Down below, the men of Jiender, a crossroad village situated between the nations of Ametty and Enche Lanche, have just finished setting up the stalls and tables for a celebration, gathering to the village center to discuss further planning. They laughed and joked about tasks and the ones to take them; the group broke up and the men went in separate directions. One man hollered to the bell ringer high on the bell tower, who heard him and rang the three brass bells, the signal to the rest of the villagers that it is time to adorn Jiender with the spirit of Magnarta. The children, eagerly awaiting the signal since breakfast, burst out their doors, carrying white paper kites and wearing festival colors; the mothers and maidens trailed behind, holding baskets overflowing with petals, vines, and colored paper; the non-farmhands stopped their work almost immediately, setting aside their hammers, clay bricks, and needles, and headed towards the village center. After one whole year, the day that everyone has been waiting for has finally arrived. It is the first day of the Harvest of Saint Magnarta.
"How many times have you visited us, Saint Magnarta?" asked an old man, sitting on his porch. "How many times have you visited us?" he asked again, looking down at his tortoise. The wrinkled animal eyed up back at him then looked out to the village. Thinking about the past, he reached over his head and rubbed the bald spot right on top, gently brushing against his antennae. "Seventy-seven years, I assume..." he estimated. Watching the children's loud attempts to fly their kites, he breathed deeply, stood up, and grabbed his long, mahogany brown coat which was resting on the railing. Stepping forth unto the gravel pathway, he was slipping his arms into his coat when two rain drops splashed against his forehead. He wiped it off and looked up, waiting for more to fall. There was an ominous-looking cloud floating above him, but it refused to shed anymore drops. Half a minute past and the man's heart began to sink; there were only a couple drops of rain and will only be just two drops of rain. "Just... just superstition. I'm sure it... it was one drop of rain; that was the condition. I felt two," he assured himself, buttoning up his coat and hurrying his pace.
I'll be putting up a character outline to make things easier for us.
Appearance: (This includes height, weight, facial features, clothes, equipment, and anything else worth mentioning.)
Background: (Where were they from? Why are they here? Do they have any family or friends? What is their goal for the future. or are they trying to find one?)
Occupation: (What is their role, short and long term? Are they apprentices or masterful at what they do? What are their talents and skills as that role?)
Personality: (What are the characteristic traits that describe your character? How do they interact with others? What values do they hold highest? What do they desire and what do they despise?)
Sample Quote: (How does your character talk like? Super hammy? Very quiet? Or extremely blunt? Maybe sleazy?)
Races of Kiden and their Stereotypes For More Details => rotg-lore-meet-the-faeries-t65691.html
Dulhan - Living automatons born from the Tree of Kiden itself. Their sizes vary from 2-12 feet tall. They are usually very straightforward and solely dependent on orders given to them. Made up of energies controlling their wooden and/or metallic parts. Though most do not display personality, they can easily imitate emotions and voice.
Met Nymph - "Children of the Sea." They resemble human children with bluish or greenish hair and eyes. All Nymphs have larger eye proportions, and none of them can ever grow beards, mustaches, or bodily hairs. Standing at around 2-3 feet, they're adept swimmers and fishers. Prefers fish and fruits. They're stereotypically cute, and some boast about their appearance.
Gael Nymph - Evolved from the Met Nymphs, they stand one head above them and they are industrious in nature. Instead of having aquatic colors for their hair, it changed to black or brown hair (their eyes remained blue or green). Like the Met Nymphs, they have larger eye proportions, and none of them can ever grow beards, mustaches, or bodily hairs. They're more tolerant of other foods, and hate being called cute.
Cyclops - One-eyed humanoids that all stand at 5'4" when matured. Their straight hair and eye colors are black, and have no facial hair except eyelashes. Most are reserved and have dark personalities. Their eye is capable of accurate observations, making them very fast learners. Cyclopes are very attached to the Tree of Kiden; their strength and spirit comes from Kyden, and they’ve learned to manipulate Kyden into magic energy.
Hyma - The "Humans" of Kiden. Their heights, hair, eyes, and stature are very similar to the humans of Earth. However, they have insect-like antennae on the top of their heads. There are four variations of Hymas: Inish, Y'lastellen, Tugan, and Di Me. Inish have light-colored skin, can have hair colors from black to blonde to red, and their short antennae lean forward. Y'lastellen have tan skin, sand-white hair colors, and their long antennae lean backwards. Tugan have dark-colored skin and hair, have silver or golden eyes, and their antennae are very identical to the Inish. Lastly, Di Me have light-colored skin, dark-colored hair, and their antennae are the longest of all Hymas. Hymas can be compared to ants, as they are abundant in professions of agriculture, trade, and military.
Tugan Ferner - The "Giants" of Kiden. Their towering heights ranged from 9-10 feet, or up to 12 feet in rare cases. The colors of their skin are shades of grey or pale red, and their hair color is usually dark red or blue. Their eyes can be either yellow, red, or grey. Their most noticeable feature are their horns and scaly tails. Males have horns going upward from their forehead, and females have horns going down and forward from the sides of their head. People see them as the quiet giants that roar loudly. Quite the oxymoron, but it is usually true.
Di Me Ferner - The "Beast Folk" living in the swamps of Kiden. Their typical height when they are fully grown is around 7 to 8 feet tall. Their skin color is varied between light to tan, and their hair color is pale-yellow, white, or brown. They have green and yellow eyes. Known as beast people, they have ears and tails like lions, wolves, or cats, but they all still have human-like faces. The color of the fur on their ears and tail depends on their hair color. They do not have human ears, and their animal ears are on top of their heads. They're usually friendly and outgoing, and are usually tolerable by other races.
- The setting is the village of Jiender, during the Harvest of Saint Magnarta. Jiender is situated on the southmost end of the Ametty-Enche border; it is a minor crossroad village between the two nations.
- Because it is set between Ametty, region of the Met Nymphs, and Enche Lanche, region of the Inish Hymas, the village should be mostly populated with those two races. Of course, it's not exclusive to those two only and you can roleplay as one of the other races, provided an explanation in their background to why they are there.
- This roleplay is merely practice for our writing skills, as well as expanding our creativity on world-building and plot-weaving. The world isn't completely developed, and we aren't professionals at literature.
- Like I stated in the beginning, this private roleplay is PRIVATE! We will not be accepting friendly strangers, even if they promised to be best friends. If you are, however, extremely interested in our world of Kiden and our practice roleplay, PM me (CiksKayVolts) or wamken619. We won't guarantee you a spot in our roleplay, but who knows. We may like you... very much... so... yeah.
- Fret not! Since this is a practice roleplay, we will still be setting up roleplays for the public. And those roleplays will be based on the SAME world! And will most likely take place in much more prominent settings! Like cities! Rich cities! With lots of money! And servants! Lusty ones, too! They like to polish spears!
- SPOILER: Bandits will ruin the festival. (Ugh, I can't believe you read that!)
Oh... and also...
Roleplay Thumbnail respectfully belongs to pixiv artist Kenshin
World of Kiden and "Roots of the Genesis" © 2011
This material belongs to wamken619 and CiksKayVolts and Lucaris.
All generic roleplay rules still apply, so... no lollygagging (or loli-gagging)... or taking an arrow to the knee. Or else I'll steal your sweetroll.
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A mature, gentle traveler was looking through his fairly old journal, a small book filled with a half of written pages and another half of blank paper. He was reading about one of his log entries during the past season. Believing he's the only one awake inside the transport wagon, the man smiled as he read the pages within his book. Sometimes he let out a soft laugh, making sure he doesn't wake the others. Cedric Altresta certainly enjoyed his past adventures in the lovely world of Kiden.
The mage looked out of the rear opening of the wagon, clearly seeing the morning rays from the blue sky. He could see the vast grasslands glitter with gold sparkles from the sunlight. Cedric remembered this scenery being as beautiful as last time's visit. A minute later, the driver noted all the passengers of the wagon about their destination.
