Essentially what I am looking for first and foremost is something pre-technology. A world of swords, horses, candle-light, large wars and the like. But, I want something with fantasy thrown in. So different races from orcs to elves, Minotaur to dragons, beholders to gelatinous cubes.
Think D&D but you have even more scope to do as you want - nothing is off limits. I really mean nothing.
It will be very open plan. You can start wars, kill off characters at a whim, control a whole army, play one person or five if you can cope. I don't want to stunt your creativity. Any stories or plots you want can happen - of course they have to make sense to an extent, that is the only limit. No aliens from space, someone with a sub-machine gun or LotR-ghost-army-deus-ex-machina.
In fact, my only hard and steadfast rule is don't kill my guy without telling me - I'm willing to have him die if you have a good reason or a particularly good post for it. Just not kill him on a whim.
1. [b Characters] - I'm a male. I roleplay male's accordingly. Whilst I can roleplay female characters, they often are stereotypes or play very minimalist roles. It's a flaw in my roleplaying skill. I also tend to play one character with several part/side characters to flesh it out, but can play several full characters if need be or should said part/side characters become fun to play.
2. [b Post Lengths/Detail] - I'm all for detail. I want to know what a room looks like, whether the air had an acrid smell to it, the quality of the wine and the alluring look one gives another. Describe things and build me a picture as I will for you. As for length, it varies. If two people are talking or fighting, I understand very short posts. You say/ask/do what you want and await response. But likewise, if you're changing the setting or progressing the story or having a fight away from the other person, longer posts make more sense, posts of a thousand words and up, giving that all important detail. Don't think you have to be precise, that it has to be accurate - if it reads well and flows well then I will like it more than factually accurate statements. If you want a bit of guidance/what I do, go look at some of the threads I am in, namely Abberation or To Reclaim a Kingdom.
3. [b Romance] - I've noticed that most roleplays are slowly pulling away from romance focused stories, which I applaud, but this does not mean I am against it. If you want romance of some form then it must be natural and build up to something. As a base rule, I often say no romance until fifty to one-hundred posts. It is a good benchmark I've found that gives time to build up a background, build tension, build a story, create characters with backgrounds before throwing in that fickle emotion. My exception is characters who start off in a relationship though this is rare and needs a good reason why it starts as such.
Firstly, do not apply to this thread. Instead, drop me a PM with any questions, character designs and whatever else you like - but include either a link to a post you've made or tell me a roleplay of yours to look at or show me what you can do. I want to know whomever I roleplay with can write - [i petty of me no?]
If you don't have an example, write me two hundred words describing a room - be descriptive please.
If I am in a thread with you currently I would advise against applying. Those I am roleplaying with currently I am happy with the stories we are writing but I would like to see other people. It's me, not you.
I don't do skeletons. I want to read in your writing, in your words, about your characters personality, their backstory, their thoughts and feelings, their weapons and armour and items/goals/ideals they hold dear to them. A skeleton is.. a cheat sheet. You don't in life get given a list of a persons past and their likes and dislikes.. though I have just described Facebook in essence. Just use your posts to describe your character.
If you want to use a picture so be it, I can use one too if it helps you. But don't feel obligated to find one.
Don't hesitate about being judged either, as the worst you'll get is a 'no thanks'.
You don't have permission to post in this thread.
[google-font http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Montserrat][Montserrat Sevorin had swept down from the carriage and the sounds of sorcery towards the heart of caravan where the guttural yells of the barbaric bandits and the frightened screams of the travellers were mingling amongst the [i ring] of metal or the [i thunk] of wood and braying of the pack animals. This symphony of sound was exhilarating to the man who lips curled at the edges ever so slightly. This was his forte and his calling in life and the barbaric symbols adorning his head atoned to this kind of combat. Even as the glaive slashed across a man’s chest, cutting deep and spraying blood up his front, Sevorin only looked more the stereotypical blood lust driven berserker of the northern tribes.
His movements were quite fluid for a larger being. He was not as swift or elegant like an elf, per se, but he moved decisively and with purpose. Strong hands gripped the pole arm like an extension of himself giving it crushing power behind each flicker and slice to those bandits foolish enough to turn on him. Moving down the line of carts he seemed nigh on unstoppable. Sinking the head of his weapon into his fifth successive foe it wedged itself between two ribs, lodged tight.
It was proving troublesome to remove from the corpse of the man he had killed when a triumphant yell came from a new attacker off to his side. The man raised his sword seeing Sevorin had become separated from his own weapon, but when it swung down it stopped suddenly before reaching the man's chest, the tip brushing along the silver chain. A gloved hand wrapped about the blade and held onto it tightly having blocked the attack. No blood trickled down the appendage though the fabric had torn, and with confusion and anger the attacker tried to use brute force to push the sword down. It did not budge such was the grip. Instead a fist shot out from the fighter and with a crunch of the man's nose and a squeal from his lips the bandit went down to one knee. The sword he had left behind was unceremoniously turned in hand and the point thrust down upon the top of the man's skull. With a small spasm he fell the rest of the way to the ground with his sword left protruding out his head.
