Announcements: Initiative: Promoting Forum Roleplay » Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newcomers » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Train Poetry I » Joker » D&D Alignment Chart: How To Get A Theorem Named After You » Dungeon23 : Creative Challenge » Returning User - Is it dead? » Twelve Days of Christmas » Empty Skies » Does Mind Affect the World? » I have an announcement. » Iskjerne Ballad by dealing_with_it » Viking Music / Norse Songs - Germanic Paganism » Capitalism » Panspermia: a Case for Cordyceps » The Ethics on owning a Housepet » I just really had to share this plot idea. » Materialism » Satire & Comedy » Platonic numbers » No complaints (a little bit of rappin) » Any multi-player roleplay videogamers here? »

Players Wanted: OSR Armchair Warrior looking for Kin » Friday the 13th Fun, Anyone? » Writers Wanted! » Long term partner to play an older male wanted » DEAD! » Looking for new RP Buddy(s)! » Sands of Oblivion » Looking for Role Players to join an active universe » Looking for Empire of Cendalia Players » Seeking Roleplayers for The Isekai Wonderland Project » Hadean The Brave - Fresh Blood » Just a trophy of status - long term, story focus! » Kingdom come looking for roleplayers » The Last Dragon! » Roleplay Return for 1 x 1 » Players wanted for a science fiction adventure. » Players needed for Fantasy Romance reboot » One(1) male & Two(2) Female Roles OPEN <3 » Talmora: Kingdom of magic » Looking For A New Partner »

Skaerra: The Unlikely Tale


The Universe of Skaerra holds many secrets, not the least of which is the world of Skaerra itself.
Create a Character Here »

Universe of Skaerra

A creation of the One Creator.


Universe of Skaerra is a part of Skaerra: The Unlikely Tale.

2 Places in Universe of Skaerra:

2 Characters Here

Lisaana "Lisa" Kurran [1] "Helping people sometimes means hurting others. It's one of the facts of life I hate to its core."
Saskia "Sassy" Kurran [1] "We going to have a problem? Cause I love dishing out solutions!"

Start Character Here »

0 Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Year 3500, Skaerra Calendar

Within grand hallowed halls, Ircys stood. He awoke from a dream that spoke and called him to stand watch. It was the same dream he had had every slumber. He strode forward to the edge with caution, his eyes firm upon the night beyond the hall. The darkness surrounded him, as it had for over millennia. He no longer missed the clouds that he once looked down upon. He felt content as he always felt, but now he felt something different.

She stepped in, unannounced, but certainly ever welcome. Tiamniel approached him, trying to see what he was seeing.

"What is it?" Her voice, though rich like a harp, trembled at the sight of him upon the edge.

"Every night, it is the same. The same voice calling for me to stand watch and wait. It tells me it is him, but I wait, and I wait. And never do I see him."

"More urgent matters have arisen," she spoke.

Ircys turned his eyes to her grim countenance.

Tiamniel's brow furrowed, "Oelne is plotting something, I sense it. The first in more than a thousand years, as if his throne has grown uncomfortable for him. That arrogant bast-"

"You have sent Jehael?"

"Jehael is investigating as we speak."

"We must remain vigilant of his moves. Though powerless as we are, what few deeds we can do, we must do. He would have wanted it."

Ircys gave one last look at the night before he would go to his rest, but before he could rest something had diverted him. He examined it further.

"Do you see...?"


"Do you see it?"

Ircys was unsure, but suddenly a hope rose from beneath the surface. It had to be tempered, though. Oelne's servants were watching. They could not risk revealing themselves or much of what they knew.

"He is returning."


"Do you not remember our brother?"

Tiamniel resigned with a sigh before she started back for her chambers, disappointed that he still kept with this charade while the rest had moved on. They had waited for him for a long time. A very long time, but none for so long as Ircys. Though they had all given up, Ircys never tired in his watch.

"He is gone Ircys. Fled. He has disappeared and left us all here to rot. We have waited, for so long, he has broken his promise. Come what may to this world. We have given enough of our souls and time to it," she pleaded, "Can we not leave the rest in the hands of the Creator?"

Ircys remained poised, and unmoved. He knew what he saw, what he was seeing.

"No, the Creator chose us. The Creator chose him. I see him. I see it."

"You see nothing but Night. Night is laughing at your delusions, Ircys. Even it knows that Mo-"

"It is different now. I see it, I see the Fallen Star. He returns."

Tiamniel paused and shifted her eyes into the ever large expanse of night.

Many stars glittered like jewels among a velvet drape, like specks that remained untouched on a blackened canvas.

Then there was one, so different from the rest. It shone with muted brilliance, as though it had been waiting for too long for its time to finally come.

Ircys saw it.

Now she saw it. She took several tentative steps forward, "Is that..."

"Him," Ircys expressed, his breath almost completely escaped from him.

"Go," he bade, "Tell the others that he is returning. Inform Nylae and the others. We must-"

"Rest first. I will speak with Nylae. What more can we do now?"

Ircys breathed, "I know not."

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Huo Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Klang! A stranger in a strange bar.

Klang! The hell does she mean, “Red Wind”?

Klang! What is happening to her now? Klang!

Klang! Where did she go?

Klang! Klang! Klang!

The echo of metal on metal rang in the air, stirring with the multitude of sound that rose from the inner ring of the colosseum. Thank the Creator for the din, as it drown out the ever pulsing thoughts that resounded in the tired mind of the youth putting hammer to steel at the time. A young Niessen, fair of hair and fair of skin, toiled at the anvil that was placed just inside the last gate before the actual arena floor spread forth in a field of blood soaked sand. Sweat rolled down the young man’s distinguished features as he plied his trade, mending a gladiator’s fractured shield with a slow weld along an outer crack. He’d told the man that it would be best to just use another, but the fighter claimed he has sentimental attachment and she the young man worked to mend it as best he could, sure any flaw would spell the end of the shield and thus the end of the gladiator’s life.

That was his trade now. Where other blacksmith’s dealt in steel and iron to till the fields and harvest the grain he deal in life and death, in blood and bone. A dagger he crafted yesterday may be used to cut a throat a few days later. At the same time the shield he mended my ford off a lethal strike from that same dagger if he did his job well. There was a new duality to his work that the boy had never considered, never conceived, never even dreamed on a drunken night he would face. To be honest he absolutely despised it.

“Caspian, careful with the leather!” a loud rumble of a voice called form across the forge. Looking up the youth found the deep resonance to have originated in the bulging belly of his new master, a man named Amon who was the head blacksmith at the Colosseum.

“Aye, sir!” he replied curtly and made doubly sure of his next few strikes. The young man was a journeyman as a blacksmith and was doing well by all accounts, but this new job was far from easy. In the past Caspian, as he was called, worked at his father’s shop by day, tending they family tavern with his mother at night, and was ne’er the aware of such a brutal reality as he found in these sandstone walls that surrounded him. But now he had a benefit that his father’s shop lacked, a front row seat to the effect of that sword that he had fired a fortnight past. Caspian redoubled his effort on his work, trying to drown out the images he’d seen weapons of his hand cause in recent weeks. This apprenticeship could not end soon enough.


The sound coming from the arena swam with the sway of the crowd as the exhibition bout being fought within took a sudden turn. Caspian could have glanced over through the wooden slats of his station on the sidelines but he didn’t feel the need. These kind of sports never interested him, even as a child, and on the few holidays that the family had made the attempt to trek the few days between the Colosseum and his home town he had never come to the imposing structure to see a fight but rather one of the non-violent performances of a circus or some religious reenactment. His father didn’t like the bloodshed either, saying he’d seen enough in his old days during the war. Apparently, however, Master Amon hadn’t. He glanced up through the slats and whistled through his teeth; “Huo’s having trouble!” he called swiftly as another roar erupted from the crowd.

Caspian continued with his work, stoking another band of thin metal in the fire to be applied to reinforce the cracked shield yet again, he didn’t want to watch these matches any more than he had too; although the thuds of the large weapon being used within were useful in drowning out the nagging and bodiless vocalizations running through his head. Until he heard another Thud! followed by a short cry just a few dozen yards behind him. That didn’t come from the arena… he thought with a sigh as he slowly turned to see if his suspicions were correct. “Damn it.” of course they were.

“Gah!” a another guttural cry escaped the small body of a young boy before being cut short by another kick to his side from one of the three tall guards that surrounded him. The boy wore a ragged cloth tunic and couldn’t have been more than ten years old, a slave brought in to do the menial chores of the grand Colosseum, one of many similar youths that serviced the massive walls. The three guards were also no rare sight, and their current actions of kicking one of the slaves was equally (and disgustingly) common, as they were part of the brigade employed here to simply keep the public under control and ensure that things ran smoothly. To call them guards was being far more generous than those swine deserved. They were thugs dressed up and paraded around for the public showing little to no truth like every other part of this charade. Just trappings on shit sprayed with perfume to make the patrons forget the stench.

“Get up, swine!” one of the guards called with a grin to the boy, who was struggling to even breathe, “when we say stop you stop!” he demanded as he delivered another kick to the boys abdomen with a chuckle from him and his mates. “Get up!” once again he demanded the impossible of the boy he was abusing while his chuckles turned slowly into an angry grimace. “I said, Get up!”

Caspian understood what the guard was feeling, impatience, anger, and frustration against another human being; but the boy just coughed and the guards just stared with their anger growing at the child’s noncompliance and their frustration was coming to a head. When he first arrived Caspian had failed to let his own anger boil over in time to help someone in the same straits, that would not happen again. “If you won’t obey orders I’ll give you a reason to lie down!”

The guard raised his spear, aiming the blunted end for the boys back and plunged. He would have taken their little abuse to a whole new level, as they usually did, had his swing not caught a few inched above the boy’s spine. “Guh!” the guard grunted against the excursion of his one handed strike as his wrist was caught in the grasp of the young blacksmith. Snarling at the interloper as his comrades took a step back in surprise the guard made to wrench his arm form the youth’s grasp. It was a pathetic showing; he tugged once, twice, three times, each with more force until he was bodily pulling himself away from the one handed grip of the smith. Caspian held firm, and as the guard demanded that he release him the blacksmith reached up and unclasp the man’s wrist guard expertly, sending the guard wheeling away and stumbling to find purchase on the dirt as his own force throw him back, “You bastard! The hell do you think you’re doing!?”

It wasn’t even a fight; the guards before Caspian were just for show, like ninety percent of the guards in the Colosseum. They looked big in their padded leather uniforms and their slightly shortened spears to give the illusion of size however these men barely worked at all and couldn’t possibly hope to out muscle a blacksmith who worked with hard steel all day long. As if to prove his point Caspian tightened his grip on the thin metal sleeved leather guard in his hand, bending the entire piece sharply inward while he took a step toward the men, “I’ve been waiting for this kid for the past half hour, you the reason he’s been delayed?” the youth demanded in as deep a voice as he could muster.

The guards were taken aback at first but sneered as they regained their balance, “The hell you talking about, there’s plenty of slaves around, why would you call for this shrimp!?” the man who was the clear ring leader wheezed through clenched teeth at Caspian. “Just cause you say it’s so doesn’t make it true, you’re a liar!”