"Rub yer eyes and see the sunshine, fellow travelers!" he said enthusiastically. "Our next stop 'ere will be our last stop until tomorrow. Reckon the rest of y'all wouldn't mind. After all, it is Magney's special day." The old man fixed his hat and brushed his clothes roughly with his hands. "Better pack yer belongings. Shouldn't take long to git ther to Jiender, now."
Cedric knew he was talking about Saint Magnarta in the way the driver pronounced "Magney" and how excited his mood was. The festival taking place in Jiender is well known to many in the two continents, Ametty and Enche Lanche. The Inish Hymas were historically involved in the traditions of agricultural celebrations, it's no wonder all the Hymas alike, especially himself, would be in a great mood for this day. Although, Jiender isn't the only town to celebrate the joys of Saint Magnarta. All the cities, including Haubenor, the capital city, cherished the harvest day as well. What makes Jiender really special is because the land surrounding the village provided a sight full of golden beauty, including shining grass, trees dropping fragile honey-yellow leaves, and the sun making magnificent sunsets during the days of the Magnarta season. Jiender is also a farm village, making it plentiful of foods and crops ready to be harvested, and either consumed during the festival or stored in the granaries as supplies for the next year.
Noticing the trip is coming close to a stopping point, Cedric closed his journal and stuffed it inside his rucksack. The other passengers, who were asleep, seem to be waking up from their long slumbers. He can assumed everyone in the wagon was here for the festival that's about to be held in the village. It's certainly popular, especially for those who go around places in the world. As he thought about the people inside the wagon with him, he wondered about where they had come from.
"This is a really nice place," Sevrannis said to himself as he finished painting in the leaves before taking out a smaller tipped brush from one of his bags, "So many things to paint out here. When I finish with these trees, I'll move on to that stream from before." His stomach growled. "Uh... after I get some food."
The red haired man finished the smaller details on his painting, stopping every now and then to look up from the easel or to let a bit of the paint dry. A few minutes more and he was finished, standing up to check his work, placing the used brushes in a small container of water at his feet. After writing his signature on the lower end of the painting, he hung a small sign that said, "Please Do Not Touch: Drying", and made his way back to the inn.
Stepping into the inn, Sevrannis was graced by the smell of freshly baked breads, apples, pineapples, honey, and jam, all neatly arranged on the main dining table where the other inn's occupants, a Met Nymph couple, sat, staring hungrily at the spread.
"'Bout time ya made it, Mister Sevrannis," grumbled the innkeeper, a middle aged, well-built male Inish Hyma, from his seat, "the wife's been forcin' us to go hungry waitin' for ya! And on Magney's Day, too!"
"We were waiting!" added a male Met Nymph. Next to him a female Met Nymph nodded cutely.
"Waiting!" she said.
Sevrannis scratched the back of his head sheepishly whilst bowing slightly in forgiveness. "Oh, I'm sorry. I had gotten too absorbed in my painting... Um, you didn't have to wait for me you know."
"Oh, nonsense," the wife, a large, but attractive, female Hyma, replied, "It's Saint Magnarta's Festival, a time for sharing the bounty. Besides," the wife's eye's began to sparkle, "it's not everyday you get to have master painter Sevrannis Jesfahlt stay at your inn!"
Sevrannis chuckled nervously, a faint blush evident on his cheeks. "O-oh, please, miss, I'm not a master or anything, just someone who likes to paint." He still couldn't believe how much of a coincidence it was that the wife actually had one of his paintings hanging on the wall behind the counter. 'The River Archway, one of my favorites,' he thought, glancing at the painting.
"And so humble too~" the wife cooed before waving a hand toward an unoccupied seat, "Now, you must be hungry! There's enough for all of us, so dig in!"
"Eat!" The Met Nymph couple yelled in unison, raising their short arms over their heads in excitement before attacking the pineapples.
"About time!" The innkeeper said, licking his lips as he lathered a large helping of honey and sliced apples onto a slice of bread.
Sevrannis sat down on his chair and grabbed a few apple and pineapple slices and a couple biscuits and ate happily. He'd have to paint a picture for the wife for such a wonderful breakfast.
The painter looked forward to the festival.
In a distance, Nymph and Hymian children raced for the river, laughing and tossing orange leaves, letting them flutter down around their freshly printed footsteps. Wundsten, sitting down with his back against a tilted tree on the other side of the river, saw them approach at the same time they saw him. As he anticipated, the tiny Faeries lowered their voices, cautiously watching the great gray man as he ate. He noticed he was chewing with his mouth opened and closed it. After about half a minute later when Wundsten didn't bother to give them another glance, the children slowly begun to play, splashing into the river.
Soon, he finished his meal, dusting his hands then standing up, pushing the tree over a bit too much. There was a sudden crack and the tree became slightly bent over, but it still stood strong. He turned his head around and spotted the subtle cracks at the tree's base. Then, he heard the laughter of the children loudened. Turning to them, he saw that they've hurried out of the river and were talking amongst themselves; some of them looked back at him. He coughed in embarrassment, then he trudged over to the river for a drink. As he moved closer, the Faeries on the other side scurried behind rocks and trees and eyed him. The clear water glittered brightly in a golden reflection against the Magnarta-colored trees that stood beside the river. Cupping his hands, he filled them with water and drank vigorously, letting some drip away from his mouth. As he drank, he could hear the children trying to hush each other.
"Aaahhhh," he roared, satisfyingly. Suddenly, the children across the river burst into laughter, falling on their backs and rolling from side to side. Wundsten looked up, confused until he noticed a bit of bitter saltiness in the taste of the water. He turned his head toward the high end of the river, believing in the worst. Just as he figured, there was a Hymian boy running back to his friends while he was trying to tie the waist strings of his trousers. He seemed to be oblivious to the fact that someone was drinking from the river.
"Run, Cricket!" a Met Nymph yelled. The boy glanced up in confusion, and the Nymph pointed at Wundsten as the others began to run for the village in the distance. The boy slowly turned to the great grey man, his eyes and mouth opening wide in consternation. Noticing that her friend was unable to move himself, the Met Nymph reluctantly went over and pulled him away. Then, after a second, all the children were running back for the village.
Wundsten, after trying to hold back his stomach's manifestation of disgust, could feel the nausea crawling up his throat, urging his hand over his mouth. Instinctively, he ran for the tilted tree and expelled his unsanitary contents behind it.
As he looked out of the bonnet, he felt a tap on his right shoulder twice. He looked back inside the wagon and found himself looking at two Y'lastellean Hymas with fairly contradicting appearances. One of them was a short, old man with short, white hair and a white, bushy, finely-curled moustache. He wore an apron and was holding onto what seems to be a large, cube-shaped toolbox. The other Hyma was a tall girl with long white hair. She looked young, and also wears an apron just like the old man. She has a leather bag hanging on her back shoulders. Actually, Cedric remembered making notes about each individual as the trip began. He noted both of them as "merchants". They might be here in Jiender for a business purpose, but he's unsure what type of business they would be holding. Although it's obviously the old man who's requiring Cedric's attention, he found himself quite attracted to the female Hyma. The mage couldn't help but smile widely.
Before the old Hyma could speak, he cleared his throat a bit. "Excuse me, young lad," he said, in a raspy voice. "I know we haven't exchanged any sort of greetings when this trip began, but I have some questions regarding the area around."
Cedric widened his eyes a little, curiously. "What is it you might need to know?" he politely asked.
"I wanted to ask if you've ever been to Jiender before," he said. "Specifically, during the festival times."
"Ah, well..." Cedric rubbed his chin and looked to his side, pondering about his thoughts. "Actually, I have. This is my second visit to Jiender, and both of my visits are on this very same holiday. I enjoy being here, as the outskirt sights are very beautiful. Don't you agree?"
