Some of you may be familiar with this type of thread and its function, and may have seen it in other RP communities. For those that haven't, I'll explain the use and rules.
What is this thread for? What is the function of this thread? It's to be used for passing information used as story hooks around the RP community in-character. We all know how spread-out the world is, and it is but one resource to help push rumors and such, as would be overheard walking down the street, or for a short bit of gossip while waiting on a carriage or hauler load, or anything of that nature. These entries can be used to hook other players into beginning plots and stories, as well as just passing rumors and news about characters.
Some examples, to show how entries can be made: 1. Say you want to start generating interest about a villain character. You can post an entry describing rumors heard on the street describing misdeeds heard about in back alleyways. Maybe the villain leaves a calling card, such as a huge red painted X over the scene of his crimes. 2. Say you have a noble character. You can post personal rumors about your character's family origins, maybe past bad / good deeds whispered about through servant's quarters. 3. Say your character has a merchant ship / caravan. Rumor on the street is it's launching with some very expensive wares on a certain day and time. 4. Say your character runs a tavern, word on the street could speak about how good the food is, and in the same breath it's been heard the food is made out of kraken meat.
The rules! 1. Play nice: Do not use this thread to attack other players or characters. 2. Do not post about another character, guild, or any other thing that is not the property of the author without specific permission from those players. 3. These entries will be taken IC! Be careful writing about a crime and dropping the identity of the criminal, for example. 4. Have fun! That's it. :)
Skelios adjusts his hood to shield his face from the blistering sun of Sandcloud.He had just decided to call it a day and spend the night in Sandcloud when he overheard two villagers talking about a merchant looking for the man who slept with his daughter. "Have you heard?" "what?" "There're bounty hunters looking for a rougish looking man who's got teal colored eyes and a cross shaped scar above his right eye." "Damnit, they followed me all the way out here?" Skelios said to himself as he briefly glanced at the two villagers. "The hell was I supposed to know who her dad was. Besides that was weeks ago. Guy doesn't know when to give up. At least the bounty hunters I've come across so far are scrubby, lets hope it stays that way."
"How much is the merchant paying?" The villager asked his friend. "Not sure, but at least one so far has come by here asking around for that man."
Skelios had heard enough. He threw his pack over his shoulder and headed out of Sandcloud. "I should try to look for that guy. Killing him would put me ahead of that damned merchant."
#10506781 Jan 10, 2015 at 11:57 AM · Edited over 6 years ago
Claire Lyon has lived in the outskirts of Marianople for all of her life. She's watched families move in and out, land change hands, even looked on with a hint of sadness and nostalgia as workers build up new houses or tear old ones down for farmland. Most know her as the Blusterfield's "Old Crone," always sitting on the porch of her little thatch-roofed cottage, or walking about during the day to enjoy the sunlight on her weathered skin.
What a dull existence she leads, now, resting her fragile bones as her children and their children tend to the fields. In her boredom, she's taken to telling stories to whoever might listen —her family, a passerby, it matters not.
After all these years, it seems the only things that haven't aged with her are her tongue, her mind, and her hearing. Her speech is eloquent, her memory thrives as an ever-flowing script of tales both true and fantastical, and her ears are as acute as those of a fox, picking up information from the locals and traders that stop by the landing to deliver or set sail with goods.
One of these stories, "a true story," she claims, is about a young couple she once knew, just moved into Blusterfield. Not her favorite or most interesting topic, but it is always touched upon whenever the subject shifts to the ongoing wars.
"So dreadful the battles are..." she notes solemnly, her face sagging. Typically lively and cheerful in spite of her stationary or hobbling status, the sudden depression is perhaps startling. She is known for her light conversation and comical gossip —her wisdom and occasionally serious nature are less spoken of. "And all of these... politics." She spits the word with disdain.
"The Crowns will do anything, these days —and listen to anyone, if it means they can perhaps preserve their power and rid themselves of whatever invisible threats are... gathering to usurp them." She cackles. "I'll bet they'll be on my own doorstep soon enough for spouting such drivel.