Taking the initiative had given Caspian an advantage, but even having dealt with countless aggressive drunks at his family’s tavern wasn’t enough to steel him beyond his initial attack. He was flat footed; he’d muscled his way in but had no exit strategy and was easily in way over his head. He stammered for a second until a deep booming voice came from over his shoulder, “An’ wha’ if I say it’s true, eh?” stepping to the side Caspian gave his master a grateful glance and looked to the guards as the blood drained form their faces. “Ya boys go’ a problem with it?” Amon demanded. The tides had shifted again as the child gasped for air holding his stomach looking up at the battle raging in glares and glance above him, “You ther’, boy, ge’ up and ge’ to work!” Amon demanded stone faced.

Slowly the youth managed to brace himself on his arms and knees until he was able to get to a height where Caspian grabbed hold of him and pulled him to his feet. He was dirty and bruised, blood pouring form a small cut on his forehead as a black eye formed slowly on the left of his face as his upper lip swelled but there was a sparkle of defiance in his eyes still that Caspian inwardly cheered. He gave the boy a light shove to stand beside him as Amon stepped into the middle of the guards to chastise them as was his right. Caspian had learned swiftly that this place, like all businesses, ran on a hierarchy of value. Caspian wouldn’t have dared intervene when he had first arrived, thinking he was lowest on the totem pole, however he had learned since that skilled craftsmen that were necessary, like Amon, were far harder to find and replace than a few thugs in tights like the three before him. Caspian was just above the guards himself but having Amon here put the whole situation down in a moment. He would have to thank his mentor in the very near future. “You three, there, what do you think you’re doing?” a voice called form the seating section above; a voice that sent a chill running down Caspian’s spine.

Looking up Caspian felt a cold rush of fury well inside of him as he saw the breastplate of the captain of the guard, the leader of these three thugs, and the only person that Caspian had met in his life yet that he could honestly say he hated with his very soul. The guards looked expectantly at Amon and his pupil, waiting for them to answer their bosses call, though Amon seemed unconcerned as his grin grew wider. After a few moments of mock silence, the crowd was still watching the fight intently oblivious to the tension at the rear of the Colosseum in the ‘back stage’ of it, Amon smiled cheekily at the guards and gestured to their captain, “He means you!” looking up to find their boss glaring angrily at them the guards began to babble excuses and explanations to their commander who just grew visibly more aggravated by the moment.

“Shut it! Get back to your stations now!” he commanded. With a swift snap and a sprint away the guards obeyed, fleeing their defeat in due haste.

Amon chuckled to himself as he came over to Caspian, avoiding the glare that the Captain shot off in their direction, “Thanks ‘or the hand, Vin!” he called over his shoulder to the man who jut grunted. Amon took the bracer still held in Caspian’s hand and gave it a once over, “Ya sure did a number on it, eh?” he handed the piece back to Caspian and looked to the two boys, “Go ge’ her fixed then, an’ you, give ‘em a hand!” Amon ordered to Caspian and the slave. Relief filled Caspian’s mind but he would not show it before Vin. Turning and looking at the slave boy he motioned him forward toward the forge and walked behind the boy who was limping, gently guiding the tired youth with a hand on the back, he was shivering. Amon turned to converse with the man on the balcony, “Thanks again, Vin.”

“Watch that boy o’ yours, Amon, you won’t always be around and I can’t be held accountable for what those idiots do when their prides hurt.”

“Their pride? Or yours?”

The conversation continued but Caspian caught no more of it. Once they reached the forge he moved the boy to beside the bellows, “What’s your name?”

“N-Nomire.” The boy replied, still wheezing. “Th-ugh-thanks for the help.” He managed.

Caspian shrugged as he pumped the bellows twice before retrieving another sheet of metal with his tongs, “I only wish I’d been there sooner. Anyway, I can’t just let you lie down, those three will be watching, you going to have to work for a bit.” He looked sheepishly to the young boy who nodded between deep breaths, crestfallen but understanding, “After that I’ll try and get you some good food, and maybe find someone to mend your wounds a bit. Just hang in there.” He encouraged. The boy’s face lit up, slightly, at the thought of decent food. One of the perks of his station was Caspian and his master were not tied to this hell hole, they were free, unlike the others.; Unlike this boy; Unlike that girl had been. As the boy got to work stoking the fire, his think arms struggling to lift the coal and press the bellows Caspian could stop himself form remembering his first week at the Colosseum nearly a half a year past now. He glanced at Vin, still conversing with Amon, and his fury returned. An image was burned into his mind, shoving the dream from his mind and the voices from his head. All he heard was that last gasp, all he saw was that crimson red, and all he felt was that cold hand. Placing the white hot plate against the shield once again he turned to his work and placed an image of that day, of Vin’s blank expression onto the steel. He brought his hammer down.


1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Danairia Feyn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

The lids of a pair of eyes open in the dim cell which a lone soul occupies. A barely burning torch illuminates the room to reveal that it holds nothing but a bit of hay, and a chamber pot. Well...'chamber pot' would be the term she is instructed to call her bucket by her keeper. If she calls it 'the shit bucket', like she originally did, she gets...well, she suddenly does not feel like calling it how she naturally would anymore...

"...Whoa.." the voice echoed from her lips and around the vacant room. All except for the elf huddled on the floor with her back to the wall.
That could not have been a dream, could it? It certainly appeared to be a dream but it felt...different. It felt much more real than any other before and she could remember it too. All of it; every word, in fact, as if she just experienced it in the world of the conscious. How often does an event such as that happen in a lifetime? Certainly not often. Once? Maybe? What was different about this dream, though? It certainly took place in a bar so that is fairly normal for the imprisoned elf.

Was that Hans I saw there?

Hans Holst was a friend of her's. He helped out at a local tavern in a nearby major city and was one of the few people she had felt she could truly speak with. At least, before she got into the mess she obviously so is in right now...

She never dreamed of him, so that was a little unusual but nothing really strange. But, then it hit her what was completely unlike her in that dream!
She ordered a drink and FORGOT about it.

That settled it. It had to be, indeed, a dream like every other dream before it. It was way too inaccurate to be anything special.
The girl on the stone floor could not help, however, but feel bugged by it all the same...

The elf sits up. Her skin a delicate tan; her hair and eyes matching as brown and dark brown-respectively. Her tattered rags (or 'garb', as she is to call them) passing off for clothes fall uncomfortably on her shoulders as she sits up and forces her to adjust them to a somewhat less uncomfortable position. This is Danaria Feyn. A somewhat small package but do not let it fool you, she was once the infamous sell-sword, known on the outside as 'The Drunkard of Kes' for her heritage as a native to the Principality of Kes and a Tlamani elf-usually a very reserved and sober people. Now, she is simply known as:

"Thing! Chow!"

"Aye," she replied to her master behind the door as the food hit the deck. The dark-skinned Sivyne on the other side was Zilindar Kail, Danaria's master. A sadist by narrative of his subjects and one that lacked any house slaves for help with caring for his handful of fighters. All because he enjoys being the one to care for them. It allows him to micromanage...

"Master, do I have your permission to consume chow?" The food suddenly slides forward and becomes accessible.

...and instill as much discipline as he can.

As he moves down the center, passing out food to the other fighters, Kail begins addressing them at once. Mean while, dropping the rations and pushing them forward once the voices in the cells request his permission to eat.

"Good morning, fighters!"..."Master, may I consume chow?"..."Hope you had a good rest because we've got fights and practices! Like a whole new day! Isn't that great?!"

"Great, sir," everyone seemed to mindlessly respond.

Nobody shows much enthusiasm behind their forced answers. It is a normal day like any other. Practice all day if you do not have a scheduled fight and, if you do, sit out until after your fight. If you survive, you train with the others upon return while trying your best to avoid being noticed by Kail and his whip. He seemed to have some kind of unhealthy obsession with finding a fighter that he considered unruly and then punishing them for it. It was his way to keep everyone in line,
and it worked...

"We already had an early fight today, if you hadn't noticed Tumhathil was missing for a short time this morning. He went to hunt his own breakfast. Because he is actually worth something to me...."Master, may I have your permission to consume chow?"...Our lucky winners today are-in order from first to last: Pup-Chow, Riler, Viktommer, Boy, and Butch brings up the end with our final fight and one of the last ones. Great, Butch, we get to see you doing nothing ALL DAY today! Don't worry, you'll probably be bored so I'll be sure that you are occupied!"

Most get nicknames in the colosseum, and Kail's fighters were no exception, but he does not often like the names given to his fighters; these names which instill a sense of pride in those who own it. So, Kail does it differently. While some of his fighters have nicknames for specific reasons, they only seem to be the result of negative events or aspects of their lives. Even if they have a gladiator name, they are not to be called by it in the presence of their master. For example: 'Pup-Chow' got his from taking a rather harsh series of bites while facing off against two hyenas in the arena. 'Boy', earned his by standing up to Kail after he referred to him as 'boy' and he took offense. 'Butch'...

Danairia sighs at the news, "Aye, master..."

Butch was Danairia's name to Kail, though he more pronounces is as 'Bûtch'. She had earned it when she was called a bitch in training by her sparring partner. Having only recently started being broken by Kail, she felt way too stressed to deal with the guy and was not yet deprived of the majority of her dignity. She ended up being noticed when she won and proceeded to beat the man well past submission and into the floor. From then on, she was Bûtch to him and, for her first fight, given a machete that somewhat resembled a cleaver which Kail had happened to stumble across the day before at the blacksmith.

"The fun begins shortly, things!"

The crowd seemed to roar in delight to the man's comments, even if it was a fight going on before them. Thoom, the air roars as a flail of iconic proportions slams into the earth.

At least Black Hammer's having fun...

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Caspian banged away at the shield, nearing completion on his work, as his mentor Amon returned from speaking with the guard lieutenant. The fight sounded like it had ended, rather decisively in fact, and people were pouring from the stands. As Amon pasted his apprentice he reached up and gave the lad a good smack upside his head. "Ow!"

"Ya need ta learn ta pick ya battles better, Cas," Amon scolded, "have ya given thought ta what those guys are gonna do ta tha' boy because ya in'ervened?" The man sighed and looked at Nomire who was pumping on the bellows at the time. Actually it looked more like he was just raising himself up and falling onto the press whenever his shaking legs finally stopped supporting his weight.

Caspian was silently running his hand over the shield on his smithy "I couldn't just watch. I tried, Sir, I really did. But I couldn't just watch another kid die." He finally breathed with his head hung slightly at an unknowable shame from his past. Amon sucked his teeth. Tsk

"You're just like ya da, he woulda been a n officer in the army if he hadn' gotten in that fight with tha' useless captain!" He chastised before snatching the shield from his protoge, "Eh, ya got his hammer lines toox" he glanced at the slave boy who was crouched on the ground nursing a bruise on his side, "go on, boy, better take tha' kid to Magus, he might help ya. I'll finish the shield." Amon commented, motioning for Caspian to move. The young man didn't argue and went to help the injured boy to his feet. Amon gestured to a sack beneath his station, "Take tha' seasoned meat ya ma sent with ya as payment." He suggested. CaspIan agreed and grabbed the bag as well as giving the boy a hoist to his feet and leading him down. The passage into the bowels of the Colosseum.