The old man didn't seem to care about the scenery around Jiender, as he tossed Cedric's question aside and spoke bluntly. "I'm here to make a business, young lad. You see, I'm a traveling merchant and trader. I sell all kinds of goods, as well as buy them. We have all kinds of common and rare items you can't find anywhere else." The old man placed his heavy-looking box from his lap to the surface of the wagon floor, and patted the top of it. Cedric felt this old Hyma is trying to convince him for a trade offer.
"If you haven't heard of us, then you're missing out. We're traders from a guild known as The Precious Sands! I'm Ru-haji Lasfadi and next to me is my granddaughter and merchant apprentice, Uriah Lasfadi."
The girl waved her arm to Cedric as she smiled while Ru-haji posed as what looked like a victory gesture, putting his hands on his waist and looking proudly. Cedric believed he enjoys doing what he's doing for a living, although it's kind of awkward for him to pose like that, especially inside the wagon. He wondered if he does this everytime he introduces himself to anyone he meets, and regretted thinking about.
"We're supposed to head to Ametty tonight, but we heard about a village on the roads," the Old Y'lastellean Hyma explained. "And what's a better opportunity than to give it a shot at selling goods in that very same village during a festival? Surely, there might be some respectable folk who had heard of the guild. Besides, the man taking us on his wagon said it himself that this is our last stop here in Jiender until the end of Saint Magnarta. Or Magney, if that's how you people like to say it."
"Magnarta, Magney... I'm sure they're both fine to say, it doesn't matter which one." Cedric has heard of The Precious Sands guild. They were pretty popular in Haubenor, actually. Though, he has never made any business with any of them, but he did hear good details about their goods and policies.
"The Precious Sands, huh? Well, Jiender is kind of a small town. But I'm sure there are going to be a few who are interested in your trade businesses."
"Oh ho, now come on, lad. I'm sure you're one of the few who would want some of my stuff. You're an adventuring mage, are you not?" Ru-haj certainly wanted Cedric to have a look at his wares.
Cedric tried to explain, as well as insist on telling him that he wasn't interested in buying anything at all. "Oh, no no no. I mean, I do know some magic, but my profession isn't really about becoming a mage. You see, I'm a traveling adventurer, as you have said. But not those kinds of adventurers who thirst for dangerous dungeons. Oh no, I'm just a simple Hyma, learning about the world of Kiden by studying the many kinds of faeries and the cultures embedded into our lifestyles."
Ru-haji doesn't seem interested about Cedric's type of adventure, but his granddaughter seems amazed from how he had described it. "I-I believe what you're doing is beautiful, Mister," she complimented.
The mage smiled and bowed. "Please, call me Cedric. That's my name." He had certainly not forgotten his elegant manners. Not even his rough and long travels can urge him to abandon the exquisite manners of the wealthy family he was born from.
"N-Nice to meet you, Cedric!" she said loudly. Uriah really made some of the faeries inside the wagon glance at her with a puzzled look.
"Quiet down, Uriah! We're just having a simple talk, and you practically yelled inside the wagon!" Ru-haji whispered to her.
The whisper was quite loud as well, since Cedric could hear him, too. All he could do was smile nervously. 'Weren't you also yelling when introducing yourselves?' he thought.
As the three continued chatting, someone sitting on the opposite side of the wagon whistled. While Ru-haji was busy scolding his apprentice, Cedric's attention was caught. He looked around and saw a bulky Inish Hyma man. Cedric remembered noting him down as "Archer", since he has a bow and quiver beside him. This man wears a woolen coif, covering most of his head and hair. He wears dark brown leather armor all around his muscled body. This archer also has a couple of scars on his left cheek. Overall, he looked like a serious type who could probably stare in death's face whilst remaining stoic.
Cedric wasn't sure if he whistled to catch their attention. It didn't take minutes for this man to whistle towards them again. Cedric then had his body turned towards him and asked, "Excuse me, sir. Do you need something?" He tried to say it in a polite tone, but Cedric felt nervous when trying to talk to him.
The man didn't answer back after Cedric had his attention towards him. It only took him a few seconds later to speak. "Hey," he said, in a deep, serious tone. "I suggest you and your friends over there to be careful around this area. Around Jiender." This archer really meant it, based on his angry-looking expression.
"Careful? Is there something wrong around where we're at?" Cedric definitely had no idea what this Hyma had meant.
The archer closed his eyes as he spoke. "Look, I cannot directly tell you why. But there are rumors about this village. Not any good ones, I heard."
'Rumors?' the mage wondered. Before he could question him some more, Ru-haji interrupted.
"Now what do you mean by rumors? Are you hiding something about Jiender?" He really wanted answers from the Inish Hyma, but all he did was smirk back while his eyes remained closed.
"Luckily, you shouldn't worry about such things at the moment. Pray to the heavens that Magney has come to protect us and the people of around this village," he recited.
'Just what in the world is this man talking about?' Cedric felt quite annoyed at how vague he was at answering questions. 'What does he mean by Magney protecting us?' Magney, or Saint Magnarta, is a harvest holiday, and only a harvest holiday.
Suddenly, another man, an Inish as well, spoke up. Compared to the archer, he was a little shorter and thinner. The faery has black hair, reaching down to his shoulders. He wore short robes suitable for the wilderness and carried a dagger on his waist. Throughout the whole road trip, he always was shaking and shivering. He wasn't talkative either, just like the archer. Cedric noted him as "Shaky."
He had been quiet for days until now, when he decided to have a say in their conversation. "H-Hey, guys," he said, nervously, "there's no need to w-worry about those t-things, r-right?" The way he talked made Cedric a little uneasy towards him.
"You don't seem well, ironically. Telling us to worry when you yourself look like you got a case of the jitters," said Ru-haji.
"Now now..." Cedric was trying to calm the situation down. "There's no need to continue this subject. I mean, today is Saint Magnarta. It's a day we must celebrate!"
Uriah agreed, and it seemed that the archer agreed as well. "He's right," he laughed. "We should definitely be cherishing Magney's Day."
'Kinda odd for you to change back to a good mood when you warned us about those so-called rumors.' Cedric felt like he's the only one out of everyone in the wagon who isn't some sort of a hypocrite.
As the group ended their conversation, they had completely forgotten about the festival noises. Ru-haji looked outside, and it was obvious that they made it to Jiender.
"Hoo-whee! We made it, folks!" announced the wagon driver. "Gather yer belongins' and git going! Can't afford to waste Magney's time, now do we?" He was waiting for the travelers to get out before he can find a place to leave his wagon.
"It seems we're here," Cedric said. He took a step outside and clearly remembered where he was at, which is a ranch farm of Jiender. Of course, that old man needed to put his wagon and blue ox somewhere, so the stop being at a ranch farm made sense. Fortunately, Cedric knew where the village center was. He gestured the other travelers which path to take to go there, and continued on without much worry in his head.
'Then again,' Sevrannis thought, 'it isn't like I'll be staying here long. So it'd be a waste of time setting one up.' He smiled. 'I'll just give them to the village, then. I still owe the Miss for that breakfast, after all.'
Picking up the last of his materials and placing them into his bags, he folded up his easel and lifted it onto his back, then awkwardly hefted the bags onto his shoulders, buckling somewhat from the combined weight. Adjusting the bags to make the burden a bit more comfortable, he began to walk to his next destination; a small stream just outside the village. Sevrannis had seen it on his way into the village on the day before and had been attracted to the way it shined and flowed under the light of the sun. Unfortunately, he was too tired from the travel from Enche Lanche, choosing to find an inn as soon as possible and resting for about a whole day. But now, he was well rested and ready to paint it.
Sevrannis traversed the stony paths that crisscrossed the village, all the while observing the people and surroundings as the morning went by. Most of the villagers were at work preparing for the festival. Loud bangs of hammers and nails of stalls being set up, soft noises of roads and porches being swept of dirt and stray leaves, noises from the different animals being led around the village pulling wagons and such, and the sounds of chatting and laughter from the villagers and travelers like himself, all accompanied by the sounds of rustling leaves and soft winds. The smell of cooking food wafted through the air. Sevrannis had to wipe his mouth from a bit of drooling. Hyma children played with Met Nymphs along the roads, running around in a game of tag or playing with toys. Some of the children stopped and stared curiously at the painter and the painter replied by smiling and waving slightly, to which they smiled back and continued to play.