Giving himself a moment to gloat over his kill he could be forgiven for ignoring the battle at large around him, though it was coming to an end as bandits grabbed what they could from the carts and were now busy making off for the hills they had come from. They were leaving without a dozen or two of their men, but that was their way. Whether it cost one life or all of them, their pursuit of stolen wealth and fortune would overcome such tribulations though. They could replace bodies with the wealth they made. Even those limping off, supported by friends whilst clutching at their wounds, could retire to a tavern and drink their pain away – even drink until their inevitable death from their wounds. A poor death in Sevorin's mind. One should die on the battlefield, weapon in hand and screaming vulgarities.
The tall man had not noticed how sounds about him had dulled, his breathing become much more heavy, his body tingling with the adrenaline rush. Only when the soft and sweet voice of a particular elfin woman slipped into his euphoric state did he notice all this. Turning to the crisp voice against the background of sullen noise about then, he took a moment to comprehend what she was possibly talking about. Speckled in blood, lines of crimson running down his cheeks, he was a sight to behold. Perhaps it played to why those about the duo chose to keep to themselves and reorganise the caravan lest they take the ire of the man or his magic-inclined accomplice.
Whatever the reason, Sevorin, after a delay of a few seconds, looked down to the bloody hand of the smaller woman and nodded.[+royalblue “[i Ja], I believe I can help some [i fräulein].”] His tone was deeper and his accent that more crude as if the refined veneer from earlier had lapsed and he had become more primal. Pulling her closer and turning her side on she was swept up in no time, a hand about her back, the other under her knees. In this cradled fashion he carried her back down the line and toward the carriage they had began at come the beginning of the fight, unaware that being covered with the iron tang of blood would make her that much more nauseas. The door had been wretched open and blood ran in a steady trickle to the ground. He did not go to lay her inside however, going to the back where a large chest was strapped to the wooden vehicle. It was locked and fastened tight and save a few chips where the bandits had tried to break in, it was perfectly flat and ideal for placing her atop. Given the location of her wound he could not well have her sitting upright and so she was laid down carefully.
[+royalblue “It is a clean wound,”] he commented as his golden eyes looked on the wound with an affirmative nod,[+royalblue “I can stem the bleeding easily enough, but I cannot heal it, I am not gifted like you.”] He spoke softly, leaning closer to her wound and wiping off his hands as best he could on his clothing. They were as clean as could be without water, and so he reached to his belt where he retrieved a small pouch and untied the string, pulling it open and offering it up to her.[+royalblue “Take some, chew it, but do not swallow it.”] Inside were leaves, quite fresh and supple, and should she follow his advice she would find them quite sweet and citrus like an orange. Allowing her time to chew the leaves whilst he made a further inspection of the wound he nodded again with confirmation it would be okay.
[+royalblue “The juices will help to numb the pain. Whilst the paste,”] his hand lifted up to her head for her to spit out the green mush to his gloved fingers,[+royalblue “will help the wound to fight any infection.”] Moving the hand back down he placed the pouch atop her chest for her to take from as she wished.[+royalblue “Apologies for the discomfort.”] He muttered quickly before he placed the paste at her wound and with his thumb pressed it into the cut directly. He felt her warm stomach tense about his digit and made sure to work quickly. He repeated this action until all the paste was used, finishing by placing his hand across her stomach and holding it firmly so that she did not struggle too much and aggravate things.[+royalblue “Hopefully you can focus your mind enough soon to help with closing the cut, otherwise I must sew it shut, and that will leave behind a scar.”] From his homeland he was led to believe elf's placed a lot of their pride in their appearance. Any blemish, scar, or disfigurement was met with horror and he did not wish that on her. Though he had a suspicion that this unique girl was the one to break the norm.
[google-font "https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cutive+Mon][tab ][Cutive+Mon [size14 Calliope began a conjuration again, after noting Sevorin's skeptic approval, but she did not manage much before her concentration was broken by the clang of steel on steel. She took in a sharp breath as Sevorin knocked the approaching bandit's head, leaving even her ears ringing. With a curt nod of thanks, she began again, focusing on a different spell this time. Quickly, a wave of shimmering green magic formed around her hands, moving up her arms and wrapping itself around her body. Once it had enveloped her, it seemed to almost soak into her skin without a trace. With a wave of her fingers, an elegant Elvish dagger appeared in her grip with a small pop and she took up a fighting stance. Calliope's ears twitched back with the sounds of screams mingling with the thuds and slashes of blade against thin fabric all around her. She was largely unfamiliar with battle and the sounds somewhat unnerved her, her grip on the dagger loosening somewhat.