"Did you know?" There is a strange twinkle in her eyes as she turns her head just slightly, emphasizing the arching of her brow. "Twenty-five years ago... just next door, there lived a couple, newlyweds. The boy was a guardsman from the Nuian Alliance, and the girl a descendent of the Sallium line. Some recently freed serf. I suspected the man bought her, but no, not against her will."
She sighs. "They were so young. And so in love. You could see it in the way they looked at each another. Howell, I think, was their family name? Yes, that's right, Isaac and Sara Howell."
She folds her hands over her cane. "They didn't start with much of a family. The boy was without his parents, and the girl, well, you can imagine was much the same. But within the year of their marriage, they had a child —a baby girl. Elaine." A frown tugs at her lips, pursed into a tight, fine line.
"Then a few months later, the Wyrdwind guard came to arrest them on accusations of treason. They, the couple that did nothing but work the docks and sow their crops... They were innocent. One could tell just by a glance. And they were executed on the morrow." She shakes her head. "I took their baby in so that she may not meet the same fate... but some... hooded fiend snatched her from her crib! I tried to go after her, but I was old..."
Her brows furrow, and sorrow washes over the crone. Shoulders slouching, head bowing, she shakes with subdued fury, too exhausted to raise a fuss. "I am old... and not as swift of foot as I used to be. He disappeared around the river bend and into the night. I never saw her again."
With a deep breath through her nose, she straightens her posture and eyes the figure before her. "No doubt she, too, is dead. Fallen prey to some dark cultist ritual... Times are difficult... and it seems everyone as of late is too frightened to even talk to a grandmother with a walking-stick." She chuckles at her portrayal of herself.
Perhaps she talks some more —of mercenaries, or of the hero of her youth, or of dragons and bandits and colossi that roam the lands. Perhaps she spares her company from her rambling. Perhaps the sun is setting, and it's time for her to rest inside.
Eventually, for one reason of another, the conversation draws to a close. Without fail, she sends people off with the same small smile, a hesitant wave, as though wishing she need not bid farewell, and the same words.
"Thank you for the chat. Go safely, and come again."
#10507070 Jan 10, 2015 at 01:21 PM · Edited over 6 years ago
"Look there!" hisses a voice in the Crescent Throne marketplace. Lingering by the fish stand, the man hunches over, his hand clapped upon the shoulder of his companion. "See tha' woman?"
"Aye," grumbles the other, his attention still on the mackerel that just came in. He doesn't bother to even glance any other way and attempts to stand taller, but he's quickly shoved back down into the suspicious bend by his friend. "Bloody hell, what? What about 'er?" Now, he begrudgingly looks, fixing his hat.
"Ain't she look like one of 'em Sallium descen'ants?"
Said woman is dressed in worn leathers, a cap on her head and ragged, fingerless gloves encasing her hands. Her hair is as black as a raven's wing, and her eyes almost gleam in the dim light of the sunset, their color a striking amber that matches the fading day. A blunted sword with numerous runes etched into the blade hangs at her side, and a buckler turtles her back, the tail end of a red scarf tucked beneath it.
She browses through the vegetables, chuckling at the merchant from across the counter as he throws a poorly attempted punchline.
"Don't know what you're talkin' about..."
"Them serfs, mate, get a grip! Th' ones from the south, you know 'em."
"Reckon she be a bit too tall fer a slave of tha' degree. B'sides, what's it matter t'me?"
An exasperated scoff meets the challenge. "Our country's got to matter to you, that's what." He sneers at the woman. "Think she be a spy, then?"
"Get your head out of the clouds," the more somber of the two growls. "If she were indeed a spy," he begins, annunciating each syllable in a mocking manner, "then she ain't doin' a good job at hidin' it. Guards would be upon her in seconds, what with 'er parading around with th' looks she got."
"I'm just tryin' to do a service for our good King and Queen, Henry."
"What you are tryin' to do is stick yer nose where it don't belong." He picks up a couple of fish and hands them off to be cleaned of their scales. "Y'know, one day, yer gonna wind up in trouble. 'n I won't be there to help ye."
His gaze finds the woman again, now making her way closer to them —down the path towards the northern gate. Both he and his companion quickly turn away, holding their breaths until she passes them by. They sigh in relief.