He passed by a wagon pulled by a blue ox. The driver waved to him in a friendly manner and the red-haired man returned it as they passed each other. The painter had seen quite a few of these wagons coming into the village, each carrying a variety of Faeries from all over Kiden. He had never seen so many different races in one place before.
‘It’s amazing to think that they’re all here for the festival,’ Sevrannis thought, ‘I wonder if some of them are from Enche Lanche, as well…’
It was not long until Sevrannis reached the stream. It was fairly quiet, the only sounds coming from the chirping birds and running water. The painter set down his easel and bags on a spot with sufficient light and level ground, rolling his shoulders slowly to ease the bit of numbness from carrying the weight. He then opened one of his bags and pulled out several small bottles of paint of various shades of blue and another filled with clear water and placed them on the ground. He also placed a sheet of paper onto the canvas, setting it on the easel. He pulled out a medium sized brush from his apron pocket, dipped it in water and paint, and pointed it, tip first, at the empty canvas. The painter took a deep breath.
“Let’s begin,” Sevrannis said softly.
Then he began to paint.
As he began to cross the sparkling stream, he noticed, in the corner of his grey eye, a young Hyma man in colorful attire who was standing, down the waterway on the other side. The red-headed Hyma kept glancing from a wooden prop, to something behind it, and back at it while poking the prop with a small utensil.
Realizing what is really going on, the Ferner whispered in astonishment, "A painter..." He has seen many paintings before, visiting the many homes and inns of Enche Lanche, but he has never actually seen how someone could place something from real life onto a piece of cloth.
Curious, he crossed the stream and walked in a circle-like fashion to see what was on the canvas. His steps were loud, probably enough to alert the entranced artist. Trying to not look hostile, he casually approached until he could make out what the young man was painting. On the white canvas, there were huge blots of blue and green that were shapeless; they're probably for the sky and the stream with its mossy rocks. There were also spots of orange and red scattered around the bottom; those seem to be fallen leaves and patches of the Magnarta-colored grass. But, the most distinguishable figures of the painting so far were the fiery, golden trees that stood tall on the other side of the stream. Looking back at the same trees that are actually standing there, Wundsten was simply amazed of the fine details captured by the painter and carefully replaced where it should be on the white space.
A rumble in his stomach broke the Ferner's attention and reminded him to hurry on to the village. He rubbed his belly and, before leaving, decided he should leave the Hyma his word of recognition and said, "Incredible work." With that, he whipped around and headed towards the crossroad village.
An old man in a mahogany coat sat against the oak tree in front of his yard, retying kite strings for his neighbors' children. His hands were shaking, but they did not hinder his abilities to fix up the kite. "Now," he began to recite as he was winding up the string, "the wind's what flies your kite. You have ta be patient and let that wind lift it up from your hands; don't try to force your kite to fly by dragging it." The Hymas and Nymphs had been listening to his advice for a good while, but they were raring to get on with flying. "I can see you're all just itchin' ta get out there," he wheezed with amusement.
Finishing his work with ease, he handed the last child, a little green Met Nymph, her orange kite, which was decorated to resemble a fish. The girl brushed her fingers on the kite strings and on the blue paper eyes, then smiled as she squeaked, "Thank you, Bey Hareck." The old Bey of Jiender returned the smile with a quivering nod, letting the Nymph pat his antennae.
Before sending the children off to play, he said one more thing, "A good thing about today, children, is that many strong winds a' brewing as we speak. Off with you all, your kites would be as jittery as yourselves if they could jitter."
Hareck watched the children go off, passing by all the stalls and tables set up for the festival. He noticed how lively the village has already gotten after a few moments past. Everyone had already finished their share of work and were already indulging themselves in festive activities. Most of the fairgoers were having their early feasts while a good many were busy with the entertainment. The rustic melodies of Jeph of Strings gathered an audience, and others became enchanted by Whimsy the Great's magical tricks. Other children delighted themselves with the festival games, and men and women took on fun challenges bestowed upon them by local contests. Everyone of Jiender and their festive spirits were all in harmony with the blessings of St. Magnarta; all were carefree and enjoying life to the fullest.
All the while joyous laughter filled the air, the old man still couldn't take his mind off that dark and ominous cloud. Through all the smiles, the music, and the golden spirit of Magnarta, he still was thinking about that cloud. That hideous blot up above that left him with a bad omen. It took one second to deliver its message, and the rain drops scorched marks into his head. The cloud has already been dispersed, having no need to remind the man of misfortune.
"Papa," a soft voice broke up his thoughts, "Papa Hareck, you sleeping with yer eyes open 'gain?" Hareck turned around and saw his daughter, Feriha, holding two plates of grilled vegetables. She placed one of the plates on his lap and handed him a wooden fork. "Betcha gettin' bored of seeing the same things every year."
Taking this chance to avoid thinking about despair, he joked back, "Nonsense! Seventy-seven times I've been in this festival, and I'm still going to catch myself a silverfish. Right now, I'm just arguing with my body about standing up."
Cedric stopped by a stall and purchased a cup of pineapple juice. The drink was cold and very sweet, much like how a Met Nymph would like their drinks to be. He was sitting down on a wooden bench, looking over the contents of his traveling journal while taking sips. He planned to write down details and thoughts about today's festival, once it's over that is. It may be a joyous day to celebrate, but he wants to do as much in order to understand the relations between the people, their cultures, and the birth of the Great Tree. Jiender certainly has beautiful surroundings, but Cedric also came to the village to meet some old friends. He admitted to himself that this village established quite an attachment within him.
He took one last sip of the pineapple juice he bought, then saw some kids ran passed by him. The little Hymas and Nymphs were rushing out to the meadows, holding onto their kites. The sight of the children amused Cedric to know that this town is doing well, which reminded him of something he must do.
'I should go see how the old mayor is doing. I'm wondering if he will recognize me or not, but it's worth a surprise visit,' he thought.
Disposing the cup he had, Cedric stood up and walked by the crowds and stalls in the square. Before he managed to leave the town square to visit him, he noticed a familiar face not far from where he's at.
"Hey!" Cedric called out to the man. A middle-aged priest in white and black clothing was watching a Tugan Hymian musician, playing songs of the mountains with her mandolin. Cedric remembered the priest as Midus Danaltha, the owner of Jiender's church.
"Hey, Midus! Long time no see!" he called out once more. Midus looked surprised when he greeted the mage.
"Cedric! It's good to see you! How have things been in the Altresta house?"
"Pretty fine. Things are the same as usual. But I spend most of my time traveling now. Don't you know that?"
The priest nodded in response. "Ah, of course," he replied.
Cedric was glad he bump to an old friend. Specifically, he's a friend to the whole Altresta family. After they made their exchange of greetings, Midus had asked Cedric to take note of the musician gathering attention.
"She's truly a magnificent with the mandolin, isn't she?" Cedric found himself astounded by the charming melody coming from her instrument and her musical talent. The foreign musician wore traditional Tugan Hymian tribal garb. As she finished a song, she took a bow towards the crowd before her.
"For a girl with such musical talent, she looks rather young," Cedric commented, which brings up a question to his head. "Did she come here all the way from Tugan Bril?" he asked the priest.
Midus simply shook his head. "People wondered about that, such as yourself. But she has confirmed that she is 16-years old, living in Haubenor. We can assume she wears those Tugan Hymian clothing to show pride of her own culture."
'16-years old? That's pretty young, but I guess it fits with her appearance.'
The two turned back to the girl with her mandolin. She announced to the crowd surrounding her in an obvious Tugan accent, "Next, I will play a song that all of you will surely recognize and love. I hope you enjoy my performance!"