[tab ]Only a second passed before a large hand gripped Calliope's forearm. She immediately tensed, her grip on the hilt of the dagger tightening as she looked up to see who had grabbed her. To her relief, it was Sevorin, thoughts and plans on strategy clearly running through his mind. He left her with simple orders and retreated further back into the caravan, leaving her to interpret them how she wished. Her mind whirred, trying to think of a way to keep the bandits from penetrating past her. Calliope chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before raising her hands, preparing for another wave of magic.
[tab ]A similar wave of shimmering green magic rolled across the ground between Calliope and the rest of the road. The wave shimmered upward, past her head and farther. Finally, the magic burst into flame, creating a wall separating the caravan from the stragglers of the bandits. Satisfied with her work, Calliope turned and ran to join the bulk of the fray. She glanced over to Sevorin and saw that he was fully occupied fighting the bandits. The shift in her gaze turned out to be a mistake, as one of the attackers snuck up beside her and thrust his dagger towards her heart. She spun around to stop his arm, and the dagger fell slightly short, scratching her arm instead. The magic that had sunk into her skin earlier shimmered to the surface at the area of impact and flickered, the spell faltering slightly as Calliope inhaled sharply at the pain. Her own dagger flew out viciously, catching in the bandit's eye socket, as her gaze flicked to the flames she had conjured, thankfully still blazing. She pulled her dagger from the corpse of the bandit and focused on a small group of teenage boys who were being harassed one-to-one by the bandits. They had made it thus far, but it was obvious they were losing nerve, so Calliope rushed over to assist. Her dagger sliced and slashed into the body of the closest attacker, and he soon fell, caught off-guard by her attack.
[tab ]The boys continued their defense with renewed vigor, and began to push the remaining bandits backwards towards the hills. One bandit pushed past them and lunged towards Calliope with shortsword drawn, too fast for her to dodge. The shimmering green magic that coated her body shattered, and she winced. The attacker was quickly put down by other members of the caravan, and she felt thankful that the bandits were on the retreat, because the wall of flames she had conjured flickered out. Her abdomen went from no pain to exploding with it, bringing tears to her eyes. It was most certainly worse than the time she had broken her arm as a child falling from a tree. Calliope pressed a hand to her wound, attempting to staunch the bleeding while she frantically searched her brain for the healing spell her aunt had taught her. Instead, her gaze fell upon Sevorin, and it hit her. He was a seasoned warrior, he would know how to deal with wounds like this. She examined herself gently as she stumbled closer to him; the wound was deep enough to cause immense pain, but not so deep as to spill her insides.
[tab ]"[+goldenrod Sevorin, I hope you know how to deal with this. I can't keep my mind straight enough to help myself very much,]" She said, as the sickly sweet, metallic smell of blood permeated her nose, almost nauseatingly overpowering everything else, mostly because it was the stench of her own blood. The other members of the caravan began to gather themselves, getting rid of the remaining bandits who had been incapacitated during the battle and tending to their wounded, not sparing a glance toward her.
[google-font http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Montserrat][Montserrat Golden eyes narrow and large gloved hands tense both about the glaive staff and the holstered weapon at his hip. Her acknowledgement and voiced agreement that something was not right in the world around them was taken as fact. Sevorin was a seasoned fighter and thus knew when to use others abilities to his advantage. Her superior hearing on account of her elven background was to be respected and therefore gave them a moment to prepare, not leave them completely bewildered by the sudden ambush.
It had been a well timed attack he would admit later. With the caravan in a slight depression between hills they had been able to hem the line in and therefore attack at the heart of the group without having to close much distance. The bandits numbers at an estimate were less than the caravan but given half to three quarters of the latter were children, weak and/or elderly – not exactly strong men and women capable of wielding a sword – then the advantage was surely with the attackers. Thankfully only a few carried projectile weapons, the rest armed with axes, short swords, spears and other crude weaponry they had found or taken from previous attacks. It was a blessing truly as he would not be overly cautious of taking a barbed arrow in the back whilst in the fight and could therefore attack unperturbed by such thoughts.
As Calliope went about her magical conjuration, Sevorin was quick to draw the holstered weapon at his belt, a quite interesting device by design though not by nature. Simplified; it was a small crossbow able to be used single handedly. The metal limbs were folded back to a catch that when pulled would allow them to spring forward and pull the string taut. The trigger was two fold – one upper and one lower. This allowed the use of two bolts which could be fired simultaneously to take on a single foe or in a relay so that two enemies could be attacked in succession. This latter option was his choice of attack, firing at a bald man who descended upon an elderly couple and their wagon, snarling as he raised his spiked club up high above his head. The bolt took him in the side, jolting him mid-stride and toppling him to the ground. His triumphant look was not one of crippling pain and he thrashed about the floor where he would soon bleed out, his heavy coughing and squeaks and wheezing signs that a lung had been punctured.