From the initial angle, they weren't able to catch sight of it at first, but just now they saw —a rough, dark scar stretching across her face, from just beneath the inner corner of her left eye all the way to her right cheekbone.
"... Or maybe... maybe she be worse than a spy."
"Shhh, quiet!... Do ye want her to hear us, you bumblin' oaf? Let's get outta here..."
A fishing vessel pulls up to the docks, the tank full of bluefin tuna, each one at least a meter long. The one dangling from the rear hook, however, is the most impressive of the morning haul. A gargantuan sailfish hangs by its tail, placidly awaiting its fate —too spent from the battle on the line to put up any more of a struggle.
"Good morning," calls the figure on the helm, waving to his colleagues, who had arrived moments earlier. They return the greeting, lumbering over in their rubber boots after they turn in their last catch.
"Good morning." He whistles low. "Sweet Kyprosa, ain't she a beauty?"
"Don't I know it," replies the man handling a length of rope, securing the boat to a post with a tight knot. "Almost cost me both arms, but I got 'er. You lads have much luck?" A wry grin tugs at his lips.
"Aye, we did," laughs another, approaching to grasp at his friend's forearm. "Whole school of blue marlin," he says slowly.
"Ye lie, lad!" calls another voice on deck.
"He ain't," retorts another from across the boardwalk. "We be drinkin' fine wine t'night!" They erupt into howls and laughter.
Most of them, anyway. A young, teenage fisherman stares out across the water, watching a lone figure hop aboard a clipper. The vessel is pulled to the far side of the landing, away from most of the hustle and bustle. From this distance, it's difficult to discern any identity or even gender. But it isn't the individual that has caught his attention. "Pa, isn't that...?" he begins, trailing off as he points to the sails...
... upon which lies the head of a white horse outlined by a royal blue shield.
A man draped in a raincoat turns away from his companions, a wide smile still on his face, revealing crooked teeth, a golden substitute filling a frontal socket. "What's aye?" Once he lays eyes upon the clipper, his expression sobers. "... Bless me beard."
"That standard, pa. I thought they all but—"
"Disbanded," cuts in the one who just climbed down from the helm. He peers through a small telescope extended towards the ship. "The Empyrean Divine... be disbanded. They did. Word's been out fer more than a month." Lowering the instrument, he tosses it to the boy. "Don't think it belong to anyone from their fleet, though... Looks more like some spoil of war."
"A Harani?" the boy inquires, a hint of anger underlying his tone. "Why's he got one of their ships?"
"Not he, lad..." The father takes the telescope to have a look. "She."
"I said tha's a lass, if I e'er did see one." The scope is eventually returned to its owner. "Probably stole it when th' Navy broke up."
"Can't we get it back?" The teenager hastily steps to the side, meaning to go around the docks and confront the stranger. His hand is on the hilt of his dagger.
"No." His father is quick to stop him, grabbing his arm and wrenching him back. "There be guards, 'ere... It's neutral territory. Make a fuss, an' you can say goodbye to turnin' in fish at this port, ye can." He releases his hold and eyes the clipper as its sails are furled. "Believe me, I don't like it. But they're as welcome here as they are in any other harbor for their goods an' coin.
"C'mon. Le's go. We've a tank to empty out." The man leads his son away with the rest of his crew.
Anyone who stays overnight in Crescent Throne must know of the innkeeper, Avril. She's a slight thing with brown hair and bright eyes. One can usually find her seated upon her stool behind her counter, waiting diligently for customers to come by. These past weeks, her mood has been rather dreary —as grim as that of everyone in the city, or at least those who still remain. The Plague has done well to drive off many into the foothills towards the more rural, isolated lands.
But with Avril, her tired sulking must come as a bit of a shock, in stark contrast with her jovial nature and optimistic, albeit naive, outlook. For even the darkest days of the ongoing wars, rumors of cultists and bandits, even monsters could not stifle her energy. But somehow, the sickness that had washed over the lands seems to have accomplished just that... until recently.
Her smile has returned, as wide, warm and friendly as ever before, and there's a skip in her steps as she greets arrivals, new and old. With eyes alight like stars, she spreads word of a cure that has been discovered to remedy the plight.