'Maybe the visit to the mayor can wait. I certainly want to hear more of her music.' He stood besides Midus and readied his ears. She plucked the strings of her instrument with her delicate fingers, letting soft sounds flow. Soon, the melody became much faster as the song progressed, and the people began to recognize what she was playing. Young and old people alike started clapping to the rhythm, and some even started dancing happily. Cedric was curious about her lifestyles and how she learned to play. Tugan Hymas do enjoy music a whole lot more than any other race; he wonders why a girl like her would come all the way to Jiender to play music instead of staying at Haubenor.
“And… there,” Sevrannis said as he put the final touches on his latest work. Looking over his work to make sure there weren’t any problems with it, he contemplated about how he would take the painting with him. He said he would leave his works where ever he finished painting them, but in hindsight, he really felt uncomfortable just leaving them in random spots.
‘It might be better to just take all my paintings and put them under that tree,’ Sevrannis thought as he recalled where he placed his first painting. He nodded his head. ‘Yes, that seems like a much better idea.’
Decision made, he packed all of his materials and slung the bags on his shoulders, removed the canvas from the easel, placing it on the ground, as he folded the wooden stand and slung it over his back, picked up the canvas over his head and walked back to the village. A short trek later, Sevrannis heard the familiar sounds of Jiender accompanied by music and clapping and dancing. The painter was amazed. He’d only been gone a short while, but the village was already this active. And it was only the early afternoon!
‘This music is wonderful,’ the red head thought with a smile. He wanted find its source, but first he needed to head back to his tree. Again, he got curious looks for his strange appearance, but did not notice them. Finally he reached the tree where he placed his first painting, but saw a small group of people around the tree, a mixture of travelers and villagers. Some of them, Sevrannis noticed from their clothes, were quite wealthy. He caught some of their words as he got closer.
“Who would they just leave this here?”
“It’s as if the trees were grown inside a world in the paper!”
“Wait! That signature… It’s Sevrannis Jesfahlt!”
“The master painter!? Here!?”
“Oh, I simply must meet him!”
Sevrannis blushed at the words as he tapped the shoulder of one the men. The man turned his head toward the painter. Sevrannis licked his lips in nervousness before speaking.
“Um… excuse me, I need to get through,” the painter said in a quiet voice.
The man looked confused and was about to ask why, but as he got a good look at the Jesfahlt’s appearance, he made a conclusion, “My word. You wouldn't happen to be the Sevrannis Jesfahlt, would you!?” The exclamation made the crowd stop their talking and stare at the now very uncomfortable painter.
“… Um… Yes?” Sevrannis confirmed in an even quieter voice. He instantly regretted it. Almost in an instant, he was swarmed by the small crowd like bees to a flower, or more like a hungry pack of wolves on a small rabbit. There was much pushing and shoving involved, and the red haired man was unfortunately caught in the middle. The painter heard dozens of voices directed at him at once. Some asked him questions about his lifestyle, others asked about how he got his talent, others wanted commissions, and did one of them just ask to kiss him? Sevrannis tried to push the group away, but not only was he too weak; he was weighed down by all of his equipment, especially his recently finished piece. Unable to fight against the literal wave of people, he could only do his best to protect his materials and painting, yelling out to try and calm the crowd.
And today started out as such great day, too.
Sensing something before his feet, he looked down to find a little brass-plated chest reflecting a perfect image of his face. It was so very peculiar that an object such as that could stand out like a sore thumb, and yet, no one has even touched it. He instinctively picked up the chest, holding it with his fingers since it was almost as small as a Hyma's hand. The chest was very plain; it was plated all around with brass and a tiny leather strap kept it closed. Out of curiosity, he removed the strap.
As the Ferner was opening it, he paused and realized that this must be one of the doings of his friend, a Cyclops woman named Otruco Estrualia. In Wundsten's earlier years of adventure, his path crossed with her's on one dark night in Ametty. Both of them, along with a few others, were being held captive by a band of outlaws. Most of the captives were Cyclopes traveling to Enche Lanche, and Otruco was their leader, whom lost her eyesight to the outlaws whilst trying to defend her followers. They managed to escape when the outlaws' camp was ambushed by Nixae. But as they made their escape, Wundsten was reluctant to follow because the outlaws took his chieftain's gift, which was an azure crystal pendant. The blind Cyclops urged him to follow her or else he would get himself killed. So, he left the pendant behind, hoping one day that he could once again recover it. In the morning after, he helped Otruco with her wounds and led her party to the city of Amet. During that journey, he learned that her party was traveling to Haubenor to deliver the Cyclopic knowledge of magic in exchange for teachings in other forms of magic, with which they would bring back home. Then, after accompanying the Cyclopes in their mission, Otruco promised that she would repay him should they meet again.
It's too bad that the Chieftan passed before I could even find it, thinking back to the time he left the pendant behind. He felt guilty again for losing it, even though he was forgiven years ago. His thoughts returned to Otruco, wondering what sort of magic trick does the little brass box hold. He flipped open the lid and his eyes grew twice their size as he could not have believed what treasure did the chest hold. It was the cheiftan's pendant, the very same one that he left behind that one night. It was such an ironic coincidence that the great grey man let out a rumbling cry of laughter. The chain was missing but the pendant was still in one piece, and it also looked brand new. He held it with his thumb and pointer finger and lifted up to the sun, recognizing the glittering patterns that appeared whenever he held it up to light, long ago.
"I knew you'd be surprised," said a familiar voice from behind. Wundsten turned and looked below him to find Otruco in traditional Inish clothing, her arms behind her back. Her black hair was cut to neck length and her eye was wrapped over with a bandana that had an eye symbol sewn on. The blind Cyclops wasn't directly facing him, but he knew that smile she had on her face was for him.
"Otruco, you found it! I can't believe how could you even think of ever finding it! This... this is... Oh ho ho, this is some trick, isn't it," doubted the Ferner, whom was trying to be rational.
"Heh," the lady chuckled, "you think that it would be impossible for me on the count of being blind. But how could you doubt me when you're holding your precious pendant in your own hand, the same one that you lost."
Jokingly, he continued to doubt her, "Preposterous! How could a blind person find anything that is lost without any clues?"
"Actually, I can see much better now than I've ever had when I still had my eye. You see, during my time at Haubenor, I learned much about Kyden energy, and it did not take me much trouble to learn how to see how the currents of Kyden flow through the air, water, and ground and around people and things. Using that, I just decided to drop by where we first met to pick up something."
Looking back at the pendant and back at her, Wundsten laughed out loud once more, "Ha! Incredible is what you are, not blind at all!" He placed it back in the chest and sealed it with the strap. "Your magic just saved me a lot of work and saved me from my own guilt, haha!"
"By the way," she said in a more annoyed tone, putting a finger on her chin, "why were you taking so long to get here? I sent you a message two months in advance."
Wundsten knew she would ask that question, and fortunately he had already thought of an excuse. "Oh, well as I was on my journey to Jiender, I came across a rabbit hole of some kind, only it was the size of a bear. Knowing someone like me, I-"
"I expected you would take a carriage to Jiender."
"Hmph, those that take carriages are missing out. Anyway, I had a feeling in my gut that urged me to jump in. So, I went in and..." Believing that the great grey storyteller would go on and on with this fabricated tale, Otruco decided to make herself comfortable and took a seat on a nearby bench.
The music she performed were all so soothing and exciting, contributing much to the happy atmosphere of the village. Cedric was astounded by her talent, pondering if she's related to any famous musicians of Tugan Bril.
"What's her name, by the way?" Cedric had asked Midus. The priest held up his chin as he tried to remember.
"As she started performing, she announced her name as Mifa. I think that's only her first name." Cedric hoped to greet with her when he gets the chance of closure.