The second bolt was kept in reserve as the intense heat felt at his back had the fighter turning back toward his new found accomplice just in time for her whirling light show to be cast toward the target. Knocked from his feet as if he had hit a wall the man fell limp on the ground, unconscious but alive. Sevorin looked at her in scepticism for the outcome but he did not admonish her use of magic. He had come to respect and admire magic users despite his unfavourable and unique upbringing. Nodding his head to her in confirmation of her actions he turned the crossbow at another attacker and pulled the lower trigger. The bolt was not properly sighted and so it flew wildly off into the distance. Feeling the air beside his head flutter with the passing projectile, the attacker turned on the duo beside one another and charged forward.
The crossbow with pushed to the side, under the carriage they remained near to and he brought both hands to the glaive. Stepping out before the woman with the freckled skin he used the bladed end of the polearm to deflect away the swing of the man's sword. With great skill he turned the wooden staff forward and the metal butt of the weapon whipped across the bandits head. There was a satisfying thunk as he made contact and the man's body spun almost entirely around before falling down to the ground. With that one dealt with – he would not rise again soon – the experienced fighter turned to see how the rest of the caravan faired.
The woman with the engraved shoulder plates and her half-orc friend were helping as best they could. The former ran her horse up the line and took swings at anything that strayed too close, connecting several times with multiple opponents. The latter greenskin used her staff to bat away those she could, but with inaudible words she would send sparks of lightning and spheres of black fire out of her staff to attack those aforementioned long-range attackers. Their screams as they went up in flames mingled with those of the travellers, being hacked at and slaughtered with no chance to defend themselves. The battle was at a turning point as defenders scrambled to try and make their greater skills come to bear on the numbers of the bandits.
Seeing that he would need to join the two women if they were not to be overwhelmed, Sevorin turned to his half-elven ally, grasping her forearm tightly for a moment.[+dodgerblue “This area is safe, do not let them by you or they will roll up the line and finish us off.”] The order was left with her to interpret as she wished, trusting her to do what was necessary as he left her be and darted back towards the carts to help.
[tab ][Cutive+Mon [size14 Calliope had known that her distinct lack of funds would be a problem for most, and it seemed Sevorin was no exception. This impression was further embedded into her mind when he fixed her with a look that was ever darker and more glowering than before - she hadn't thought it possible, but apparently it was. In her own defense, Calliope did have coin, though not much. She had earned most of it doing odd jobs here and there on her journey to the Wildlands.
[tab ]Sevorin's words struck a chord inside Calliope's heart. He thought that the only way to escape a dangerous situation was by killing. Though there were some extreme circumstances in which it was necessary, she tended to avoid it when she could. The thought made her slightly insecure about her abilities and the way she handled danger. Surely if a battle-hardened mercenary like him thought it was the only way, she must be softer, more innocent to the world than she thought. Calliope caught the stiffening of Sevorin's stature out of the corner of her eye, and felt herself involuntarily doing the same. Something was off in their surroundings, but she couldn't quite discern what. After a moment of silent watching and listening, the pair relaxed and Sevorin began to speak again.
[tab ]"[+goldenrod I'm sure you're more entertaining than you think, not that I need much entertainment,]" Calliope let another smile sweep across her face. The smile faltered for a moment as her ears twitched, picking up on [i something], though she still couldn't discern what it was. "[+goldenrod Did you pick up on that, too?]" She whispered softly to her walking partner. Something was obviously off, and the air grew thick with silence as the rest of the caravan also began to feel the tension grow. With a loud war cry, the silence was shattered like glass, as bandits descended upon the caravan from both sides. Calliope's eyes flared as she glanced towards Sevorin.
[tab ]"[+goldenrod I suppose I'll get to show you my competency sooner than I expected!]" Calliope quipped. Her brow furrowed slightly as she focused, a sphere of colors appearing in her hand. Pinks and golds and purples and blues and greens swirled together, creating an enchanting sight, which caused not only several commoners in the caravan, but also one or two of the bandits to stop in their tracks and stare. The air around the sphere seemed to shimmer with both magic and, for those close enough to feel it, intense heat. The heat didn't seem to bother Calliope in the slightest, as she began to swirl her hand, causing the colors in the sphere to move faster and faster. With a whispered word, the orb shot forward at one of the bandits and slammed directly into his chest. He cried out as the wind was knocked from his body and he fell to the ground, motionless and silent save for the slight wheezing coming from his chest. Calliope looked quite pleased with herself as she knew he would awake several hours later with a severe ache in his chest, but nothing more. She spared Sevorin a quick glance, hoping to see his reaction to her show of magic.
[google-font http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Montserrat][Montserrat The woman seemed unperturbed by his insinuations of the danger faced outside of the Kingdoms. He rather liked that about her. In an idyllic world she would be able to travel unmolested and safe without guardians. But perhaps in her youth she had not yet seen the devils of the world and become hardened to it. As someone with Elven heritage then she could live a very long life and should pace herself. The desire to see everything, have no worries and just explore was either a youthful endeavour or left to rich elders who spent their waning years flitting about on excursions – though they often never left the civilised world. Putting aside her appearance would be difficult, not least when she advised she would not be able to pay him but rather follow him about.