Stopping a messenger running by Caspian found out where the man called Magus was, the mess, and headed down to find him. He'd have taken the boy to the infirmary but there was no way a place meant to treat customers and gladiators would help a lowly house slave. But the man called Magus was an experienced magic user and Caspian hoped he'd know enough healing magic to be of use.

Finding the man seated in the hall Caspian lead the boy over and cleared his thorat, "uh, excuse me, Magus?" He called, unsure of how to approach the man. Unlike other gladiators who had to spend hours at the smithy getting equipment prepared a mage needed less aide from Caspian or his mentor, though he did know the man. Or rather he knew of him.

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Huo Character Portrait: Ya'weh Character Portrait: Raikyyn Duarn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Raikyyn Duarn, under the alias of "Tsamuus Araan", made his way into the cities Colosseum. He had to at least learn the basic layout for his mission, provided he hadn't failed due to timing.

If the information is true, she's a slave here. He is, too, but he is not my primary target.

The assassin surveyed the arena, the stands, and what he could see of the pits under the stands. Large, circular, most likely multi-storied. The slaves and other fighters should be kept below the stands, free men usually separated from the slaves, training, eating, sleeping quarters would all be underground partially. Posing as a guard would be easy, but I couldn't guarantee someone wouldn't notice me. I'm not risking becoming a slave myself, so I'll have to be a free challenger, Raikyyn laid out his plan, double-checking all of the details within his mind.

Raikyyn weaved through the crowd towards a guarded door, the crowd currently brewing over a fight that had just finished. Raikyyn believed he had seen the victor, or at least caught a glimpse of him. His attention turned back to the door, and the two guards outside of it, that he was nearing.

"Excuse me, I'd like to become a challenger for this arena," the Duuthesh informed the two guards, who chuckled slightly to themselves. "You think yer gonna be the nex' best fighter o' this arena?" one of the guards asked. Before Raikyyn caught himself he had replied, "A better fighter than you guardsman, at least."

The guards did not take well to Raikyyn's prodding.

"Oi, we outta throw in the cell for that, you cheeky son of-" the guard was cut off by his friend, "Now, now, let's take him to Ya'weh, and see what she says of 'im."

One guard, the brash one, stayed behind to fulfill his post, his reasonable friend led Raikyyn to another door, down several flights of stairs, and pointed him down a hallway. "There ye are, If Ya'weh's anywhere, it'll be there," the guard informed Raikyyn, who nodded in appreciation.

As Raikyyn entered the room, he noted a small handful of people training with the dummies, three of them completely destroyed, but no trainer. Well, I'm sure this Ya'weh is busy, the assassin thought. He approached one of the people training. "Excuse me, could you point me towards the blacksmith?" Raikyyn asked.

The slave turned around, and proceeded to eye Raikyyn greedily. "And who might ye be to 'ave business wit da smiddy?" he asked. "That's none of your concern, I just want to speak with him," Raikyyn replied, noticing a small group of four others approaching.

"Well, see 'ere mista, I don't right remember where he be. But ye look like someone with coin. Spare some my way, and it might jus' jog my mem'ry. Else, ye'll jus' be anodda kill in this 'ere arena," the slave chuckled, and his friends laughed with him.

"Say, you're a funny guy," Raikyyn began, "So how about a game?" The assassin undid his cloak and let it fall to the floor. He grasped a coin pouch on his belt, saying, "This is where I keep some of my coin. Your friends have already eyed some other places. If you manage to grab the pouch, you keep all the money inside. But when you grab, I hit you back. Wanna play?"

The slaves eyed Raikyyn for a moment.
The one in front made a grab.

Raikyyn finished putting his cloak back on, and left the training room, five slightly conscious, groaning slaves laying on the floor.

Down the hall past a few doors, hang a right, and it should be there. Funny how cooperative people can be with the right persuasion.

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus Character Portrait: Ya'weh Character Portrait: Raikyyn Duarn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Tyce
Ya'weh awoke with a start. She was sweating, startled and short of breath.
What in damnation could that dream mean?
She sat up and noticed Tumhathil watching her, sitting on the floor cross-legged, with his head cocked to the left. He cracked as close to a smile as he would then sat up straight. She smiled back, took a deep breath and joined him on the floor. She grabbed his forearms and they sat together meditating. Well, Tum would meditate, Ya'weh was praying. She prayed blessings over all those she fought, those she trained, those employed by the arena. While she wasn't one-hundred percent in her non-grudge holding, she sure did try. Tum and her had bonded rather quickly, at least compared to how quickly Tum ever bonded to anyone. He was impressed by her fighting skills and leadership, while she was impressed by his ability to live each day for the day he has and his gentleness. She wouldn't classify them as physically intimate, but mentally and emotionally, especially for Tum, they were connected. She would hum while they meditated, Tum swaying very slightly to the rhythm.
Ya'weh began meditating after her prayers and started to feel physical, spiritual and emotional discomfort. Something about that dream had irked her. Reflecting upon it made her sick spiritually. She felt physically drained from her destruction of the training dummies, which she now had to go clean up. As a "leader" in the fighting world, she was the first to clean any mess made. She liked to lead by showing, not by yelling. Except the first day with new trainees. She wanted respect, so she worked for it. Her emotional discomfort was startling to her though. Her humming stopped. She opened her eyes to see Tum with one eye cracked and an eyebrow up.
"Lets continue later." He said curiously. He got up, helped Ya'weh up and left her chambers slowly.
"What is going on with me?" she whispered. "I have not been this off since I was poisoned by my opponent." She said a quick prayer of healing and turned on her ability to ease her fatigue. It came at the price of a lowered sense of smell, but she didn't mind that one bit.
As her body healed itself she entered the training grounds. It appeared there had been a skirmish of some sort. One man was still lying on the ground in pain while his friends had gotten up to tend to him and each other.
"Kilyn, what happened?" She asked with a slight irritation to her voice. While injuries were prevalent in her training area, this seemed off and given her sense of emotional turmoil she wanted answers.
"A new recruit came and he had coin on him. He wanted to see the blacksmith I believe."
She sighed, "What has my training taught you if all of you were beaten by one new fighter?" She asked with an insulting tone. "Get up and be gladiators, stop moping around."
Ya'weh jaunted to the blacksmith to see what he knew. She usually challenged herself to avoid his gravel trap but with all that had happened in the last thirty minutes, she had not time to spare...

4 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Huo Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus Character Portrait: Raikyyn Duarn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »
  1. Edited for grammar and new content, bottom of page. 1/30/16

    by Elrith Eldwind

0.00 INK

Caspian had not really given much thought to the possibility of his dream actually meaning anything. He'd only brought it up as a means of making polite conversation to this man whom he barely knew of let alone knew. So the surprise he experienced when not only did the man seem interested but he seemed near sheet white at the thought and froze with an emotion that Caspian couldn't place was nothing short of mind numbing. Blinking a few times Caspian attempted to keep up with the scholar who was now not only interested but was firing off round after round of strange questions as he hastily drew on a piece of parchment.

"Those objects... What do you remember about them?" the mage inquired, "Were they the heart of the Vormycere, water from the spring of Biel'Guria, and a leaf from Yparil, the Tree of Life?"

Caspian swallowed and shook his head with uncertainty, "I couldn't tell, to be honest I don't have a clue what you just said. I can't remember details like that from dreams, I only remember faces." he explained backing slightly away from the manic mage as he finished his drawing and held it up.

The picture the man had sketched was of a you elven woman whose soft features and shapely face were every familiar indeed. it was also not a bad likeness actually, a fair skill with the pen this mage had. "Did she look something like this?"

Caspian nodded vehemently as he agreed, "Yes, yes that's the woman form the dream. She's an elf I have never met, I'm sure of it but I can remember her face clear as day.... hey, wait; do you know her, Master Magus?" Caspian questioned having suddenly thought it odd this man should know of the girl he had seen in his dream.


Amon went back to his work as the mysterious fellow left back into the bowel of the Colosseum. Scratching his head at the thought of the odd types this place attracted he looked up as the trumpets sounded again, marking the entrance of a new batch of fighters into the belly of the beast. He was interested in only one of the matches that was to take place later that evening, a feeling shared by many apparently as the stands stood a little emptier with the end of the Lion's bout. Most were either heading to work or off to get a bite to eat before they would returning in a few hours. The day was full of exhibition matches to be had but that evening was going to be a show; a challenger had stepped forth and called out the champ.

There was this big man with an ax that had managed to win himself the required fights to have his shot, and he'd taken it. Head-Splitter was the name he went by, if memory served, not original but it was accurate, and the crowd was rather attached to his overly brutal fighting style. Now he'd managed to get himself through to finally make a challenge. Other fighters had done so too, but many forwent their championship bout and instead took a prize pot to live better in the pens or maybe even buy their freedom. Still every now and then someone like this Splitter brute would make it through on dumb luck or rigged fights and would call out the reigning champ. The mroe skilled and smarter fighters knew better, or were told so because of their value.

His ring-side name was Caliburn, but the crowd had taken to calling him the Dragoneater when a promoter had placed him against a guy calling himself the Dragon of the East and the fight ended in the first round. Be'd been champ for almost 4 years now, and only appeared when challenged. If memory serves, this here would be his first fight in near three weeks. The turn out that evening was going to be huge, and the guards would have there hands full. Amon smirked to himself as he nudged a large crate with his foot. When the cats are away he thought.

Fights like this one took the entire staffs' attention so Amon often took the opportunity to bring some goodies to the fighters and slaves below; sweet meats, wines, and the like. He'd gotten a rather large stash for this fight because he wouldn't be watching any of it. After all, he and all the old hands already knew the outcome without even having to think. This Head-Splitter was quick on his feet, wore full armor, had good form and was a fan favorite... he didn't stand a lick of a chance.

"Now the Lion and the Dragoneater, now tha'd be a fight te see!" the old blacksmith remarked to himself.

Standing tall and wiping his dirty hands on his apron the old hand turned and headed back into the barracks. He had that fool apprentice to find, but he knew where to look.

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Danairia Feyn Character Portrait: Vadania Moonwhisper
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »
  1. Ugh, this should've been posted in the Colosseum location.

    by TheNoremac42

0.00 INK

Vadania was knocked from her musings by the light knocking on her door. She looked up and locked her eyes with the brunette elf standing outside. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and her lips drooped into an irritated scowl.

"I ain't gonna stop ya." she replied.

The Duuthesh took a moment to inspect her visitor when she opened the door. Vadania sat leaning against the wall of the cell with her legs stretched out and folded at the ankles. Even from her disadvantaged position, Vadania estimated that Danairia would stand about a head taller than her at their full heights. They were dressed in similar fashion, which was to say - barely anything at all. Her eyes assessed Danairia's lean form - lithe and athletic, built for speed and precision... just like her. Vadania's gaze lingered over some of her more aesthetic assets before meeting Danairia's brown eyes.

Vadania's scowl morphed into a satisfied smirk.

"So..." the Duuthesh woman broke the silence. "What brings a lovely lady like you to my lavish chambers? I assume you're not room service? The last one was hardly exemplary... I doubt he gets very many tips with that attitude."

Vadania glanced between Danairia and the open door. She could probably jump her and knock her down long enough to get out of the cell - maybe even the block, but then what? She had no idea where her gear was, or had any clue about the building's layout. Her thieving intuition could only get her so far. No, Vadania needed an informant... Someone who could be her eyes and ears - a fellow inmate trusted by the warden.