Once the crowd had dispersed to other attractions and areas of the village, both Cedric and Midus sat down in a nearby wooden bench and caught up with what they've been doing. Midus had talked about his favorite preachings of this year as well as the town's status. Cedric was glad to hear about Jiender's well-being. Then he told him about his journeys to the other cities and villages in Enche Lanche and some parts of Kidennar. Having presented his travel journal to Midus, the priest seemed very impressed by the logs written inside.
"My, you've been everywhere in the region, and you even went to Inish Root of Kidennar! Did you go to all of these places by yourself?"
"Well, I'm not sure how to answer that. Technically, I did go there alone without any family or friends. However, I traveled with groups of people on the same route. It's usually with a group paying for the wagon transport service, but sometimes they happened to be a band of adventurers heading to the next town. I prefer not to travel alone, after all."
The two continued to discuss until Midus noticed some of the folk heading towards a certain direction outside the town square. They were mentioning about a famous artist in town, by the name of Sevrannis Jesfalt. Cedric immediately recognized the name as the popular painter of Enche Lanche. He was quite surprised that Sevrannis was here, but Midus looked like he had no idea of who Sevrannis was.
"You don't know? Sevrannis Jesfalt is a very famous painter in from Enche Lanche. But I can't believe he's here, in Jiender!" Cedric explained to him. Midus finally understood, then told him about Jiender being very slow with the news update.
"... or maybe it's just me getting old. I'm in my fifties, and I've never left this village to hear about the ongoings much," Midus added.
He suggested the both of them should check out the artist, but the mage wanted to talk with Mifa. When Cedric turned to where the Mifa was last seen, she was gone. 'Ah well. I guess I shall talk to her during the Grand Feast event, hopefully.'
They decided to follow the people heading outside, only to see what looked like a young man being pulled and pushed by those surrounding him. He was quickly identified as the artist, since he's holding onto his painting equipment while handling the crowd. It was expected to see him like this, since he's the hot topic around Enche Lanche.
"That's him, Sevrannis Jesfalt. The one being... attacked by the mob of fans," he said, trying his best to resist a laugh. Midus had asked if they should help him from the adoring crowd, and Cedric agreed with him.
"Ey, you two! Don't ya ever thought the young lad had 'nuff of the crowd already?" A familar voiced stopped both Cedric and Midus, who were about to go help out Sevrannis. Before Midus would reply, Cedric finally remembered who it was with the familiar voice.
"Could it be you... Hareck?" Cedric questioned, slowly turning around to see for himself.
"It's Bey Hareck! Can't believe ya forget ta address me like that!" It was the bey of the town, Old Hareck.
"Hah! It is you!" Cedric greeted him with a smile and a long handshake. "How've you been, old man?"
"Oh, just fine. Just fine, me boy. Bless Magney that we meet again this great day!"
As the two exchanged smiles and laughters, Cedric had noticed something odd about the old man. Midus was also wondering about the same thing of Hareck.
"Bey Hareck," Cedric slowly said. "Why are your clothes so dirty?"
The elder village had told them his recent game of Silverfishing, where he was dragged across grass, dirt, and puddles of mud within the silverfish pen. Cedric had scolded the man, trying to convince him to not play physical games due to his age. Of course, the mayor didn't much cared about his worries. Midus told Cedric there's no way of changing his behavior when it comes to the festivities of Jiender.
"After all, it's an once-a-year opportunity for the him to have fun, especially with the kids," said the priest. Then, the bey decided to go back on topic.
"As I just 'membered, you two are gonna help that poor artist. Aren't I right?" asked Hareck. The two nodded in response.
"Aye, sorry for stopping the both of ya. Though, the boy did deserve the crowd he's got. And I hafta say, he's a fine painter. Glad he came to me ol' village." Hareck turned around and began walking away. "Now if you 'scuse me, I'mma gonna see if things are on top back at the square before the Grand Feast. Thinkin' bout that feast just makes you hungry a lot more, don't ya think?"
As he headed back to the town square, Midus looked as if he just remembered something urgent. He quickly spoke to the mage in a hasty manner.
"I almost forgot. I need to go help prepare the banquet for the Grand Feast. Sorry, but I must be there now!" He began walking away in a fast pace. Before he forget, he turned around and shouted, "The feast will be ready by dinner time, Cedric. Don't forget to be there!"
Midus was gone, and Cedric had just remembered that he needed to help the troubled fellow. He quickly squeezed himself barely inside the group, trying to get closer to the artist and spread some room between him and the mob. Cedric was saying mannered phrases such as "excuse me" and "pardon me" out of habit, while trying to get through. Unfortunately, faeries thought the mage was trying to gather Sevrannis's attention for himself. Instead, the strategy backfired and they were trying to push Cedric out away from the artist now.
"Out of the way! I saw him first!"
"Mr. Jesfahlt! Please! Just one painting!"
"Pardon me, sorry. Hey! C'mon now! Can't you see he's had enough! He-" "Move!" "Ow!"
Sevrannis was getting tired. Being pushed around by a crowd of people he didn't know with almost all of them yelling at him for some reason or another coupled with his already weak constitution sapped away at his strength to the point where he could barely stand. No, wait, he stopped standing quite a while ago. He's actually being held up by crowd's squeezing, and Sevrannis was pretty sure that constant squeezing upon the body wasn't good for it. He could barely breathe, much less yell out to try to at least calm the crowd. All he could do was keep his painting raised high above his head, but his strength was already on its last ropes. The painter could barely think, his consciousness fading fast.
'Someone! P-please help!' The painter thought desperately, tightly closing his eyes as he hoped for a miracle.
"Let me through! He shall paint for- hrm! How dare you! Unhand me- Argh!"
"What in the? Who are- Ah!"
"Remove yourselves from my path or I shall make you!" someone yelled in a piercing loud voice.
The crowd, almost as one, looked at the owner of the voice and stepped back. However, the people that were holding up the red head stepped back with the group, causing the red head to stumble face-first. Luckily, a man from the crowd rushed in and caught the painter before he hit the ground.
"Mr. Jesfalt, are you alright?!" the man said, shaking the painter lightly.
Dazed, the painter looked at the man. "Y-yes, I'm fine, now. Thank you," he replied as he tried to stand, but only succeeded in righting himself before falling into a seating position on the grass. Sevrannis looked around for a moment, and then gasped. "M- my painting! Where-"
"Here," said a voice behind him.
'That voice…' Sevrannis thought, mind muddled from lack of oxygen, 'Could it be?'
Sevrannis turned his body to face the owner of the voice and gasped in a mixture of surprise and happiness. Standing before him was a tall woman, taller than most of the male Inish Hymas in the crowd by about a full head, holding his painting in one hand, the other on the hilt of a sword on her back. Her face was quite pretty, but was set in a stern look, piercing blue eyes directed at the painter and the man, a slight frown upon her features. Red hair flowed from her head, stopping just below her neck and cut straight in the front, most likely to keep her hair out of her eyes, and was a shade darker than the painter's.
She was dressed in what appeared to be treated ironwood armor, though not completely; gauntlets and vambraces protected her hands and arms, her ankles to her feet covered by greaves and leather boots, and to complete it, her upper body up to her neck covered in a cuirass with the image of the sun emblazed on its front in gold paint, with faulds covering her waist and thighs. If one looked close enough, there were numerous scars along the armor and some parts of the steel showed that it had been repaired several times. Marks of her trials and experiences. She wore a red long-sleeved shirt under her armor along with equally red shorts that ended just above her knees. A sheathed claymore was strapped over her back, a single hand on its hilt, ready to be drawn.
All in all, the woman looked very intimidating, many frozen in place, staring at her with a slight fear.
The only person who did not seem to be intimidated by her was Sevrannis, who in fact, looked incredibly happy to see her.
The intimidating woman, Clochette, smiled, her face filling with warmth. "Hello, Sev." She turned her attention to the man next to him, smile gone and warmth gone, the frown once again on her face.
"Your name?" she asked in a clipped tone, her voice as cold as ice.