"It's true, ye have to believe me!" In her excitement, she forgets the refinement of her speech to match the annunciation and rhythm of city-goers', her accent rolling off of her tongue. "They're distributin' it, they say! Right now! Aye, at this very moment, they are!
"A couple of ladies came by just yesterday evenin' talkin' about it! Ye know Miss Roa, who's been by th' docks here?" She doesn't bother to wait for a confirmation, her words rapid-fire. "She brought a friend of 'ers to the inn —to talk to me! Ms. Fall was 'er name. Lovely, charming lass. Very pretty thing.
"Oh! Yes, it was her that told me the news! An' they want to organize a party to celebrate! Next week, perhaps, I'm not entirely sure. They intended on postin' up a li'l somethin', if I be rememberin' right. A listing? Don't see it on the walls, however." Her speech is now slowing in pace, calming down and smoothing out. "Maybe they'll be back again soon."
Two school-aged girls in Lutesong stood atop the arch of one of the bridges stretching over the canal that penetrated the city. This was a place the two liked to gossip, as teenaged girls often did. Both were distinctly Harani, and likely the children of nobles based on the intricacies of their uniforms.
"I thought this lesson was going to be boring, but it turns out we get to read a book from The Wanderer," she said, barely containing her giggles. "He writes so many books, I can't even keep up."
The other girl, Aiji, rolled her eyes. "Please. There's nothing to get excited about."
"Oh isn't there," Aiji's friend, Yuri, retorted. "He's written something like forty books in just four years. He's a household name in any scholar's home, and at such a young age! Did you know he's only four, maybe five years older than us?"
Aiji rolled her eyes again, enduring Yuri's fangirling.
"And his face," Yuri continued. "Have you seen it? It looks so soft, and slender. And those freckles, and that little star tattoo. He's absolutely gorgeous. That's what I like in a man. Graceful looks and a strong mind."
"Are you attracted to mass murderers?" Aiji asked, turning to her friend and giving her a rather flat look. When she saw Yuri's look of confusion, she continued. "'The Wanderer' murdered dozens of people with his magic. I even heard he did it while praising Kyrios out loud."
"What?" Yuri said, flabbergasted. "That's the craziest lie I've ever heard. He's a total pacifist. I've read his books about Hasla and about the Firrans and the Nuians. He's always been big in to peace. Someone like that couldn't be a crazy Kyrios cultist."
Aiji shook her head. "Maybe it's a cover. All I know is that there are a few shallow graves near a beach in Solis, barely marked, by where some mixed Firran-Harani clan used to stake out. If you go there, keep in mind that the person who put those people in to those graves was your precious 'Wanderer.' My dad says it's true, and he's been everywhere."
"I just don't think it is," Yuri said. "I think it's a vicious rumor some jealous wanna-be author put out there. Probably someone who can't sell a single book, or who's mad about that book he put out about the gods that got everyone all mad."
"Think whatever you want, Yuri," Aiji said.
Yuri sighed heavily. "...In any case, what's going on between you and Tuo? Is there something there?"
Aiji grinned, blushing, the topic of the Wanderer totally forgotten. "Oh my gods, let me tell you---"
#10558787 Jan 22, 2015 at 12:04 AM · Edited over 6 years ago
Word began to spread rapidly across Enza as guests attending a formal ball fled the palace with shouts of, "The duke is mad! He is killing everyone!"
Those nestled into shops and taverns lifted their heads as the latest gossip spilled forth from the nobility. Some listened to the spreading tales in horror-filled silence, some laughed and made fun of the nobility for being so dramatic, and some sat quietly through the tales as a sense of unease began to settle into the shimmering air of the quieting dawn.
Underneath it all, a name began to generate in hushed tones, separate from the gossip that was quickly growing into a tangled mess that was hard to separate fact from fallacy; that name was Kyrios.
#10558916 Jan 22, 2015 at 01:12 AM · Edited over 6 years ago
Sylvina Hot Springs. The perfect vacation destination, no? Wonderful, natural and nourishing waters famous for their remedial properties. One may feel refreshed just by the simple thought of taking a trip to this exotic landmark of Solis Headlands!
