard, because it is the one she feels most comfortable in, the one she knows the best. A tail offers balance, clawed feet finding purchase on the dusty ground. She is dressed simply, her long hair pulled into a plait, a tight green shirt and spun brown leggings showing off the wry muscles that mark her dancer's form. But the clearest mark of her intent is buried in her face: fire and steel, flint and embers, a stubborn line drawn by her clenched jaw.

Amalia is not a fighter. She was taught to defend, to keep her strength, to find solace in the comfort of routine. She has never had an enemy before, as such, never had a place to direct her anger. But now that there is someone to be angry with she finds she has a wealth of rage, deep untapped pools of fury running like rivers through her veins. So she practices, and practices, the same motions repeated until they are second nature, as familiar as taking breath. Strike. Jab. Block. Sweep.

Attack. Defend. Repeat.

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  easy breezy
Posted by: Melinoë - Yesterday, 01:17 AM - Forum: Sanctuary - Replies (11)

Sometimes during the long days the witch felt as though she were suffocating beneath the sweltering glare of the sun, baking into dust just as the ground beneath her feet. It buildings, she was sure. The stone. The broken roads. All of it was baking alive, putting her in quite a foul mood. Her mind buzzed with thoughts, more grim than not. Paralyzed by the heat for much of the day she found herself driven by restless energy into the early hours of dusk, patrolling the streets both for exercise and the experience - the ruins were vast and she had yet to investigate them fully.

Her footing was good, and she didn't stumble so readily now as she explored the streets that surrounded the Atheneum in wide lazy circles, noting interesting architecture or additions by the newcomers. Still, she carried the walking stick, though she rarely used it anymore for its intended purpose. Rather, anymore it felt like her only defense. She loved the stick and the false sense of security it gave her, hugging it with both hands across her chest, though it did not help clarify her thoughts any, though she could hardly fault it for this. It was only stick, after all.

A breath of blissfully cool air brought some relief, taking away some of the heat of the day. She stopped, glancing about to confirm her solitude before notching the stick in the crook of her left elbow and gathering up her hair. With a few turns of her wrist she'd wound it into a long coil, knotting it upon itself at the base of her neck. With the sun now vanishing behind a distant horizon she pulled up her sleeves and stood for a moment with her arms outstretched, begging for another gust. Just one.


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  i wanna give you back the open sky
Posted by: Amalia - 06-22-2019, 10:05 PM - Forum: The Spire - Replies (3)

Dawn, and she stands at the Spire's base, staring up at the shattered monolith while trying to suppress a shiver. She hates this place: it stings in her memory like a thousand tiny barbs, painful reminders of past mistakes lashing on her skin. Always a fixture in her mind, to see it broken and laid open makes the girl uncomfortable in ways she cannot explain. It wasn't meant to be like this, and yet she has taken the freedom greedily, entrenched herself in the outside world at the first opportunity to arise.

Is she so faithless, so feckless, to abandon her principals at the first sight of the horizon?

Amalia sighs, another shiver pushing over her despite the warm morning, the rising sun. Her staff is clutched in one hand; a bag hangs over her shoulder, containing food and small supplies. Breeches and a spun tunic make for simple ware, the ensemble complete by a long red scarf which she intends to tie around her face, in case the venomous spores remain. She had brought four extras, and she offers it to each of the arrivals in turn, just in case they forget.

When her team has assembled Amalia turns around, black eyes glittering with determination, a plan set in her veins. [say]"The tulmhainar was in the basement, so we're going to go down. Keep your scarves handy, in case there's still gas. And be careful."[/say] So saying, Amalia inhales deeply, her hand white knuckled as she takes the first step, staff bathing the staircase in crimson light.

This is a closed PQ to explore the Spire's basement and try to rescue the tulmhainar inside.
No post order!

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  a stern and stubborn rock
Posted by: Amalia - 06-22-2019, 08:06 PM - Forum: Shrine - Replies (5)

[say]"This one is for the New Gods."[/say]

Amalia's distaste is obvious in the way she wrinkles her nose, the disapproval of her voice. She had been delighted to learn there was a shrine in the Atheneum, her haven of books at last graced by divine presence. When it became clear who this shrine was for it felt like a punch in the gut, the wind of purpose draining from her sails and leaving her at sea.

Still, Ronin had asked to see the shrines, and this is one among them. Tucked behind a hidden bookcase, it is easy enough to miss: indeed, Amalia only learned its location recently, from other patrons of the ancient halls. She guides the demigod to it reluctantly, drawing open the secret shelf to reveal the sphere within, reaching out to grab Jyoti as the starwhale tries to approach it. The baker does not trust the thing.

Turning to look at Ronin, Amalia arches a brow in question, wondering what he will do next. She certainly has no intentions of reverence, no plan to pray at this particular site. The Voice is not one whose attention she is interested in garnering, except perhaps to ask her a few pointed questions, to demand answers for sins present and past.