"Cedric Altresta, ma'am." he said, gulping. He couldn't help but add the 'ma'am' at the end.
"An Altresta?" At that, she gave Cedric a slight bow, arm crossing her shoulder in a formal salute. "I thank you for trying to aid my baby brother, Sir Altresta. I am Clochette Jesfahlt, Sev's elder sister and watchman of Haubenor."
'Elder sister?' the crowd thought as one. Sevrannis was related to such a scary woman? And to top it off, a watchman? Watchmen were known to defend the city from nixae on the nights when they are most active, in addition to defending against criminals and such, and are always the first line of defense when the dark season of Rumiaury comes around.
She was definitely someone not to cross.
Clochette kneeled beside her brother, cupping his cheek with an armored hand while placing the painting on the ground next to her. "Are you alright, Sev?" she asked.
Sevrannis nodded. "I'm fine now. A little winded, but fine."
His sister frowned. "You almost pass out and you say you’re 'a little winded?' You can barely stand up."
"That's not true! Look!" The painter, once more, tried to stand, but only got as far as getting on his knees before falling again, Cedric and Clochette catching him. The painter chuckled weakly. "Okay… maybe not."
The armored woman sighed as she removed Sevrannis's things before looping an arm under his and lifting him up into her arms… like a husband carrying his wife, much to the amusement of the people.
"Clo!" Sevrannis yelped, an embarrassed blush on his face. "This is- I'm a grown man! You don't have to carry me like this!"
Clochette merely gave him a blank look. "This is the most comfortable way to carry someone," she replied simply. The beginnings of a smirk tugged at her lips. "And teasing my baby brother is the job of the elder sister."
The elder Jesfahlt turned her head towards Cedric, ignoring her brother's whine.
"Sir Altresta. Carry my brother's things, would you?" she asked. Her commanding tone, however, made it sound like an order more than anything.
Cedric nodded quickly. "Understood, ma'am." he said, moving to collect Sevrannis's bags. He awkwardly lifted them onto his shoulders, but it wasn't too heavy a burden, if a little uncomfortable.
"Oh!" Sevrannis suddenly spoke up, his sister turning to him. " About the painting… I was going to place it under the tree there. See?" He pointed to the tree in question, where the painting he had done before breakfast leaned on its trunk.
Clochette nodded. She turned her head toward a random man in the crowd, a wealthy man, judging by his clothes and gait, fixing him a slight glare. "Take this painting," she gestured her head to the painting on the floor, "and put it next to the other one."
"M-me?" the wealthy man gulped, pointing to himself. Clochette raised a delicate eyebrow that said 'Are you really asking such a stupid question?'. After a moment, the man nervously stepped forward, trying not to meet the woman's gaze, and picked up the painting.
"Try not to damage it," the female watchman said. "My brother would have a heart attack."
The man complied, fully aware that the elder Jesfahlt was watching him like a hawk. He carefully picked up the painting by the sides, walked over to the tree, and set it down gently next to the other one. With a satisfied nod, Clochette turned to Sevrannis.
"Where are you lodging, Sev?"
"Um… I can take you, if you put me down…"
Sevrannis sighed. "…It's that way," he said in a resigned voice as he pointed his hand toward a direction.
The watchman nodded. "Come along, Sir Altresta," she called out as she began to walk.
"Right…" Cedric replied, following the woman.
The crowd stared at them as they left the area, one thought going through their minds.
'What just happened?'
…Today was a weird day.
Keeping such details revolving around Clochette in mind, he forced his hands tightly onto Sevrannis's belongings with extreme caution. Not being careful enough, or even dropping it, could result in upsetting his fierce sister. Cedric was very worried, but soon realized he's only exaggerating. He shook his head a bit, trying to let go of his own insane imaginations. As of now, he's feeling a small mixture of excitement and nervousness.
Fortunately, Cedric was glad to be born from the Altresta family, and Clochette seemed to know and respect them. He sighed quietly as he walked a little behind the two. Both she and Sevrannis looked like lovely siblings to him, and it's certainly an adorable sight. Cedric instantly smiled upon watching them for a second, reminding him of some very fond memories he had as a child. Suddenly, he quickly snapped out of his little daydream and remembered something. Something about Clochette, her appearance, and the fact that they're in Jiender stroke Cedric with a curious face.
Clearly, Jiender isn't a very known village. When Saint Magnarta comes around, Jiender's festivities couldn't possibly match the hype and excitement that is Haubenor. Cedric remembered his reason coming to this little town, and it's not a simple decision. It was more of a responsible to him, with high priority. The mage felt the need to ask them because their presence here was quite surprising. It had already caused a commotion, and Cedric could only wonder why Sevrannis came here. Was it for the vast scenery outside Jiender? A painter's journey, perhaps?
And Clochette... Cedric was a little more curious about her. She is a sister to Sevrannis, and it could've been assumed that Jeshfahlts stick together. But her appearance had a strong impact onto those around her. He remembered the crowd from awhile ago muttering something about watchmen.
"Excuse me," he called out to them, catching up to pace. As he began walking alongside, he asked, "I was wondering... what brought the two of you here in Jiender?"
"Ah, I'll leave it at a cliffhanger, then. Why don't you come with me for a meal, Otruco?" He offered to pay for anything the cyclops chose to eat, wanting to repay some of his self-proclaimed debt to her.
The patient woman, who was lying sideways on the bench, sat up and replied, "Oh? You have money on you? Well then, let us be off." She stood up, brushing her skirt with her hands, and said, “I’ve been starving, much like you are.” Without waiting for a reply, she started towards the village center, where most of the food stalls are.
The ferner, hesitating for a moment, tucked the small brass chest into his pocket and followed her. Beyond them stood rings of venders offering delectable meals, and rows of wooden benches and tables, a bountiful number of occupants matching the bountiful produce. In the crisp air, joyous cacophony of children with laughter of the rest reverberated throughout the rustic plaza as the smells of the season’s winds and food stalls traveled around and to its far surroundings. The closer the two friends were to the center, the more saturated in color and music was the whole scene.
When they arrived, Otruco stopped in the middle of the stony street, pondering about what she would eat. With her new vision, the cyclops browsed each stall without even turning her head; there were two reasons for her not to. Steamed carrots, roasted potatoes, stews with cherries, brews with berries, Amettian seabread along with Inish cheeses of all types… Oh my, so many choices, thought the cyclops, rocking her head side to side while trying to decide.
As the she stood there, Wundsten, on the other hand, had already made up his mind, long ago. He has heard about the quality of beef roasts and jerky from the Amettian-Inish border, particularly the ones from the area around Jiender, and ever since, he’s been wanting to have a taste. He approached a butcher’s stall, which had racks of skewered meat sizzling as they were slowly turned over a large fire by the butcher’s boys. The stall itself was very large when compared to its neighbors, and people of all kinds came and went, thanking the butcher and leaving with a plate mounted high with slabs of smoking beef. Coin pouch in hand, he approached smoky stand, the bare-headed butcher already prepared to hear his order after handing a plate to his last customer.
“Ahem, good day to you, sir,” he greeted the butcher with a wave. “I would like the largest chunk of beef you have on a skewer - that one with the charred sides to be exact,” pointing at one of the skewers rotating over the fire. He held up his coin pouch and bounced it, making all the coins inside jingle.
As the butcher was telling one of his assistants to bring over the skewer, he turned to Wundsten and said, “First visit to Jiender, are ya Ferner? Well, I have to tell ya: on Magney’s day, all the food’s free for anyone with the appetite. Of course, the food you get, you must eat, hehehe.” He reached over his shoulder to receive Wundsten’s order from his assistant and handed to him.
Glad for that fact that he didn’t have to spend his meager funds, he took the skewered beef and said, “You saved yourself a whole while of bartering-talk.”