However, as heresay expands, many may reconsider their plans. Just yesterday, the springs were closed down for maintenance in the early morning —something that's never happened since construction and renovation, and certainly not without prior notice to the public.
"There was blood in the water!"
"A giant pool of blood!"
"One of the springs was completely contaminated!"
"Sweet Nui, it looked like a horror scene!"
Rumors such as these have been spreading like wildfire as locals and travelers claiming to have caught a glimpse of the "blood spring" return home. But are they really true?
"Of course not!" says Arhat, the manager. "Someone was just playing a dastardly prank with some red dye. There's nothing to fear, except maybe a lawsuit for vandalism against whomever is responsible for this. It was a mess, and not at all easy to clean up. We had to make sure none of the other springs were afflicted before we could open to the public again."
Still, people seem to be avoiding the pool closest to the facilities, complaining it smells "strangely metallic" compared to the other waters. Regardless, the Sylvina Springs have certainly become a hot topic, but the attention it's receiving is not at all on a very positive note. Is it really just a prank? Or is it some scheming cover-up? Only you can decide for yourself!
Two male harani scholars sit down at one of the tables at the library in city of towers. "So Marl have you finished up your work in lutesong?" Marl would reply " Yeah its been a while since we were able to sit here and talk like this." Marl would let out a cough. "Are you coming down with something marl? i heard there's a plague going around."
Marl make a gesture signalling that he was fine "So did you hear marl? about the rumour that the grimoire of wiluthen has shown up?" Marl quickly clears his throat. "I doubt its true that grimoire is rare and doesn't just show up." Marl's friend would quickly respond. "But imagine if it was found! that would be so cool! I mean think about it Marl the grimoire is said to give you a surge of magic energy."
Marl sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. " But remember that the grimoire is said to take control of the host and turn him into the fabled demon Wiluthen. Which to be honest isnt a fate id like to get tangled into." Marl's friend sighs in sadness. "I guess so but id love to study such a object to find out how such a object exists."Marl sighs as he gets up from his seat. "I'm coming down with something i'll see you at the ship." Marl walks away from the table.
#10737587 Feb 28, 2015 at 05:56 PM · Edited 6 years ago
At a tavern bustling with people, two firran sit at a small table gossiping. The City of Towers was always a good place to trade stories.
"Did you hear about those Eco-Terrorists? They released a couple more kits." "The two who were 'liberated' recently?" "Yes, those are they. Apparently, the cages they were kept in were barely large enough for a snowlion cub." "No!" Their hushed voices took on a tone of concern. "Apparently, one of them was blinded by a Nuian man before they were rescued." "Did the radicals find who?" "No. There wasn't a body to find." "The other...?" The response was a quiet nod of disapproval. "They're siblings."
A Harani girl moved to serve their table, a series of gashes across her cheek that looked fairly recent.
"Miss?" The larger of the two felines offered a comforting paw which moved her hair. "What happened?" "I... I looked like a Nuian." She moved away crying and a knowing glance passed between the two Firran.
"These two need to be tamed." They paid for their drinks, stood, and shuffled their blades under their cloaks to try and 'tame' these evil beasts.
Basically, two evil Firran (who will either attack anyone who looks like certain Nuians or be completely distrustful of them) are on the loose in Falcorth. Elves are fine, Firran are to be wary of, but Harani and Nuians until proven otherwise are not to be trusted.
Currently lvl >10 but will quickly be leveling.
The Characters are two Firrans called "Sageblood" and "Deathrain"
#11082851 May 22, 2015 at 06:26 PM · Edited over 6 years ago
(A conversation between two bored guards in the City of Towers)
"Hey, Ahmad! Where were you yesterday? Did you get stuck on Cellar duty again?"
"No, no. The Queen's been hiring freelancers to deal with them. I got sent with a couple investigators down to a mine explosion down south."
"A what? What happened?!"
"Well, according to witnesses, there had been signs of sabotage at the mine all week. Carts were breaking, tools and explosives were going missing, explosives were unaccounted for, you name it! Miners began walking off site, saying the operation was 'cursed'."
"Sounds like an inside job to me."