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  rub some dirt in it
Posted by: Ronin - 06-22-2019, 06:45 PM - Forum: Monster Hunters Guild - Replies (3)

The height of LongHeat? Baking sun? Hot ground? Stifling air? And a bunch of people with a lot of tension to work through?

What a perfect day for some hard work.

Ronin had placed a notice on the exterior doors of the guildhall the day before:

Able bodies needed to create a training area.
Please report to the guildhall at noon tomorrow.

As the former Captain of Training in Northaven, Ronin already knew exactly what he was looking to create. And the bit of land outside the back of the guildhall was perfect for his needs. With him he had already gathered all manner of supplies, the hunter sitting on an upturned crate to see who would turn up. Sugar perched on his shoulder, breathing cool air onto the back of his neck. And he had never loved any creature more in that moment.

This is a PQ to set up some training grounds at the back of the Monster Hunters Guild! There are 3 available spaces.


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  Open | A Soldier Displaced
Posted by: Eli - 06-22-2019, 03:56 PM - Forum: The Spire - Replies (10)

"Weapons free! Weapons fre- arrghh!"

"This is Delta 2-1 requesting immediate casevac! They're everywhere! Anyone, respond!"

"Gunnery Chief Monnrow! ...Monnrow! This is Alpha 1-0 Come in...! Come-...

The voices, screams... were like a distant memory, fading slowly, echoing through his mind as he slowly groaned out of unconsciousness, an almost heavenly light filling his vision as his eyes slowly flickered open. The throbbing started almost immediately as if someone had started up a drill into his skull, a weary hand clutched his forehead, snarling bitterly, still dazed, confused. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was- he wasn't sure, it all felt like a fading dream, he tried, tried so hard to recall.

Fighting? ...Screams, bodies... it was all rushing too fast to pick out anything of significance, but he was still alive he knew that much, he could feel the air whipping against his face, it was cool, almost refreshing, a nagging sense told him it had been a while since he'd felt anything quite as nice.

Coming round, his vision finally came into focus, a black, imposing monstrosity jutted into the sky like it was trying to pierce it, with a heavy breath he closed his eyes again, this wasn't right, where was he. He sneered, his mind couldn't help him right now, it was as useless as ever, he needed to remember, needed to know- yet laying here wouldn't solve anything.

Rousing a modicum of energy from within he pushed himself to a sitting position, eyes peering around, no this wasn't familiar at all. Not in the slightest, it was all just.. ruins, remnants of a civilisation long gone. He finally pushed himself to stand, patting himself down, taking in his surroundings with a trained eye as his hand carefully fingered for his equipment. All he had was his knife and tattered uniform, everything else had gone. Had he been robbed while he'd been unconscious? He couldn't recall, but it didn't matter at this point. He turned, trying to see anything at all, but it all seemed desolate, he sighed, weighing up his position.

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  tit for tat
Posted by: Wessex - 06-22-2019, 02:42 PM - Forum: Woodland - Replies (1)

Red lichen collected, she pushes the events (be they good or bad) at Crimson Cataract from her mind and thinks only to the future. It’s a decent ways from the Greatwood to the glass smithy, taking the better part of the early and late evening. Arriving at the compound again, as the sky turns a brilliant royal purple, Wessex waits at the gate as the dogs announce her presence. She holds a little leather drawstring bag in her hand, full of the novelty plant Lanoch requested. Time to trade.

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  You too?
Posted by: Melinoë - 06-22-2019, 03:43 AM - Forum: Shrine - Replies (5)

She wondered if she had ever been a religious person.

The spiritual did not call to her as it might others - she did not find herself particularly impressed simply by the gods and spirits not only existing but apparently being rather friendly after a fashion, rather viewing it as a complex new natural law which, when faced with the opportunity to observe it first hand, she couldn't say no to this glaring opportunity.

If anyone asked, it was like the shrine wanted to be found. She didn't go looking, she'd have insisted upon interrogation. It practically came to her.

In her efforts to grow more familiar with the shelves she had simply stumbled upon it, and it didn't take a genius (idiot) to find the handholds, or figure out how the shelves pulled away. She she'd been stood here a moment, a very long moment, stood here staring at the orb, gnawing at her lip as her fingers stroked the place between her eyebrows lightly, opposite hand drumming against her elbow impatiently.

The more she looked at the shrine, the more the dust bothered her. How it looked so disorganized... so... forgotten. She fussed, picking up what looked to be a carved wooden figure of a plant surrounded by intricately carved vines and thorns and began to gently buff away the ages, blowing the dust from the fine grooves and niches as her brow furrowed.

The spiritual did not call to her as it might others, but the sentimental? That was a siren song. "You too, yeah? I can't just leave you like this, can I?"

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