Just as he was about to thank the butcher, a commotion , which had been very low and far seconds ago, was rapidly building up. Musicians, in turn, begun to play a little louder while some, including Wunsten, looked for the source of the noise. On the same path he and Otruco entered the village center from, there seemed to be a boisterous mass of followers coming, trailing behind.
“Oh, I’ve heard about Sevrannis’s presence in Jiender. But, even with my time in Haubenor, I’ve never met him before,” said Otruco, suddenly appearing by Wundsten’s side.
Even if the ferner was more surprised about the cyclops’s sudden appearance than the crowd, he asked, “Sevrannis? You mean the painter from Haubenor?” He squinted his eyes and recognized the red-headed man from earlier, the one painting just outside of Jiender. “Well, it looks like he’s caused some trouble - look, the watchman’s got him in her arms like a bride!”
"Are we not allowed to be here?" she asked in a clipped tone, one that seemed to promise that if she did not like the answer, he would be regretting it. Cedric shook his head quickly.
"No," he began, pausing to choose his words carefully before speaking again, "I am... merely curious. As you know, Jiender is a village that not many know about," here, he looked around at the amount of people walking the paths, noting that some of them stared curiously at the two Jesfahlts or were following them, "Despite the large amount of people coming in, it is nothing compared to that of the larger cities, such as Haubenor or Amet."
"True," Clochette responded, nodding for Cedric to continue. The traveling mage cleared his throat.
"So, I was wondering. What brought you two here to such an out-of-the way village?"
The watchman was silent for a moment, looking down at her brother who stared back. "Actually, Clo. I also want to know why you're here," Sevrannis said curiously, "not that I don't mind, of course," he added at his sister's raised eyebrow. "I mean, you're usually off busy doing your job or training new recruits or something..." Clochette smiled at her brother.
"Isn't it obvious? I am here merely to look after you."
"W-what!?" Sevrannis exclaimed, staring at his sister in mild annoyance and outrage, "Sis! I'm not a dog!"
"But you get into trouble like one," she responded coolly, a smirk on her face, "like just a few minutes ago."
Sevrannis looked away. "I... I could've handled it..."
"Right. I'm sure having the crowd crush you until you lost consciousness was a perfect way to get them off."
The painter sputtered. "I... well..." Unable to find the words to say, Sevrannis merely turned his head away from his sister and pouted. Clochette let out an uncharacteristic giggle.
Cedric chuckled at the exchange, finding it humorous that a renowned painter could make such a face and be defeated so easily in an argument. Schooling himself, he addressed the painter, "And you, Mr. Jesfahlt? Why are you here?"
"Me?" Sevrannis said, turning his head toward the Altresta, or at least tried his best to, considering his position, before continuing, "well, I'm on a bit of a vacation, actually."
"A vacation?" Cedric questioned.
"It was on my sister's recommendation," the painter replied, looking up at Clochette who lightly smiled back. Sevrannis returned the smile, but his lips slowly fell into a thin line, eyes turning sad. "I'm... uhh..." he mumbled quietly.
Clochette, seeing her brother's discomfort with the topic, turned on the Altresta. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't pry, especially in business that doesn't concern you." she interrupted in a commanding tone, glaring at the man, a slight snarl on her pretty features. Cedric took a small step back at the sudden animosity displayed by the elder sibling, gulping in slight fear. It was stopped when Sevrannis pinched his sister's cheek, causing her to look at him in surprise.
"Clo, be nice," he said, lowering his hand.
Sevrannis shook his head, "It's alright..."
Clochette was quiet for a moment, looking at her brother as if she was searching for something. She sighed. She turned to Cedric and gave a small bow, an achievement considering the weight on her arms.
"Forgive me for my rude display, Sir Altresta."
Cedric shook his head slowly. "N-no, it's fine. I was being insensitive. If Mr. Jesfahlt does not want to say anything, then..."
"No, it's fine, I'll tell you..." Sevrannis assured. He paused for a moment, trying to find the words to say, "I'm... in a slump right now..."
Cedric adopted a look of confusion, "A slump?"
Clochette continued for her brother, "It's been half a year since Sev has been able to paint properly."
"Really? But I just saw you with two new paintings..."
"For master painters, it's easy to paint what you see," the watchman replied, "You've seen his works, haven't you?"
Of course he has. A man of the Altresta family, or any wealthy family really, has seen the young painter's works. His own family even commissioned a few paintings from him.
'House on a Rainbow Sea, Island Beyond The Skies, Mirror's Viewing,' Cedric recalled, a slight calm filling him as he remembered each painting, 'it's like each painting is a completely other world... ah!' His eyes widened in realization.
"That's right... Mr. Jesfahlt paints mainly fantastical scenes," the Altresta said slowly.
Clochette nodded slightly, glancing at her brother.
"I paint through inspiration from my dreams, whether it be a good dream or a nightmare," the painter began, eyes staring at the sky as he recalled those days, smiling lightly. His voice, however, was filled with melancholy. "But one day... I stopped dreaming," he continued, a pained look etched onto his face, "For months, I just sat and stared at an empty canvas. It's... pathetic, and... I know that most people would think it's foolish, but it hurts me so much being unable to paint."
"I could not bear to see Sev in such a depressed state," Clochette followed, "I had to do something. That's when I remembered Jiender's annual festival was coming around, so I recommended that he come here to unwind."
"Ah, so you've been here before?" Cedric asked.
Clochette gave a small nod, "Only once. It was last year, during the festival. I stayed for a few days."
Cedric perked up at this, "Really now? What did you think of the festival?"
Clochette shrugged, "I cannot say. I was here on business, not pleasure."
Cedric deflated at that. "I see..."
The group fell into silence after that statement as they continued their walk, Sevrannis occasionally pointing them in the direction to the inn. The walk did not take long, but they had to stop quite a few times due to some of Sevrannis's fans badgering him for autographs and painting requests. Clochette scared them away with a mean look accompanied with threats of bodily harm. Sevrannis could only blush and hide his face in his hands in embarrassment, quietly apologizing for his elder sister's attitude. It took about half an hour before they finally reached the inn the painter stayed in.
"This is it," Sevrannis said, pointing to one of the windows on the second story, "My room is up there."
Clochette merely nodded as she stepped toward the door, Cedric following behind her.
Cedric took a quick look around the inn. Everything in the room was designed in a traditional sense, although the atmosphere felt a little familiar.
"Oh!" Cedric exclaimed as he realized where they're at. "This must be the Duckmoon Inn, isn't it?"
Sevrannis replied back. "Yes, it is. The sign was just outside..." But Cedric didn't react much toward his answer.
Immediately, he looked around again. "Where's the innkeeper?" he wondered. He looked at the two with a curious look on his face. Sevrannis was not sure about where the innkeeper had gone to, and Clochette stated that she wasn't obviously here when that man left. Fortunately, one of the met nymphs responded back to Cedric.
"He told me and my husband he went off to help with the big event!" she said excitedly.
Cedric knew what she meant by the big event. And it seemed only Sevrannis was unaware by it, while Clochette has only heard about it.
"I wasn't exactly at this sort of event, but I've heard it's a big feast gathered by all of the residents and travelers alike," replied Clochette.
The young man nodded. "You're right. A large feast shared by all of the townspeople in celebration of Saint Magnarta, or, as they call it, Magney's Day. Basically, we get to eat as much foods as we can with everyone else!"
Explaining this to both Jesfahlts made Cedric quite hungry now. He added, "The event should begin around six o'clock in the evening. Once that time comes, let us all enjoy the food together. That is what Saint Magnarta is about, after all."
Most recent OOC posts in Roots of the Genesis: Throat of the Siren
Though, I am sure that later on we will be able to take in others. Also, I'm not sure if this particular RP is going to stay private for long.
This is the auto-generated OOC topic for the roleplay "Roots of the Genesis: Throat of the Siren"
You may edit this first post as you see fit.
Sooner or later, I'll update information about the world of Kiden on these OOC threads. We have no need to use them for plot discussions... yet.