She would do...

Step one... Gain her trust. Moderately friendly demeanor with a hint of predatory spirit? Check. Not-so-subtle compliment and disarming snark? Check. Next, learn her name... People seem to like it when you call them by their name.

Step two... Recon. Learn the layout of the prison. How many inmates? How many guards? Where was the warden's office? Where was her gear?

Step three... Escape. Vadania needed to set up a distraction, get her gear, arm her accomplice, and hopefully slit that pig's throat open while he slept. After they escaped the colosseum, they would head to the harbor and stow away on a ship.

Finally, step four... Make steamy love to her accomplice while they were trapped in a shipping crate for two weeks.

One step at a time, though... Vadania cursed herself for thinking too far ahead. Besides, she might not even swing on that side of the fence. That would be such a waste, though...

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Danairia Feyn Character Portrait: Vadania Moonwhisper
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »
  1. possible wrong location

    by VindicatedPurpose

0.00 INK

"I ain't gonna stop ya." The caged creature answered.
Well, at least she doesn't mistrust you before you earn it...

Leery, Danairia slowly opened the door and inspected the inside for the slave and exactly how much needed cleaning, to find herself surprised. While the bowl was thrown at the girl, there seemed to be a minimal amount of the mess located on her, as if the bowl impacted and neatly bounced out and downward, leaving only a little bit on her cheek and the rest on the floor with a small portion splattering on the side of her rags. It was only right that she would make such a light-hearted comment about her being the 'lovely lady' assigned as help to the rather harshly behaved employee at the local inn.

The Tlamani could not help but lazily blink at the joke as if she wanted to roll her eyes but simply lacked the care to do so. "...Hah.." she dully reacted to the joke. "He's never in a good mood. Don't ever expect him to be." Danairia began before pausing. "I'll be right back."

She stands and is gone, shutting the door behind her for a minute before returning and coming back in with a few separate rags for cleaning. As if perfectly rehearsed to not have a single care expressed through any of the spoken words, the Tlamani begins to give some kind of introduction.

"His name is Zilindar Kail but he wills that we refer to him as 'master' or the occasional 'sir'. You'll learn to somewhat read into how he feels about things or his current mood and how to adapt to it but don't expect too much of a difference in how he acts toward you. Just try to do as he says and try to avoid him noticing you and you'll be fine."

"Here," Danairia offers as she raises one of the rags to the slave's cheek and quickly presses it to her face, without bothering to ask, cleaning the bit of slop in a slight haste to get the job over with before going back to the messy stone floor.

"He'll train you hard as a fighter and expects to make money off of you. The best way of keeping yourself from letting him shit on ya is to do well in the pits, which shouldn't be an issue, considering it's that or dying anyway, but remain obedient and out of his sight and he'll generally leave you alone." She stops a moment to readjust the loose, poor excuse for clothing around her again.

"If you need anything, I don't plan on dying anytime soon. My name is Danairia."

In truth, it was not in Danairia's hands whether she would live or die through tonight's fight and she knew it. The same thing happened to the one assigned to help her clean up the mess in her cell and Danairia herself has been in a few close calls, despite her pre-colosseum training and experience fighting.
But the story of that is for another time...

4 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus Character Portrait: Ya'weh Character Portrait: Raikyyn Duarn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »
  1. possible duplicate content

    by Tyce

0.00 INK

#, as written by Tyce
Ya'weh became impatient as Caspian stared at her dumbfounded. Just as she had began formulating a plan she heard a boomingly deep voice resounding from the opposite direction of the hall, further back than the guards had come. “O’ course ya should go, missy.” Standing there having come from the other side of the cell block was Amon, his bushy beard hiding the lower half of his face in the dank lighting in the area. “Go on, miss, I’ll watch o’re this numb-skull.” Amon instructed giving his stutter struck assistant a rough slap across the top of his head.

Ya'weh smirked and nodded, then took off. She raced down the hall they had gone, some slaves watching her run. She thought as she ran and prayed. She had only a notion... She began to walk so as to not pull more attention. She smiled kindly at people. Zoni saw her and ran up to her. "Ya'weh, we are to train today?" she asked.

"Your training begins now. Follow me and read my body language when we practice cooperative fighting," she replied sternly.

Zoni looked amazed but Ya'weh began walking.

"Who are we looking for...?" Zoni began but Ya'weh waved her off and kept walking.

'The main exit would be too eager and noticeable, he must be an illusionist but that still makes him sneaky. Perhaps the far wing where there are less guards,' she thought to herself as they walked.

She heard footsteps and used her ability to quiet her own, as well as Zoni's. In the nature of balance she increased their stealthiness. As they turned a corner she saw one of the three guards and another she had never seen before. She walked right up to them seductively. Zoni followed suit. Ya'weh grabbed Zoni's hand and looked at the guards smiling. As she got within arms reach she increased their seductiveness and decreased the impact of the illusions to her. She saw the mage as a weary shadow inside the garb of the guard.

"Hey boys," she said sexily. "We have a fight today and could use some motivation, and a guarantee that we leave this world satiated, should it call for that." Zoni sighed deeply an giggled playfully. "Yes, what if it is our last fight and we die with only pain and no pleasure?!"
Ya'weh, looking through the illusion dead at Antius said, "We chose you because you look as strong as the heart of the Vormycere, quenching as the water from the spring of Biel'Guria, and are as attractive as a leaf from Yparil, the Tree of Life."
Zoni blinked, not knowing any of these things, but hid her surprise well.

0 Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Caliburn left the lady to seek her goal, albeit with a slight hesitation to leave her alone in the belly of the beast, however he had other business to attend too and felt that the danger to a non-combatant was fairly minimal. With that in mind he headed off to the left side of mess hall which was separated by a line on pillars from the right. The mess was a massive room being a full section of the arena on one side and served as both an eating area for staff as well as the sleeping area for the service slaves and servants who served the denizens of the Coliseum. The far left quarter, however was much more exclusive being an area only for the gladiators themselves to eat in and mingle. Three long tables were already full of fighters buzzing about at their mid day meals. To one side lay buffet table where the cooks place food for the fighters to consume while on the other the group of combatants gathered before a large board upon which several strips of wood adorned with writing hung in several concentric rows. It was this gaggle of people Caliburn approached, or rather the board itself he was interested in.

The fight listings, or "Blood Board" as it was called, was a tacky and unkempt place that drew every fighter'sattention at least once a day. It was on this plain canvas that the fates of every gladiator within the Coliseum was posted. Of course Caliburn knew who is opponent was but he was more interested in checking the results of the other matches and seeing which poor sod had been placed in the match just before his as an appetizer for the crowd's bloodlust. The gladiators themselves parted as Caliburn approached and while he warmly greeted some a considerable number turned from the man in apparent disgust. As he scanned the matches he grinned at the overturned name next to the Lion, so he had won again, good! he thought. However looking to the match before his own took the smile from his face. Garner... he glanced at a man in full chain mail with a shirts word hanging from his belt who was chewing on a piece of leather staring with an odd grin back, an Zoni... he inwardly sighed. Garner, clearly keeping up was only smiling wider. "Like why cha' see, your lordship?" The man goaded as the twelve or so gladiators in the area parted into two distinct groups, a smaller number who had greeted the champion standing off to the right of the board behind him, nine of them took to the left and around to stand off to the side of the table Garner sat at.

"Can't say that I do, Mr Garner." He replied with his cloud silver eyes directed squarely on the other man.

Garner stood and slapped his table, "Good! 'Cause I don't like it neither!" He announced stepping toward the board with a stride. Caliburn seriously doubed that their reasons for their distaste where the same.

"Oh, I thought you liked bullying, Mr. Garner?"

"Bullying!?" The man exclaimed grabbing his chest in exaggerated distress, "hardly, your Lordship, I like a good fight, never a onside match like this." He threw his arms out as he turned to his crew in an exacerbated display, "I mean come on! Why should I, a top contender mind you, have to fight some mewling welp barely out from under of Ya'weh''s skirt? The indignity of it is mind blowing!" He called as he turned back to find Caliburn had turned from him to review the board again. Stepping up he placed a hand on the man's shoulder, " I must apologize, your lordship," he mocked, "I doubt she'll last long enough for even a sideshow... I suppose the public we'll just have to wait for your final match. After all Headsplitter killed that loutHector in half the time it took you to beat him."

The chorus behind him had been snickering all along but now burst into full belly laughter as the champion refused to turn. Reaching over and placing a hand gently on the fingers on his shoulder he too chuckled, "so you're bets against me, eh?" He felt the flow within the man's hand and arm and with no warning reversed it with his own. Sparks flew from Garner's arm as he cried out in pain and stumbled back cursing as the champion turned to face him. "You might be right, but don't disrespect the efforts of Hector too me again you'll get far more than a simple shock..."

Grabbing his left arm the man snarled as his crew formed ranks behind him, "You smug bastard! I can't wait till he puts you in the ground!" He cried.

"Unfortunately I doubt you'll be able to witness it even if he does as that mewling welp will have bled your fat as dry by then." Caliburn remarked, "you dare mock Hector, a man who held the number two spot for nearly half a decade when you don't stand a chance against a fighter barely out of the camps? Don't make yourself anymore of a rotten arse than you already are."

"What'd you call me you son of a-!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, should I say it slower in your native tongue?" Caliburn asked with a smirk as he oinked several times at the man.

"That tears it!" The man exclaimed, drawing the short sword at his waist he charged while the others stepped back on both sides. Caliburn unflinchingly stood his ground and reached for the hilt of his own sword. As the flesh drew close he pushed up with his thump and drew back with his right hand on the hilt... only to immediately realize his hand wasn't moving. The blade refused to budge from its sturdy gleaming sheath.

Oi! Now? Really!? he thought as he turned inward and brought his armored arm to bear. The blade glanced off the metal as the enraged gladiator swung down hard. Caliburn stepped back only once before advancing with his shoulder and shoving the man back. A few more quick strikes came as his foe retreated which he again intercepted with his armor before reaching forward and grabbing the man by the collar and throwing Garner bodily back into his supporting crowd. With another tug Caliburn asserted all his will on the hilt of his blade and after two quick pulls the gleaming sword finally relented coming free from its case accompanied by metallic ring. The shining sword gave the enraged man pause as his allies gave him a heave to his feet. "Sure you want more?"

Shrugging his friends off Garner spat at Caliburn's feet and lowered his own blade, "you're not worth the fines... you're a dead man walkin' anyway," he exclaimed as he sheathed the short sword and turned leaving the mess in a huff. His fans followed swiftly after.

Sheathing the glimmering sword and talking a single deep breath Caliburn let them leave before sitting down. One of the fighters who it's just behind him brought over a mug of ale which he took a large gulp of readily. Glancing down angrily at the sword on his waist. SeeING a servant girl passing by he motioned to her as he finished the drink, "Find Zoni," he instructed, "tell her, 'his left arm'..." he passed her a few silvers as she nodded and turned to leave. Catching her arm, however, he added, "and if you see Amon or his apprentice tell them I'll be by the Forge spread that word." Again she nodded and was off. Standing he thanked those who had stood behind him and left the mess heading back into the bowels of the arena.