Sevorin was not a fool, he knew when he was being fleeced of something; this time his company and solidarity. Perhaps he needed to work on his brooding look to keep such hopeful spirits at bay. He was a man who valued his personal time and the self-seclusion of living to his own means. That could be the bitter man who brought with him many negative past experiences of being in groups. Or it could be the wise beliefs of an experienced mercenary who knew not to trust anyone but himself. He had pondered it long enough when she turned those shining eyes and hopeful smile on him once more.
[+dodgerblue “A vast majority think of themselves as competent in a fight. They like to believe they have the fortitude and resolve to kill indiscriminately and at will in order to save themselves. I’ve seen many such people fall by the wayside.”] There was no harm in being truthful with her about things. His eyes ran over her petite figure a final time and followed it with a soft shrug of his shoulders. [+dodgerblue “I admit from your outer appearance you do not strike me as the most competent of combatants,”] he was a touch down heartened that she had tucked her ears back out of sight, [+dodgerblue “but if you got yourself here then I suppose you must have some resolve about you.”]
His hand about the glaive tensed slightly as a feeling of unease ran over him. Perhaps it had been a particularly cold gust of wind but he let his large lustrous eyes look around the caravan momentarily. [+dodgerblue “I will remain in Gentar for a day or two in case more work turns up. If nothing comes available then I will move on to some of the villages not far away. You can join me should you wish, but of course you must pay your own way.”] He spoke softly as his attention was still partly distracted at their environment. Satisfied for the moment that he was looking for nothing, he returned his attention to the spritely woman. [+dodgerblue “I must note; I cannot promise it will be all that entertaining. I’ve been told by some,"] he gestured with his head to the carriage,[+dodgerblue "that I am terrible company.”] He offered a modest smile, high cheekbones quite evident when he did.
[tab ][Cutive+Mon [size14 The man, Sevorin, had fixed Calliope with a particularly glowering look, his honey-gold eyes
locked on her own amethyst ones. His arm had been tense and rigid with muscle under her fingertip,
and the tall Elven glaive that leaned against his shoulder only solidified her notions that he was
hardened by time and battle. The words he spoke were kind and gracious enough, despite his harsh
demeanor. Calliope's fingers ran themselves over the pointed tip of her ear once more, becoming
hyper-aware of their existence there. With a gentle brush of a finger, the ear was mostly hidden by
golden hair. At the same time, Sevorin's hand was raised up, brushing through a dark undercut with
intricate detailing. The designs reminded her of stories her aunt used to tell of tribes of barbarians.
Each tribe was said to have a different style. She wondered which his meant, or if she was entirely
wrong and he had just done his hair that way because he wanted to.
[tab ]The more Sevorin spoke, the more ignorant and dense Calliope felt. Though she had tried her
best to learn more about the world outside the tranquil, secluded glade where she had been raised, it
apparently hadn't been very thorough. Despite the man's warnings, Calliope found herself intrigued
by the port city of Levin; she had never seen the coast and found herself longing for it. She
attempted to imagine what it might look like, but it was difficult - she had never found a very
detailed description of what it looked like, just that it was blue and so large you couldn't see land on
the other side. The largest body of water she had ever seen was the lake close to her home. Calliope
couldn't help but feel her lips curl into a slight smirk at Sevorin's lack of faith in her ability to keep herself safe.
[tab ]"[+goldenrod If I am to be completely honest with you, I want to see everything there is to see. The
mountains, deserts, coasts, forests. I want to see it all,]" Calliope said, excitement coursing through
her lilting voice. "[+goldenrod I doubt I have the amount of coin you would require for your services, but I
think it would be wonderful to join you on your escapades. My only price would be for rooms and
meals. The sights you must see on your travels would be enough to satisfy me. That is, of course, if
you'll have me,]" She paused before continuing with another thought. "[+goldenrod No matter what you
may think of me based on my appearance, I can handle myself quite well in a skirmish.]" Her
amethyst eyes seemed to sparkle with hope as she glanced again towards Sevorin, watching closely
for his reaction.
[google-font http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Montserrat][Montserrat It takes several minutes for the carriages to get on its way and the mass of people to begin shuffling out and under the gatehouse. The gilded carriage with its heavy cargo, giddily supping at a goblet of wine proffered by the effeminate Elf in all probability, is the first to shade and roll its way out. A heavy thump on the roof of the vehicle informs the driver to avoid the potholes lest he stain the satin cushions with wine – though like the guard this man can only sigh and do his best to head along the dirt track with consideration.
Before long the two women on horseback noted before have swiftly trotted forward and taken position at the head of the procession, offering those they pass a nod of their heads in greeting. They are likely hired by the locals with what gold they can muster. With his well trained eye, Sevorin can surmise they would hold themselves well in a fight. Still, it left them rather short of combatants should anything happen. Like the cattle they were the crowd spills forth slowly in a four deep long line, grunting and mumbling to one another, swearing and chastising the bodyguard of the merchant as if he would say anything to the man for his behaviour. He was here to protect the plump man, not to keep up public relations and ensure harmony.