"The Foreman thought so, too. He began making people work in teams, kept strict inventories, everything he could do to see if he could catch a thief. But not only did things keep breaking down and getting ruined, but every worker there had an alibi clearing them. Then Friday.." He makes a low pop-like noise with his mouth. "Day crew shows up in time to see the whole damn mine just collapse. Blown to smithereens from the inside!"
"Oh Gods! Anybody die?"
"Nope. Injuries from here to the Hereafter, but not a single casualty. But here's the weirdest part.."
"Couple guys on the night shift decided they were going to be heroes and stake out the mine, find out who was behind the sabotage. At one point one of them steps off to some trees outside the cave mouth to drain the elephant, y'know, but he never comes back. His buddy gets suspicious, goes off to where the first guy said he was going, and finds him tied up to a tree. He said he felt something strong grab him, throw him down to the ground and tie him up the same way. They were found hangin' like spider cocoons up in the branches."
"Did they see who grabbed them?"
"First guy said all he saw was this massive white body. Second guy says all he saw was a pair of red eyes. But at one point we found some pawprints in the mud around the captives leading off into the trees. Looked like whoever it was had been climbin' trees and moving around that way."
"A Firran did all that?.."
"Yeah. And some kinda ugly albino Firran from the sound of it."
"Sayin' Firran are ugly doesn't shrink the list, my friend."
"Yeah, well, just keep your eyes open if you see a Firran with white fur and red eyes. That's the third time I've heard about mining operations getting hit by someone matching that description."
"Yeah.. And who knows? Maybe the Queen will offer a reward. Then I can finally take a day or two off."
#11086379 May 23, 2015 at 11:03 PM · Edited 6 years ago
(An exchange between two jaded elderly nobles enjoying a stroll through the streets of Marianople)
"I do say, Marian! It IS lovely to see you, my dear. I just wish it had been at a..less stressful time for you and your household."
"Oh, Iris, pay it no mind! Reginald has always been a blustering hothead. Such a display is nothing new."
"True, but I *do* admit he has quite a good reason to be upset.. This time, at least. Tell me: What happened?"
"Well.. You know that lovely estate in Two Crowns we gave to Reginald Jr. at his wedding? We also gave him command and title of all the serfs working those lands. He hired some farmhands and overseers of his own, and he had them manage the property while he and his wife had their honeymoon."
"Oh, how lovely!"
"Yes, well.. They were, for a while. Then late last night, several serfs escaped from the fields."
"Yes. The farmhands were on patrol at the time, but by the time they finished their rounds a few had escaped. Three males and four females, one with child, all gone in minutes. All the guards were able to see was a figure in black robes and a white hood, loading the pregnant female into some sort of glowing portal before going in behind her. Tracks from an elk were found in several parts of the field."
"An elk?! Why.. Why would an Elf pay any regard to Nuian property?"
"Who knows, my dear? It could have been some 'Adventurer' type, taking work from anyone with coin to give. Nui knows there's enough of them riding around these days, and enough of my families enemies waiting to pay them..."
#11137299 Jun 06, 2015 at 07:51 AM · Edited over 5 years ago
"He looks so-" he cants his head, frowning at the sketch.
"Shady." a second voice helpfully adds. "He looks shady. They all do." He points at the other posters, hanging side by side
"Except that one." the first voice, belonging to a slightly younger male Harani says with an amused grin. "A pink haired terrorist."
"Do you think it's natural?" the second voice asks curiously.
"Do you want to find out?"
"Yeah," he laughs "Let's hunt down the terrorists, don't forget to ask your mom for permission!"
"I don't need permission!" the first boy yells, shoving the one teasing him roughly. The second boy stumbles back a few steps.
"Oooooooohh- Suddenly tough, huh? You weren't whe-" the second one's rant is interrupted by a higher, curious voice.
"Do you think they're really terrorists?" the girl looks to be about seventeen and she clutches her basket filled with baked goods worriedly. "My aunt says they destroyed half the commercial district and killed four bystanders!"
"Nah," Jack, one of the boys, says confidently "I heard they hate art and tore a bunch of paintings to pieces!"
"Don't worry, Iris," the second boy says "We'll protect you!"