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »
  1. possible wrong location

    by VindicatedPurpose

0.00 INK

Caspian looked through the bars at the unconscious boy laying there, tater ed and dirt sack clothes like all the behind the scene slaves, and while his Master was busy listing the things he’d have to pack and quickly Cas was too enthralled in a memory, one of this third week in his admittedly short stay at the Coliseum, and a memory that would plague him for years to come…

The sun beat down through the slatted roof above the forge, the heat from the kindling melding with the days oppressive fume, to say it was hot would have been like comparing a horse to a hamster because they are both mammals: it was true but it was hardly a fair summation. The young blacksmith wiped the heavy sweat from his brow with a damp cloth he kept soaked in cool water and hanging around his neck. It did nothing to dry him but it kept him cool and was a trick of the trade he had learned from his father years ago. His father had taught him many things a smith would need, like hot to judge the quality of a fold, how to stoke the forge to get just the right heat, and how to turn the metal to the proper angle for a good quality edge. What his father hadn’t taught him, however, was how cruel life could be. That was a lesson he’d learn from the arena.

“Hey, Cas!” a melodic voice chimed, “I brought you some more water like you asked!” looking behind at the entrance to the underbelly of the Coliseum he found the voice to belong to a young girl, barely in the double digits, with chestnut brown hair carrying a pale of water with slight difficulty though she would never admit it.

“Thanks, Maria, put it over there!” he replied as the young girl immediately complied with a smile. She wore the tattered and dirty sack clothes of the other slaves and her would be beautiful hair was cut nearly criminally short. He face was soiled from the dust that flew about the place but he emerald eyes sparkled with more life than anyone and her round face beguiled the beauty she would surely grow to be. Taking a rag from a stack she dipped it in the water and brought the towel over to the young man who was pounding a nail into shape on his anvil. “oh, thanks!” he accepted the rag and knelt to her level taking the round cloth from his shoulders. However before he placed the new rag on his neck he reached out and cupped her face, “Hey now, you should wash your face more.” He instructed as he wiped the dirty from her nose and chin, “you’ll hide that pretty face of yours from the world if not.” She winced when he touched her left cheek, however, and as he cleaned the dirty away he saw why. Difficult to see beneath the grime had been a swollen cheek with a purple bruise. He wanted to ask but knew better by now that this was not the wholesome town he had been raised in.

As he finished wiping her face the man stood and placed the fresh towel across his shoulders, “ better to hide my face from some of the men here.” She retorted as she ran to the far side of the forge and say on a stool, “whereas Master Amon?” she questioned.

“He’s talking to the mistress, something about the locks on the gladiators cells.” He replied solemnly, he smile dropped slightly as it had with her own retort at the mention of the cells. Seeing this out of the corner of his eye the young man removed his glazes and looked at her, “hey, see that sack next to you?” the girl looked to her left on the shelf of one of the work benches and he face brightened again.

“Lunch?!” she asked with excitement, to which Caspian nodded. With a giggle of glee she grabbed the sack and headed over to Caspian who cleared a space on a low lying anvil and pulled to stools to flank it. Opening the bag he produced two cloth packages and two leather skins of liquid. Handing one of each to the girl, being careful of which skin he gave her, he uncorked the flask and took a drink. The girl has tilly took a sip of her own and soon took several big swallows. “Oi, don’t drink it too fast!” he said with a chuckle as she suddenly stopped and began to cough having drank too much.

“Sorry, Cas, it’s just been awhile since I last had wine that wasn’t so old it was stale!” she explained as Caspian took the two packages and opened them. Within the wrapped cloth was a slab of bread with a slice of cheese with a tomato slice atop them. The girl was preparing to reach for one when Caspian took both and placed a slice of cured ham upon them then placed them on a thin metal sheet which he placed atop the hot coals of the forge, “what changes doing?” she asked.

“It’s called a Burr, it’s a dish from my home town, it’s popular at my family’s tavern.” He explained, “Dah showed me how to make them at the forge when I was little. I told you I had something special today, right?” she nodded and after a moment he took the sheet from the fire and slid the two pieces of now browned bread and toppings atop the anvil. Again the girl went to dig in and again Caspian stopped her, wagging his finger he bowed his head to pray ensuring she did the same. Finally he gestured to the girl to eat and she grabbed up her slice of burr and dug in hungrily. “Well? Is it good?” he asked after a moment.

Maria stopped eating and slowly lowered her food, he face looking down so her dark bangs covered her eyes, “yeah… it’s really good…” Caspian couldn’t tell what was running through her head and so he just looked at her hoping she’d reveal it in her own time. She did, “Caspian… you shouldn’t be so nice to me.” She refused to look up.

Cas just smiled, “Why?”


“Cause why?

“B-Because I’m just a slave!” she snapped, “I’m just a slave and you’re a tradesman, a freeman, you’ll be an outcast if you don’t treat me like everyone else!” she snapped, but as she finally looked him in the eye and saw his smile and she broke for a moment, “W-why are you so nice to me?” she asked with fear in her voice. She desperately hoped he wasn’t one of those kinds of people.

He tillted his head to look at her, “that’s an easy one; because you look exactly like my little sister, Elijah!” he explained, “Kinda creepy really, your eyes are different but everything else is pretty much the same.” He took another bite of his food, “besides, I’d be nice to you either way, because that’s who I am. You’re right, a lot of the people here won’t care for my point of view, but I don’t give a damn. I don’t need lessons on how to act from these sub-human bastards that run this place, I learned all I need to know about that from my parents, it’s just a shame they didn’t…”

They finished their meal in silence after that, Caspian content that he had spoken true, Maria content with a belly full of something other than gruel. Looking at the sun Caspian stood and turned to his workbench, “I gotta get the deliveries done, you gonna be alright?” he asked the girl as he touched his face in the place she was bruised on hers. She bounced up, her cheerful self he’d come to know the past few weeks again and nodded.

“I’ve gotten way worse then this, the guards say I’m a rebel and a troublemaker.” She clearly took pride in that, “but don’t worry, I’m tough.” She placed the empty flasks in the sack and tucked the bundle away, “I’d better get back to work too, before the Matron finds me. The guards aren’t scary but she sure is.” She joked, Caspian nodded as he began placing bits of weapon and armor in a leather bag, the pieces gladiators had needed repaired or made that were ready to deliver. With a smile and a wave goodbye the parted for the day.

Over the next few weeks Caspian made sure to bring enough lunch for Maria and made a point of having her help with deliveries so she wouldn’t be in trouble for spending time at the forge. Amon didn’t mind, and took a shine to the girl as well. Things went well. For a time. However reality is a harsh teacher, and often it teaches with blood.

A little over a month into his tenure at the Coliseum Caspian was making his deliveries. He hadn’t seen Maria at lunch but sometime she got held up so he wasn’t worried. It was a shame though, he’d brought a special stew that day, his grandmother’s recipe, he was sure she’d enjoy it. After making his last drop off he decided it might be best to look for her. Checking in the kitchens didn’t yield any friit, and looking in the slaughter pens was even less rewarding. As he walked around the halls within the Coliseum he could not shake the sense of foreboding building within his mind.

Turning a corner he spied a group of slaves standing in the middle of an empty hall, an unusual gathering. He intended to leave them be but on second thought he decided to ask them if they had seen Maria around. He approached, pushing his way into the encirclement, “excuse me, have any of you seen-” his words caught in his throat as he looked into the middle of the ground, leaned against the wall was a figure covered in blood. The body was of a small girl with dark hair. “M…Ma-maria?” he eked out in a horse and shrill voice as his whole body trembled. The girl twitched and Caspian dove olto her side, picking the shivering child up and cradling her. She wasn’t dead yet. Looking to one of the slaves in the circle he shouted to them, “Get help! Now!” the slave didn’t budge, “I said-!”

“They have higher orders, Boy…” a deep and unyielding voice rebuttled. Looking up he saw a man in armor with a dark brown cloak clutching a still bloody gladius, “they know better than to aid a theif…” it was Vincent Clomire, the lieutenant of the guard.

“The fuck do you mean, you son of a bit-” Caspian snarled but a tiny weeze from the body in his arms brought his attention back to the little girl, “Maria, Maria hang in there!” he asserted.

“C-Cas… i.. I’m s-sorry.” She barely managed, raising her hand which he took. The tears were already falling long before and each one washed a speck of blood from her young face, “C-Ca….Don’t ch-change, ple..” she couldn’t finished her words as the light left her eyes. The little body went limo in the blacksmiths arms as what strength he had left in his legs gave way and he crumpled, still holding her, to the floor.

“let thus be a lesson. To the lot o’ ya… we have no mercy for thieves here…” he took a rag from one of thee crying slaves and wiped his blade, inspecting it, “Tsk… you, blacksmith…” he called. Caspian looked up, barely, toward the man, his face blank with shock, “Me blades chipped.” Tossing the sword at Caspian feet he added, “fix it, my boys will pick it up by nightfall. The trembling young man didn’t say a word and just stared blankly at the gladius lying in the blood soaked dirt. The man was unarmed, this man who had killed Caspian friend was standing there over her body unarmed complaining about his blade being chipped. The very blade he’d run Maria through with. Caspian trembled, still in shock, and while every fiber of his mind screamed to take up that sword and run the bastard through here and now his body would not move. “Go on boy…. Pick it up.” The guard egged, “do it, I see it in your eyes…” Caspian glared daggers at the man for what felt like hours.

Slowly he lowered the still warm body of the young girl, reaching up he closed her lifeless eyes as he rest her against a wall. The guards man watched in musing intrigue as the youth grasp the blades hilt. He lifted the blade from the bloody ground, red mud clinging to his fingertips, as the tip shuttered in his grasp. Yet despite all the hatred, despite all his fury, and regardless of his lack of care for the consequences Caspian could not force his legs to move.

“Is that all the stones you’ve got?” the guard spit to the side and turned to the sound of metal clanging on stone and sand, “Remember, lad, by nightfall…” the guard swept away into the dark of the Coliseum, leaving a blood covered Caspian trembling and broken next to the body of his friend and the shattered remains of his resolve. But he also left the youth with a lesson; a lesson in the cruelty of the world.

“Thus arena isn’t for ya, Cas… it’s not ‘or men with hearts like yours.” Amon said, knowing well the memory playing inside the youths mind, “you need to leave.”

Nodding the young man stood, “You’re right, Master… but,” looking at the young boy he’d saved once more he felt a fire he’d been stoking for months burn behind his eyes, “I won’t be leaving without an important lesson.

4 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Huo Character Portrait: Saskia "Sassy" Kurran Character Portrait: Masten "Mace" Kurran Character Portrait: Lisaana "Lisa" Kurran
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

A soft tune coarsed through the air, sweet and simple yet catchy if one listened long enough. An older looking man, beard as white as snow and head as bare as the desert, played on a hand carved flute. His aging fingers, wrinkled and decrepit, moved along the shaft of the instrument in a subtle fluidity. The waves gently slapped the side of the boat as it sat in drydock. The moon reflected off the surface of the water and gave the illusion of serenity and peace. Mace’s eyes drifted upwards as his lips blew notes into the flute. The sky was beautiful this time of night, and no matter where he was it was always the same. A constant in an ever changing world. Mace closed his eyes and continued the song, swaying gently with each note played.