They were under way for all of five minutes before a disturbance from behind drew a curious look back from the guard, not particularly keen on having to break up a fight amongst the herd because someone had stepped on their shoe or given another a dirty look and yet aware that if he was to not endure hours of barked orders by his employer, he must keep the rabble in tow. The general populace of the world were simple minded and that led to simple problems being solved by simple solutions – usually a knife in the gut or a dislodged tooth or two. It was a good enough reason for him to remain out of their throng and up beside the carriage. Those simple solutions were enough for him to keep to his own company for the duration of the journey.
A muttered prayer to those in the skies above left his lips, whispering hope that he could see through this expedition without incident. However he felt the gods were not smiling on him that day, or perhaps they were in a different manner, as a particularly chipper young thing tapped at his arm having caught up to him. She would feel a particularly cold and rigid arm under her light touch, though when his honey-coloured eyes turn toward her there is a fire dancing behind them. His face is fixed, lips taut, jaw set.
Whether she chose to ignore his glowering look, or was too preoccupied with flashing her best smile, extra dimples on the side, or if she was quite simple like the others and couldn't take his hint, she ignored him and instead tried to play off the locals comments on her background. He had to admit she was rather distracting and different in just appearance alone. With ashen skin, long gilded hair, smooth and high cheekbones all framing vivid mauve eyes that looked at him playfully. The smattering of freckles over the bridge of a slender nose is a beautiful touch. Oh how he could imagine most men fell for such an idyllic face to say nothing of her slim physique that put the buxom and thicker women behind in a state of envious displeasure no doubt.
[+dodgerblue “First, Sevorin is just my surname, helps keep things nice and formal I find.”] His voice is an octave above where you imagine it should sit with a tall man as himself, a level of intelligence also sits hidden within. Though he has turned his eyes back forward to half his inspection of her the apology does not sit quite rightly with him.[+dodgerblue “Second, there is no need for apology in my presence Miss Calliope as I understand only too well the callous manners of simple folk with anything,”] he ponders just how to address their shared hardship without ending in insult,[+dodgerblue “uncommon.”] That would have to do.[+dodgerblue “I have merely taken to hiding my non-conformity, as do most like us, so it is quite refreshing to see you so openly flaunt your uniqueness.”]
His gloved hand, the one not holding the Elven glaive against his left shoulder, rises up to brush through his hair, brushing along a decorative undercut that should she be familiar with the world at large, would denote him as part of the Northern Barbarians of the Kuttan Mountains. It was not likely but a chance. Then again, her question in of itself denoted she may not be particularly aware of the world.
[+dodgerblue “As to your question Miss, if you want to find somewhere interesting then I suggest heading back the other way whilst you can.”] His words were littered with threat and warning all the same. This was not a journey for those seeking an adventure of sorts.[+dodgerblue “You seem innocent to this caravan; a late arrival?”] When she offers no protest to his assumption he continues.[+dodgerblue “Well, let me catch you up. We are heading to Gentar. It is the only large town of the Wildlands, surviving mostly due to the stubborn determination of the population. That is at least a night's journey away. A number of villages dot the lands around it, but the only other noteworthy settlement is the coastal port of Levin; though I would highly advise you against such a journey. You would be in chains and sold off to one of the desert Lords harems in hours.”] He was being truthful, though the downturn of his lips showed it was not a truth he liked to speak of.
Rolling his shoulders as his hand returned to his waist, he tried to think of anything else worth note.[+dodgerblue “Depends really what you are looking for. Temples and historical sights? Exotic foods and drink? Treasure and plunder? After I drop off this,”] again he pauses as his eyes run over the curtained window ahead of them,[+dodgerblue “lets go with human – in Gentar, I will be seeking another employer. If you have the coin you will have my guidance.”]
[tab ][Cutive+Mon [size14 Sunlight filtered gently through the tall grain crops, the sounds of wildlife mingling with those of the nearby town, Heran. That very same sunlight fell on and illuminated the pale, but freckled face of a woman.
[tab ]Her appearance was fitting for the region, though it was not the one from which she hailed. Faint traces of dirt mingled with the freckles on her otherwise smooth skin, and her golden blonde hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, finally resting at the small of her back. The pair of ears that parted her hair were pointed at the tips, but not elongated, betraying her mixed heritage. She wore a long dress of gentle greens and browns, cinched at her waist with a simple leather belt, and a plain dark brown cloak was tied around her neck. The few belongings she carried with her were stowed away in a satchel that hung next to her hip. She seemed, to all onlookers, to be unarmored and unarmed, dangerous things to be for a lady travelling alone. However, she seemed unbothered by this fact, a smile splitting her face and showing off her deep set of dimples. The heavy scent of grain gave way to an earthy smell of dirt and manure as the woman exited the field she had been trudging through and entered the limits of Heran.