"They say the sorcerer summoned a flaming rock out of nowhere!" she says scathingly "I don't think your bow compares!" she sighs and looks at the somewhat detailed sketch. "He's so...." she sighs dreamily while the two boys look on in disgust.
"He's really old."
"More importantly, cousin." a third voice stresses, as the young man glares daggers at the two boys. "See how there is barely any information about the Firran? You remember our classes?"
The girls nods uncertainly and glances at her basket with goodies. "I just hope they catch them quickly. Tourism is falling and everyone is feeling it."
"Violence isn't good for business." the young man agrees and steers his cousin away, turning to happier subjects.
((After the events of last Thursday's City of Towers event wanted posters looking for a grumpy sorcerer, a pink haired woman and at least two firran can be spotted all around the city and Mahadevi. Suspected of bombing the stage during the last Night of the Arts and bombing the Bazaar.
Wanted posters up close:
Kora - Harani from Windscour Savannah looking into the mysterious disappearances of Excavation crews.
An old, bent Harani man labored in the rice fields, his brown trousers folded to just below his knee, and his shins and ankles deep in the muck. He worked alongside a few others, younger than him, moving at a steady pace. A young man near to him glanced up from his work.
"Grandpa, you should rest," he said. "We can finish your work."
"A Harani never abandons his work," the old man said sagely. This made the young man sigh heavily.
"A Harani also knows how and when to give up in favor of survival, grandpa. Your bones aren't as strong as they used to be," the younger man scolded.
This made the old man scoff, never pausing in his work. "Survival is precisely what I'm after. At any moment, the Kosan Youths could rain fire upon our fields or pour poison into the wells. They've been becoming increasingly aggressive, ever hell-bent on our destruction."
The young man stood straight, crossing his arms and looking uncomfortable. Any ordinary Harani in Hasla knew that the Firrans were just as much of a threat to them as Nuian and Elf invaders, if not more.
"And they're brazen too," the old man continued. "Why, one of them skewered a poor boy about your age and paraded him around the southern villages, boasting of her kill. They say it was a female Firran with wild eyes, cackling madly. Her stripes were the shapes of thunderbolts."
Shifting, the young man shook his head. "We would have killed any extremist that came into our villages.
"Ah, but not if you couldn't catch them. These Firrans are as fast as wind, strong as colossi, and conniving to boot. You'd do well not to underestimate them, nor to dismiss news that comes our way. The poor boy they skewered lived on for a short time, in fact, but he'd become a shell of a man. They say he wept and refused the Harani healers, then vanished into the forest to let death claim him, the pain and humiliation was so bad."
The young man grunted, but still looked uneasy. "Sounds like a fool."
"Not a fool. A poor, tortured soul. The next Firran-Harani war is coming. Best you prepare for it."
"...Better that Veroe speeds along its expedition preparations so we can leave this rock to the Firrans and return to Auroria."
"Mm, I'm inclined to agree, but until that time comes, we'll defend our land from the savages."
Rumor goes that there's a new guy in the Freehold of Arandor. He's a quiet, calm and strong elf-y type, with a penchant for making apparently sarcastic gestures at people, even Turalyon.
Although he doesn't talk much, he's pretty distinguishable by the patch covering up one eye and half of his face, the other one a clear, dark, brown. A lesser known distinguishment--he appears to have a distinct resemblance to Rusgon. Not much else is known about him, save that he's fairly good at what he does--and that he shows up sporadically to help clear the dungeons of various beasts along with the other Arandorians. He'll also help out with privateering and the like, assisting the upper-ranked people with stoicism.
When asked for his name, the man simply shrugs. Hence, most Arandorians call him "Tibbles". He doesn't seem to mind much.
((essentially! he is my alt for clearing most dungeons--considering rus is not good at battle and would be too scared to go in, anyway))
Whisperer A: Have you see the owner of the Inkwell lately? Whisperer B: yeah .. I saw her I think it was weeks end, she was moving what looks to be new furniture into the Inkwell. Whisperer C: Well I stopped and spoke to her and she said that the venue would be open this Saturday but she expected business to be slow ... I think she got married or .. is engaged or something she was wearing this intricately made ring on her wedding finger.