“Still nowhere near as good as dad used to play it.” A rather coarse female voice stated from off to Mace’s side. His eyes looked sideways but his playing did not stop.

“I think he’s rather close...Maybe a bit too sharp in the middle, could tone it down a bit.” A different voice, softer and more elegant. Mace gave an inward sigh and finished the song he had been playing. HIs hands lowering the instrument with an almost deliberate slowness. He gave a grunt as he moved to confront the two women. Both were in simple clothes, cloth shirts and pants, but they were anything but the same. Saskia had rather wild hair pulled into a loose braid wrapped around her shoulder. Her clothes were simply tossed on her form without any care and she had a wicked smile painted on her face. The other, Lisa, was more refined in how she portrayed herself. Her reddish hair was hung loose but brushed. She wore a light amount of makeup and had an easy smile that relayed a sense of compassion and understanding. Her clothes were a bit more form fitting, trying to look good even when there was no need for it.

“Dad played it better because he was missing a tooth. That’s like having a built in flute.” Mace smiled and laughed a bit inwardly. Saskia gave a snort and leaned on the railing while Lisa only softly smiled.

“I’m sort of surprised you still have a mouthful of teeth to be honest.” Saskia stated, lazily looking over. “It took your hair, your eyes, your youth, but for whatever reason it decided you needed your munchers.”

“Well I’m sure I’ll lose a couple when I say something to piss you off Sassy.” Lisa gave a smug nod, looking over at Saskia who spit over the side of the boat.

“I was taught to respect my elders, or people who look old enough to be my elders.” Saskia stated, staring into the water.

“The only thing you cared to learn was how to wield a sword.” Lisa stated, a little playful venom in her words as she looked over at Mace, her head tilted to the side slightly, staring into the blue glows that replaced his eyes. “And what about you? How have the headaches been?” Mace raised an arm in dismissal as he stood up from his seat on a barrel. His simple robe following him in a nearly tangled mess as he worked to get it straight again.

“More of a dull throb than anything else. Nothing I can’t live with.” Lisa stared at him a bit longer, sensing that he wasn’t telling the full truth. Honestly, he had felt the magical pull from the tome getting slightly stronger as time went on, but he dared not tell them that. Lisa had a sixth sense for this type of thing though, always able to see when people needed help, even if they didn’t want to admit it. Mace walked over slightly, leaning against the railing with Saskia. “Besides, we’re heading home for the first time in a couple years. You should be more concerned about that pimple right under nose and what your husband will think of it.” Saskia looked over at Mace, who gave her a knowing smirk. Saskia gave a slight wink back.

“I...I do not. I would have felt it.” Saskia turned around, leaning on the railing with her elbows.

“Well with the makeup you keep putting on, you probably wouldn’t. It’s there though, right under the nose, red like a bare bottomed ass.” Lisa rubbed a finger under her nose and scrunched her brow.

“You’re joking at my expense.” Mace shrugged.

“Don’t believe us, that’s perfectly fine. I just know how much your appearance means to you...almost as much as fighting does to Saskia.”

“I do love me a good fight.” Saskia stated, slapping the back of Mace’s head who gave an involuntary yelp.

“So much for respecting your elders.” Mace stated, giving a slight scowl as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Psh, 19 going on 57.” Saskia stated, looking back over at Lisa who had already wandered away, her hand covering her face as she made her way to her cabin. Saskia gave a smile, looking over at Mace who simply stared out at the water. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“Nothing at all.” Mace said, a smile on his lips. “Sometimes that’s the best thing to have on one’s mind.” Saskia looked about ready to sling an insult, Mace having set her up for the perfect one when her attention was diverted elsewhere. Someone had climbed the plank to the ship, and was being addressed by the dwarven captain. Saskia nudged Mace, who turned slightly to look at the man. Young, fit, slightly ragged. Whatever he and the captain were talking about, it was out of earshot.

“A new passenger?” Mace asked more for Saskia’s opinion than anything. She narrowed her eyes slightly at him.

“He’s a fighter.” She stated without a hint of humor. Mace ran with the saying ‘it took one to know one’, and trusted Saskia’s opinion when it came to these matters. Mace looked at her slightly, seeing if she would say anything else. She shrugged, arching her back over the railings and hearing a couple cracks. “He looks like he’s seen and done some shit. Maybe hired muscle, maybe mercenary looking for passage. Whichever, shouldn’t matter to us.” Mace gave a small snort as he stood up from the railing.

“If you say so. Try not to make something out of nothing. He looks like he could hold his own.” Mace said as he wandered back towards the cabins. Saskia glared over at him.

“Are you saying I wouldn’t win?” She said, her pride being a very notable button for her. Mace gave a small laugh not unheard from kind old grandfathers.

“I’m saying your hot head could end you up in some very cold water.” Mace said, pointing to the ocean just over the side of the boat. “Do try to not get us thrown overboard before we get home.”

Saskia walked behind him, flapping her hand and mocking his speech as he continued. Tomorrow would bring new adventures and new stories, hopefully it would be anything but boring.

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Ya'weh
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »
  1. possible wrong location

    by VindicatedPurpose

0.00 INK

The night had brought with it chaos. Before he, Lir, or Ya could create a distraction, someone already beat them to the punch. Now was the perfect time to escape. As they snuck towards the armory, Antius made sure to keep his pack secured for the umpteenth time. He would need the Magi's Bane before the end of the night, but he had to be careful with the timing. The aftermath would leave him vulnerable to their enemies. Not an ideal situation for them, but they would need the magical strength it bestowed on the drinker before the end of the night.

He grinned as he blasted open the door to the armory, "I just need my staff here. Feel free to grab whatever you need."

He stepped through the threshold, his gaze falling upon his possession. It was like seeing an old friend again. The Imperials hadn't taken it from him when his house had fallen. He wouldn't leave it behind now.

0 Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Within the great hall of Oelne, several Aea, including the demigod Nakritos and demigoddess Aeqhelis, stood arrayed in stars and clouds upon their raiments within the hidden domain of Oelne. They awaited the commencement of their lordship's council. Anxiety overwhelmed them, but not the kind of anxiety that mortals felt. Theirs was a more acute and profound anxiety that

With his sceptre in hand, Nakritios spoke, "What is the reason that Oelne has summoned us?"

Little glowing ringlets marked Nakritios arms, arms that he never covered. No one remembered when they first appeared, but while his brothers and sisters covered these strange markings beneath their robes, he chose not to.

Then, the aforementioned Aea appeared before his siblings, his radiance dimmed after so many years. Though, dimmed would not quite describe the manifestation of the darkness that had been corrupting him ever since the First War. The same darkness that Aeqhelis and Nakritios had so long been blind to for it had taken to them as well.

Oelne took his seat on his throne, "Molos has returned."

"What?" murmurs breached the crowd, their visages bore nothing less than dread. A few mouths opened with silence puncturing the heavied air.

"Can we be certain?"

"What are his intentions?"

"It matters not his intentions, we must seize the initiative and destroy him."

A cacophony of voices poured from his brothers and sisters, their words seemed threatened and fearful. Their faces ablaze with emotions, but not Oelne.

"You seem worried, oh one on high," Aeqhelis spoke, she stood leaning against a column as she always did when she kept to herself apart from the rest.

She strode over to where her brothers and sisters gathered at the center of the hall.

"We do not need another war in the heavens," Oelne turned his gaze upon her.

"Yet you are prepared for it, and quite predisposed to it," Aeqhelis turned her golden brow to her brother Nakritios, "Tell our brothers and sisters of the army that you have been amassing. Tell them of our minions that are prepared to wage war on all the mortal lives that dwell below."

An uncomfortable silence bathed the hall in which the demigods stood, while their eyes lanced upon Oelne.

"After having fled to lick his wounds after his ingracious defeat, the usurper returns to try once more to disrupt the balance of eternity. He seeks to rectify a supposed injustice, one that we the chosen, had borne against him."

Nakritios spoke, for they judged his counsel worthy of hearing, "To be prepared for war is the most effective means of preserving peace."

"Indeed," Oelne seconded, "The time has come to begin anew."

Oelne inhaled and then spoke, "It has been nine thousand years since we witnessed ourselves quartered and drawn in strife against our brothers and sisters. If that be the price to pay, then through the loss of mortal lives we shall pay it," his voice sounded deep and rich like a cresting wave.

Oelne then gestured with his hand, "Qahriel."

The Aea known as Qahriel stepped forth from the crowd.

He fell to one knee, head down, "Yes milord."

"The time has come, go forth with your servants to awaken the Sleepers."

Qahriel bowed and replied with his reservation, "Your grace, what of Tiamniel and Jehael?"

"Worry not about them, they can not do much against us."

Qahriel accepted that answer and led a few other Aea. They pushed open the giant doors that closed off Oelne's hall.

Energy poured forth in the form of wings erupting from their backs. The effervescent energy glowed white. With a single cohesive beat, they rose up and they transitioned from their rising arc into a dive through the clouds below. The other Aea watched as their forms slowly and softly shrunk until they could no longer be seen.

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Ya'weh
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

"Our time runs short, let us run fast."

"Oh, I thought we were taking our time. This place was so good to us. I'm sad to leave it behind," Antius noted sarcastically as they made their way down the passageways with the two girls. What they had found at the end was trouble. Imperial soldiers were already flooding the halls. He frowned slightly. These were no ordinary Coliseum guards. They lacked the tell-tale signs of physical decline from being assigned an easy job after a career of fighting on the front lines for the empire.

"Oh, bugger," Antius frowned, summoning a torrent of arcane energy to produce a wave of flame, sending them back screaming in pain.

"Your hunters have found us, Lir. We must be quick."

As he led the the way through the Colloseum, he did his best to avoid the Imperials, but with the extra manpower Ada brought with her, it was becoming more and more difficult. He frowned slightly as he sent yet another guard flying. He turned to his old friend.

"What are they after? Why would the Academy want you dead? It makes no sense. You were never tangled up in politics when I attended and I see no reason why you would in the years that I have been gone."

He was about to speak more when he heard a familiar voice from down the hallway.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant, I must continue with my business, as should you with yours."

"Ada? Seriously? She is a lightweight. Standards must have fallen quit a bit."

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Danairia Feyn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Danairia sprints down the street, entering the Port of Opynonias. All she needs to do is shake the two Imperials off of her tail and lay low...and she knows just who to pay a visit to-but that is for later. Right now she has to deal with the two men on her back.

Okay, Danairia. They're gaining but you're smart! You're resourceful! You'll find something to use against them.

The Tlamani continues running, periodically checking behind her to find the men continuously getting closer.

Any minute now...

Alner presses on the two men seem to be growing ever closer to capturing their prey but both are out of breath and starting to tire.

"Lynarson," exhales Calette. "I'm seriously...winded here...I don't-..I don't think I'm able to keep-...keep it up much longer here..."

"Private, common!" Alner encourages. "You're more fit than I am...and you're already gonna quit?" He gestures forward at the elf ahead of them. "We've almost got her...hang in there!.."
As the city seems to begin moving downhill, the street tilts down, obeying the lay of the terrain it covers as much as it can while
remaining usable. Large drop offs appear more frequently the deeper into the port settlement they go. Danairia turns off of the main road, entering into an alleyway before exiting out into a side street. Homes seem to line the street, given away mainly by the presence of the occasional line of drying cloths above. A path seems to diverge from the street into a much smaller group of
stalls. Seeing her chance to possibly escape her pursuers, Danairia takes it, forcing herself into the crowd of people.