[tab ]Her vivid purple eyes scanned the main thoroughfare for a few moments before she found her quarry - the caravan. Though she was travelling alone and unarmed, she was of enough intelligence to know not to travel through the Wildlands on her own. By the looks of it, it was about to depart from the town, so the woman rushed towards it, hoping to find her place right in the middle. The middle of anything was decidedly the best place to be in her mind. In the front, one would be the first to be attacked, if an attack came, and though she fancied herself rather capable in combat, she thought to avoid it as often as possible. In the back, all the sights would already have been sullied by everyone else travelling through the area, and the end was generally reserved for the sick, elderly, and infirm. Though she had nothing against those types of people, they were not the type she would prefer to socialize with. So, it was to the middle with her, and she made her way there swiftly.
The woman's ears twitched as they picked up on a rather brash voice cut over the crowd.
[tab ]"[+red [i Sevorin! Get these people moving now! It is too damn hot in here and I will not sit around this filthy cesspool any longer!]]" The woman's eyes, along with everyone else's, it seemed, followed the sound to the voice's origin. It was a rather fat merchant man leaning out of his carriage to yell at another man who was presumably his guard. With some authority, this Sevorin nodded and raised a hand with a swirl. All at once, the caravan started forward, almost like a herd of sheep all deciding at once to follow each other. The woman might've thought it funny if she didn't know the reputation of the area they were entering. The grim faces of those around her reflected those very thoughts - no one was ever excited to enter the Wildlands.
[tab ]Curiosity soon overtook the woman's mind; curiosity about this man, Sevorin, and his perceived authority, about the fat, red-faced man in the carriage, about the history of the area. The most logical place to begin sating this curiosity seemed to her to be the man Sevorin. She did not care for his position near the front of the procession, but slowly made her way up to him anyway. During her journey there, the woman felt several hands brushing through her hair and against her waist, accompanied by hushed whispers, comments on her heritage. The woman was used to comments of this nature, as half-elves were rather rare, especially in this part of the world. However, she brushed the whispers aside as well as the wandering hands and continued on her path to Sevorin. After a few minutes of walking swiftly through the crowd, she made it to her target. She matched his pace beside him and tapped his arm gently to get his attention.
[tab ]"[#DAA520 [i Hello, sir. Sevorin, I presume? My name is Calliope, it's a pleasure to meet you,]]" The woman said, a lilting, melodic voice leaving her lips. These same lips parted a second later, flashing Sevorin a brilliant smile, her dimpled cheeks a bit rosy from the brisk walk to her current position. Calliope reckoned that she was the only person in the crowd with the audacity to smile in the Wildlands. This was only reinforced by a comment, louder than it was likely meant to be, from behind them.
[tab ]"[+grey [i She shouldn't smile here, it's just inviting a curse or an attack! That [b half-breed]'ll be the death of us all!]]" Calliope turned her head in the direction of the man who had said it, golden hair swinging and glinting in the sunlight, and flashed him an even bigger smile, her amethyst eyes glinting with just a hint of spite. After a moment, she turned back to Sevorin with a graceful nod.
[tab ]"[#DAA520 [i My apologies, many people don't take very kindly to my heritage,]]" Calliope said softly, brushing a hand over the pointed tip of her ear. "[#DAA520 [i In any case, do you mind if I ask where you're going after we pass through the Wildlands? I've never been this far away from home, and I'd like to find somewhere interesting to go.]]"
[google-font http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Montserrat][Montserrat In amongst the idyllic setting of the village of Heran, from it's small aged wood and stone structures, to the calm demeanour of it's rural inhabitants and the soft melodies of wildlife that mingled with crackling fires and baying children, stood a fair skinned individual. A man to be precise.
From his outward appearance he was justifiably an outlander. Smooth cheeks and clean pale skin; an oddity amongst the usual bearded and filth-caked populace of the village. About his torso sat shimmering chain mail, wrought of Dwarven silver to the power and strength of triple steel, it was close-woven of many rings, as supple almost as linen and cold as ice. With the addition of a lustrous Elven glaive resting again his shoulder, well; to say he was a man of war was a touch of an understatement.
He stood in the doorway of the tavern, the only one in Heran and central to the lives of those within. See, trade and prosperity flowed from such a place. Wealthy merchants, vagabonds and travellers alike spend good coin for bed and board. In turn the tavern would draw it's resources from the surrounding area; farmers to provide ale, meat, bread, eggs and milk to feed the guests, carpenters to repair often broken chairs and tables and guards to enforce peace – peace was key to the aforementioned prosperity. The tavern of Heran played a greater role than most as it was the last significant outpost and situated on the edge of this particular Kingdom before the Wildlands.
What are the Wildlands you ask? Is it not obvious? A land given to general lawlessness. Bandits and brigands pray on lone travellers, feral animals and wildmen – all but one and the same – thrive with their more primal natures and great monsters abound. Lose your way and you are likely to join them. That is why those of some intellect sought safety in numbers and thus the reason for our beginning; the caravan.
The caravan had been gathering for the past week now. The reasoning behind the long waiting time was to allow for the numbers to swell. Groups and individuals alike had been gathering through the morning, trickling in from surrounding homes or having spent the night in the tavern if they possessed some coin.
The armed man's client in fact, a wealthy merchant and his young male Elven slave, had taken ownership of the more costly accommodation. With no further rooms available the guard had made do with seating himself opposite the merchants doorway. This is how he had spent most of his nights on this already two month long journey; sitting on the floor, often outside with a rough blanket or whatever provisions he had wrapped about his lithe frame. After all chain mail was not made for warmth.
The duo had ignored him for most of their journey and the gesture was returned. The bulky merchant didn't take to the guard and the slave was too shy to speak out of turn. The reclusive male generally keapt to his own company, not in search of stimulating conversation with an overweight prosperous drunk or his timid soft spoken whore.
He did however catch the familiar sound of shifting and groaning floorboards, straining under an almighty load. The master jabbering an order, soft and light footsteps following as the servant left to settle his debts with the tavern owner. Moments later and the rotund man burst forth of the building with a deep grunt and breathing heavily through his nose, a thick boar pelt around his broad shoulders and many bejewelled rings upon his chubby fingers, glinting in the morning sun. Upon seeing his mercenary, for that is what he was, not the man's personal bodyguard but a hired sword, his balding head wrinkled and a scowl tugged at his already drooping jowls. His gut jostled as he turned to confront him, the stretched and stained fabric of his shirt shifting with him.
[i [+red "What are you doing out here? The last order I gave you was to specifically wait outside my chambers! What good is a guard if he is no-where near to protect his master?”]] He smacked his lips and openly scoffed, sucking at the air as his cheeks flushed red.[i [+red “You are next to useless Sevorin. If it were not the day of departure I would think nothing of expelling you from my sight; without payment might I add!"]] He rolled his eyes as if he needed to emphasise his point.
The guard's gloved hand tightened about the glaive handle at the mentioning of withholding his payment, his lips remained pursed and together. Eyes of gold stared across to his larger adversary and the implied threat met it's mark.
[i [+red “B-bloody serf. Just-.. just because you have the slightest modicum of civility, what with your.. simple armour and your crude weaponry, does not make you considered a member of civil society. You are an animal and will amount to little more than that.”]] With spittle running down his chin and fury dancing in his eyes, the wealthy man lifted his chin so that he might look down upon the guard. In return, his opposite shifted the weapon from once shoulder to the other, the movement causing many ripples of fat to shudder in fear of being attacked. With no attack forthcoming however, and shame burning his cheeks a sweet cherry red, he turned and sauntered off toward his personal carriage. Kept to the side of the tavern near to the stable, the driver had awoken much earlier to ready the horses for the journey and ensure it was all well tended for.
Sevorin, as we now know him by, seemed to relax as the tavern deck stopped jolting and he looked down on the balding mass with indifference. In the end he was just a client, a payment, a task to endure and a fee to collect. This was the outcome of poor wealth management. Having to take any work he could find. If he had not been in need of the coin he would have struck the man back in Everlin before they had began.
The Elven slave stepped out from the tavern not long after, tucking a heavy leather pouch onto a hook on his luxurious waistband, tied about a long white tunic. As his gaze rose from the floor to seek the whereabouts of his master, he recoiled upon being confronted by the gaze of Sevorin. The two men had a quiet mutual relationship; don't talk to one another, simply tolerate the other. With a nod of his head toward the stable, Sevorin directed the obedient Elf away with a whispered thanks, blonde curls falling over his young innocent features. In turn, the armed man moved off his perch by the tavern and toward the baying group of travelers waiting to leave, of which two women drew his attention most. There was a human, older in age, sporting metallic shoulder pads that bore the face of a bear and an intriguing scar that curved around her eye. The second, an orc, though given her more amber skin, her orc features more gentle than others he had seen, he surmised her being a half-orc; though what else was in her was a guess at best.
He caught the eye of the human female, and the two watched one another for a few seconds before the carriage came rattling steadily around the corner and made for the gates to the village. A pounding against the inside brought the drivers hands up sharply to pull at the reigns, horses braying at being forced to stop so soon into their rhythm. A fading red curtain covering a small window within the door of the carriage was thrust aside as the guard turned to his client.
[i [+red "Sevorin! Get these people moving now! It is too damn hot in here and I will not sit around this filthy cesspool any longer!"]] No tact of course. Why should he care for the feelings of lesser folk? They were beneath him, their feelings would not bring him sleepless nights. The curtain was curtly pulled back into place.
A faint nod of understanding between the driver and the guard and a gloved hand of Sevorin's went up. Black felt ran from beneath the glove to where the chain mail ended at his upper arm, jostled with the circular action he made. His gaze was brought back to the two women from before and he proffer them each a curt bow of his head before stepping over toward the gates. Those who had been milling around, awaiting some general order from someone with a touch of authority for them to leave, took Sevorin's move as a sign to ready - it was indeed time to leave.
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