Seeing their girl disappear within the crowd, Alner slows. Calette, determined to get the Tlamani and end the chase causing his exhaustion, bites the bullet and, after calling for the woman to halt, presses on through the crowd, shouting "IMPERIAL
BUSINESS, OUT OF MY WAY!" Only to quickly find that nobody really cares about a 16 year-old in Imperial gear this far away from Aetumnas...
"H-hey! Sir I-! WHOA! Madam!"
One man appears loyal, though.

"Hey! imperial!"
...Though he happens to be far out of the crowd, on the corner between the road and the passage through the tiny group of fishermen stalls. Much closer to the bent over Alner. The soldier fixates his attention on the man, figuring it was either that or following his young private into the jaws of a careless mob. The man points over his shoulder with his thumb.

"Curves around and empties back out into the street there. None o' the alleyways connect anywhere else, 'cept t'dead ends."

Alner sighs in deep relief as he lifts himself back up straight and begins to trot over to the designated exit.

"Thank you, sir!"

Danairia moves through the crowd, happy she, unlike the soldiers, had none of her gear on. She had nothing to increase her overall size, like extra layers of clothes or armor; no sheathed weapons attached to her or a large kite shield strapped to her back. All of her gear was in a sack she could maneuver around and, while it was difficult, she could make it through. It also helped that, unlike Calette, she had not the stability of a two year-old boy.All she had to do now was find a way to escape. There seemed to be plenty of alleyways around, so it appears that she has some options. It appeared there were options, at least. Meanwhile though, Alner prepared himself for the girl by removing his shield from his back to equip it. He twisted his hand around, gripping the handle of his short sword, ready to pull it from the sheath if needed.

The elf tried her first choice, seemingly opening away to the opposite direction from the previous street...only to find a dead end.


Danairia looks up behind it, seeing that it would have to tunnel through the terrain and underneath higher structures if the passage were to exist.

...Ooooh okay...

She wades her way to the next one. It appeared to run diagonally from the first, so it probably ran behind the buildings and opened out somewhere else. Unfortunately, that was not the case. BOTH led to dead ends. Shrugging to herself, Danairia felt no need to fret, for there was one final alleyway and that one ran perpendicular to the previous street and to the lay of the hill.


Dead end. Far above what she could reach was another road, providing passage further down the terrain to sea level. The only way out now was the path curving back around to the street. Danairia sighs, walking back into the crowd. She finds herself looking at the final way out. At first, the elf feels uneasy but then the sound of Calette struggling quite a distance behind her provides reassurance that she has successfully lost them. Danairia smirks as she pushes on ahead.

Alner, his shield now off of his back and at the ready, stares at the slave slipping through the last row of people. She only notices the soldier after succeeding at tugging her gear from the possession of the mob.


"SHE WENT THAT WAY!!" Danairia shouts at the man right in front of her, violently thrusting her index finger in the direction the three came from.

"Very funny, miss. Now, drop your weapons and step away with your hands above your head." Alner looks just as he is: unamused. Danairia nervously bites her lip.

"...Okay-so, ABOUT that..."
Danairia makes a break for it but Alner was prepared. He dives after the runner, shield first. The blow connects, shoving Danairia to the street. Instinctively, she throws her free hand out in front of her to cushion her fall but it is a hard impact.

"FFFUCK!!! DAMMIT!" She yells out in pain. Alner, having fallen atop Danairia, attempts to grab hold but is not quick enough to restrain both of her legs as she angrily yanks one up away from the other and aims her foot directly at the open face of the offender's helmet. Energy streams through her and down through her leg in the form of flow.

"FUCKING-" She kicks.

"ASSHOLE!" She kicks again.

Alner screams back, having taken the full brunt of the first kick and lowered his head down to the second. The woman slips out, curse words as numerous as drops of water in the sea flood out of her mouth as she inspects her hand and continues to escape.

"Come on, Lynarson! We almost got her!" Calette picks up Alner by his tunic the same way he was pulled back up.
"She just used flow! Did you see that?! That's what Sergeant teaches you guys??" The private exclaims. Alner glares at the boy, his nose clearly bleeding and left eye looking as if it will soon turn black.

"DID I SEE IT? DID I SEE IT?!! I DON'T KNOW, YOU FUCKING IDIOT, YOU TELL ME!!" Calette cringes at the sight of the obvious damage.

"WOW, are you alright?!" He asks.

"I will be," Alner responds, "when we've gotten her bound!"

Danairia runs ahead at a slower pace than before as she continues to inspect her hand. It is scraped up pretty bad and seems to have started to bleed a little. She curses under her breath as the pain sets in further from looking at the wound. She shakes out her hand.

Okay, Danairia, find a place to go now. You don't want to lead them too much or they will find a way to nab you for sure...

Danairia scans her surroundings and finds another alleyway. In her desire to shake off her pursuers, the elf instantly commits to turning the corner with the hopes that she will be able to lose them in as many change of directions as she can perform. Instead though...her haste has brought her to another dead end...

Fucking alleys really hate me today...

Danairia sighs as the sound of chain mail turns the corner and quickly stops. She turns to meet the soldier face to face.
Alner addresses the trapped fighter.

"You're cornered and outnumbered! I, once again, urge you to drop your weapons and comply with my orders! Failure to do so will result in treatment as an enemy combatant and lethal force will be used against you!"

The Tlamani's gaze falls to the pavement in front of her. She takes a deep breath in...and then releases it back into the air around her.

I've never thought I'd ever draw my blades on the likes of Imperial soldiers but, y'know...

Danairia lets go of the sack, letting it descend to the cobblestone...

...Shitty things happen.

Her hand snatches the handles of her weapons sticking out of the opening in the top as they pass by, letting gravity unsheathe the blades for her. She tosses the right-most weapon to her right hand and flicks the two blades up, crossing them together and sliding them down together. Sparks jump from metal to stone almost all the way down to the points before she brings them back up, left blade forward, followed closely behind by the right.

"Cornered? Yes. Outnumbered? Well...I only see two of you. Plenty steel to go around." Danairia smirks. The soldier brings his shield up to prepare.

Very well, then. Your funeral.

Alner twists his wrist around, palm facing out, and yanks the handle of his sword. He pulls the blade from its scabbard, turning it back around with his wrist to complete the draw. Calette follows his lancepasade's lead and unsheathes his own blade.

"Calette, behind me."

The private follows his order and approaches from the rear, using Alner's shield as cover to compensate for his own lack of readied shield. Once together, Alner leads in to advance, shield up.

Quickly spotting a weakness, Danairia draws back her leg and thrusts it forward, kicking her bag to send it flying toward the men's legs.


Alner hops over the missile, barely clearing it. Calette unfortunately fails to see it coming though and trips over the obstruction, falling to the deck with a yelp and a solid thud.
Taking advantage of the weakened posture of her adversaries, Danairia rushes forward, ready to strike. Seeing the immediate threat, Alner raises his shield to protect himself from the first strike and prepares to counter with a thrust of his weapon. The elf does not give him what he expects.
Her weapons drop as she closes in, her feet plant firmly together as her legs meet and retract like a loaded spring. Gathering her momentum, she launches herself up.

Lemmie know what shield taste like for me, 'kay?

Her feet retract again before being cut loose and sent directly into the so-closely guarded Imperial soldier's shield. Alner expected the much less forceful bump of a sword against his shield. What he got was much...much more, as he feels the force of a full-on dropkick collide with his shield, shoving it so far into his face that it must have broke through directly to his consciousness because, for just a moment, the world around him suddenly felt a little more fuzzy. He is shoved back; off balance. He stumbles, his footing destabilized as he unknowingly approaches his comrade, who is trying to stand back up, currently in perfect table topping position.
Both boys, unknowing of each other's current standing, walk into misfortune-Alner literally doing so.

"Hu~WHOA!" He calls out as his calves connect with Calette's ribs and he trips backward. Both men fall back to the pavement as their mail jingles in protest.
Danairia, seeing her chance runs forward to retrieve her gear...but finds her impulsiveness taking over once again, drawing her leg back and sending it into the face of Calette. His consciousness is extinguished like a candle.
The elf runs passed the two boys and picks up the sack but, before taking off, Alner lifts his blade and reaches in a quick swipe, just connecting with the girl's right calf.

"Fuck the city watch!"

Alner gets up but stops, realizing just how...awake Calette is.


The soldier returns to the private's side to assess his condition.

4 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Huo Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus Character Portrait: Danairia Feyn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

The Tlamani, known as 'The Drunkard of Kes' finds her way up from the cabin with nothing on her mind...

"..FfffFU~CK ME~do I need a drink!"

...but staying true to her title.
The ride was long and, for the most part, incredibly boring. For the first day, she hid herself from the ones mostly dressed in slave's attire, who seemed to exchange two of their number for a new face she had not yet seen. An Osu man. A tan skin with a blonde head of hair that lays aft, extending back, like a lion's mane. At first, she believed him to be their leader, on account of his gear, but he did not seem to stick together with his group as tightly as the other four so she changed her image of him to be either a separate operative or a slave fighter who earned his freedom. She would have to hide as best as she could to remain hidden from the perception of her persuers. It would be difficult but Danairia was confident.

'It's fine. I'm great at hiding! Good luck seeing a shadow, bitches!' She thought to herself.

After Danairia had been spotted, not 7 minutes later, and nearly drop kicked the chest of the tall one in the blacksmith's clothing before getting restrained by the Osu, she was finally able to get a better look upon the group of people who had followed her and learn more about, that they actually were not following her and it was Danairia's imagination the entire time...
...Yeah, that was more than a little embarrassing...

The poor man who Danairia almost flattened was actually in fact a lad and, now that she was closer, it became quite obvious to her. He had clear, smooth skin and an overall young appearance, accented by his messy dark blonde hair and quite the attention-grabbing pair of deep green eyes. His muscle tone was the obvious result of the life of a blacksmith. The others called him Caspian.
He would become her main source of entertainment on the voyage, as it seemed he and the crew were the only others who really spoke and his personality reminded her of a much younger Hans...

A million times more surprising was the old man of their group, known by the name of Antius, who was ALSO only but a little older than a-fucking-lad somehow. Danairia could not help but feel uncomfortable around him, for his appearance reminded her of her dad, yet if she went by how old she was to humans, she could scold him like she was his mother...and, to be honest, that was a rather frightening thought to her.
He too had blonde hair and green eyes and the apparent over abundance of such traits had begun leaving Danairia self-conscious of her own regular brown-to-brown combo.

The young one with the funny looking head of red-who Danairia maintains is DEFINITELY an archer of some kind-seems to be fond of the physically-confused one and adept at magic, though it is difficult to gauge exactly how powerful she is. When revealed by her hair, her face expresses itself rather clearly with a handful of freckles scattered about its surface. A pair of lime-

Really?...You all wanna play this game?

-green eyes also seem to dart abound the cabin at the drop of a hat. Literally too! At one point Danairia tested the theory by slapping the cap off of a sailor's head and watching her as it hit the ground. As predicted, her eyes instantly checked to see what had happened! Everyone else-sailor included-had also looked at the elf but torch-head looked and that was all that mattered! Experiment successful!
She was called Lir.

Finally, there was the Osu man with the blonde mane from before. To Danairia's surprise, his eyes were brown and, unlike what would be expected of a former slave, seemed to exhibit a passion within them. She could not help but notice the Osu's gauntlets and boots, both a bright red, highly contrasting with his linen outfit. There had to be more underneath but it was not all that important. It was not as though she would have to fight any of them.
...Okay, maybe that depended on how much drink she would be allowed to partake in...
Regardless, the man was called Huo. It seemed he was earning his passage, as he worked during the day yet he did not interact with the others much, as he only seemed to drink with the others before heading off by himself the rest of the night.
Not that Danairia was TOO much better, as she typically kept to herself until drinks were involved, but at least she got along greatly with the crew!

"Hey, Short-Stout-and-Sturdy!"

The Captain of the ship seems to noticeably flinch at the sound of Danairia's voice before turning around to listen to whatever it is she has to say.

"If yarr evur i'need of an extrah swabee in teh forseeable moons," Danairia begins in the most terrible impression of a sea-dog Eiraendar has ever heard in his life. "I be adrift at sea in a dingy withou' oars! Y'arg?"


Eiraendar attempts to find the exact words he is looking for but seems to visibly have trouble with it, as it takes him about six seconds to even respond at all.

..."Danairia, ye have but two possible ways of getting off me ship: either ye climb down an' we ferry ye' the rest o' the way t' port er we throw y'overboard to drown yerself," the dwarvish captain says, completely serious.

Daniria frowns and crosses her arms for a moment before declairing to everyone on deck, "I be castin' off then!"

This would not be the first time The Drunkard of Kes has graced the port city of Khi'ir. Her work has brought her to the land of Syakh a handful of times previously, guarding shipments of furs, slaves and other goods of luxury before returning with the shipments of spices and silks. Merchant ships in the region were prime targets for piracy so business was always good for mercenaries but it was potentially some of the most dangerous work for one. It was best to take jobs guarding such mechandice sparingly.
Sailors often mixed well with the likes of mercenaries, even if there were a few that believed in bad luck being brought by hiring sell-swords to protect their cargo, they were equally hard and equally-mouthed men, just with different talents. Wherever you found large amounts of sailors, you found large amounts of mercenaries and, wherever you found large amounts of sailors and mercenaries, you found taverns. All Danairia had to do was walk into town and pick one. However, she did not want some random 'dirty-ass shack, sellin' a choice o' goat milk and piss-water.' What she wanted was quality, so she went looking for it. It took her a little beyond the docks but she felt it worth the effort.

The place had not looked the same as before. The streets seemed to be somewhat decorated. A conversation with one of the local mercenaries quickly taught Danairia that it indeed was no regular day. It was the local holiday known as 'Syel'Breh' but that is all the mercenary knew. She could have pressed someone else for an answer but she only really cared about the basic knowledge of 'today is not a regular day'.

Further into the city she walked, trying to find a proper place to drink-and now possibly eat-but nothing seemed to meet the standards which she craved, so she began to backtrack a little and try around the local bazaar but all that seemed to do was annoy her. Jewels, swords, linens-it mattered not. They were over-priced and Danairia was not stupid enough to buy such good so close to the port of a major trading hub. The search seemed hopeless until:

Whoa...déjà vu...

Danairia was quite unfamiliar with the area but it seemed as though she had previously visited a particular street she was, doing as she always does when she is curious, the elf endulges the feeling and follows her memory down the street. It was the most odd feeling, as she knew she recognized the route she was on but had never once visited the place.
She had to follow her instinct. Her legs began to increase their pace. She took longer strides and quickly found herself darting through the crowd; faster and faster until...!

Danairia halted in her tracks. It suddenly became clear to her. Her dream, reality, it was all in tune with her memory and where she stood; what she looked at...

"...The White Sphinx..."

She would not dare keep herself from entering.

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sanvi
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

She was very much motivated and it showed in her stride as she closed the distance between herself and her target. She swore the suspicion pack in the corner was exchanging something under the table and she was damned if she were to miss that opportunity. She would just casually saunter over to them, lean on the table and open the conversation with something like:
'Nice package you got there, I would love handling it.'

Sanvi almost choked on her drink when she realized how awfully misunderstood that would be. She would need a better opening sentence. As a matter of fact now that she was established in the "transporting" business in the outside world where her people were sparse, she should think of a slogan for herself. Some kind of a catchy business motto. 'Your package will be safe under my wings.' Somehow everything including the word 'package' seemed wrong.

Her stride was abruptly cut off when a large Orc stepped in her way. She had barely enough time to stop in her tracks in order not to slam into his breastplate headfirst. She was forced to look up in order to meet his eyes and was just about to complain, when the orc spoke.

"Say, you must be...Sanvi right? Nice wings there by the way. So listen, I'm putting together a little expedition. I know your specialty is transport (whatever that is). Are you interested? Because you should be. It doesn't seem like you got a lot going on at the moment."

Sanvi opened and closed her mouth a couple of times in order to say anything, but the Orc kept talking over her making her look rather ridiculous. Or helpless, as another large man might have thought. He approached them with the attitude of a personal bodyguard, or a guard dog.

"Oy, is this greenskin savage both'rin yah, Miss?"

What's with her and tall men. Why she was never approached by someone her own height. She felt rather minuscule clenched there between two brutish looking males, feeling like a part of some kind of a mating ritual. Through all the noise of the tavern, she needed to speak up in order to be heard. When she spoke she absentmindedly moved her wings so they wouldn't drag on the floorboards. This caused her to stagger a bit, but then she got hold of her balance again, straightened and spoke, raising the hand she held her drink with.

"Yes, he is bothering me." She watched as the barbarian male stared menacingly at the Orc. "But no, I don't need saving." Then she turned towards the Orc. "How do you know my name and why do you think I'm doing poorly? As a matter of fact I'm just about to close a deal." Not waiting for an answer she shouldered between them, spreading her wings in order to push both away. "Excuse me."

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus Character Portrait: Sanvi
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

As they disembarked from a little junk barge, Lir covered her curly red hair with a dark blue hooded shawl. She had no idea as to how far the Academy's reach was, but it seemed like her red hair always worked against her desire to hide.

Syakh called itself home to a number of elite sorcery academies headed by more than a decent number of talented and world class wizards and conjurers. Their talent laid in summoning abilities.

Rumor had it that Syakh wizards wielded the ability to conjure mana constructs and manipulate elemental spirits. While the Academy dismissed such rumors without hesitation, it made Lir beg the question as to why in the first place. Though, perhaps it would be here that she could seek some answers to her questions. She checked her little knapsack, which contained many of her basic necessities as well as a wrapped scroll.

She had taken pains to keep it wrapped until she was far enough away from the halls and columns of the Academy.

Lir turned to Antius, "We should find a place to eat before we continue."

"Mister Antius there's something I need t-to t-tell you!" Caspian said in a hurry while trying to stay on the same pace as the mage and his friend.

He had no idea that wizards could walk that fast. They were making their way through the city. Caspian smelled something sweet and his heart fell a flutter as his stomach growled.

He shook his head, "There's s-something about this sword, I don't know if you can.."

I'm not quite sure he will believe what you have to say regarding us. Kade said.

You are welcome to try, though, my dear. Mara finished.

"First I want to talk to you about the dream."

Dream? A dream? Mara seemed interested.

They eventually merged themselves with a crowd. It seemed a pretty festive day, and they learned that it was the holiday of Syel'Breh.

The D'homani tradition celebrated charity and generosity, but some considered it an excuse used to sell the overpriced goods that lined the avenues.

Khi'iri merchants were the worst at this, as Caspian saw.

"Twenty fucking silvers for this dress?" a noblewoman covered in a chadri felt insulted by a merchant.

She proceeded to utter a diatribe laced with profanities in her native language. None of which Caspian knew about nor cared.

"We should find a place to sit and talk. I need to ask you about this sword and the dream that we shared."

"There should be an inn somewhere with food and drink overpriced just for the festival," Antius returned. He frowned slightly. There were many cursed and enchanted swords in this world. Could Caspian possess one?

He and Lir said little as they eventually found an inn that wasn't filled to capacity with festival goers. He said nothing as he passed by a red-haired Kaleth, though he did feel a gaze rest on her longer than it needed to. He glanced back at Lir as he sat down. It seemed he had a thing for red haired women.

He turned to Caspian and asked curiously, "What do you need to know. Myself and Lir would be happy to answer any questions we can."

Caspian sat down and took a deep breath, "Important matters first, the..."

Then it hit him, as he glanced around to the familiar surroundings.

"This is...isn't this the place from the...dream? Do you recognize it as well, mage?"

Antius paused, a feeling of deja vu washing over him. Yes, it was the same place. His eyes instinctively scanned the area, searching for the woman from his dream.

"What has been willed must be..." he murmured at last, turning to his companions.

"It is best to let fate play out. What we need to see will find us. Now, tell me more about your impressions on the dream we shared or your sword."

Caspian nodded, "I remember the elf woman, beautiful, blonde haired. I know this place, it was the same tavern. I remember that she..."

Lir interrupted, for she had sat attentively and listened with interest about the shared dream, which seemed to take precedence over her own quest.

"Wait wait...are you both telling me you shared a dream?"

"We and a few other people. Mostly gladiators. I'm no further in deciphering its meaning than I was when we first got it. As far as I can tell, we are to find certain artifacts, but for what purpose, I cannot say."

Antius smiled slightly, "I knew your finding me was destiny, Lir."

Lir returned a half smile.

He turned to Caspian, "I am interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter."

"I think it's real," the blacksmith stared past them to a quiet corner of the tavern. There she was.

"Wait for her to come to us. If she doesn't then we can talk to her," Antius murmured.

5 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Huo Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus Character Portrait: Danairia Feyn Character Portrait: Sanvi
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Sanvi could only stand and watch as the Epori waitress that was a second ago striding towards her in fury, was now slung over a shoulder and taken outside. There was a moment of silence. Then someone asked "what...?" Then someone laughed. And the noise resumed. The barkeep didn't seem very pleased with the result, and after shouting angrily after the elf, he turned on Kaleth, who just shrugged. He would've probably done something more, was he not overcome with customers a moment later.

"Thanks?" Sanvi murmured more to herself than the elf who went through the doors and was just about to address Jolloc, when the people from the crowd finally noticed her.

"So we're just gonna ignore what 'wings' here just did?" That was clearly spoken towards her. She didn't appreciate it, but had no time to respond as the person now addressed her directly. "Far be it from me to tell you, but you are in dire need of flying lessons." Now that was over the top. Flying was about the only thing Sanvi excelled at.
"I am a perfectly capable flyer." She responded, trying to contain her anger. It would do her no good now. "I would appreaciate it if you-"
"So, like, do" Interrupted again. Now by the young guy who clumsily stumbled over his words. What kind of an absolutely personal question was that! She knew that other races were improper, humans especially, but she didn't realize that they would go to this extent. Sanvi felt her cheeks fill with color.
"And do you change clothes?" She asked the guy, her teeth clenched. Then she took a deep breath to calm down. It worked. "I would appreciate it if you would return my employer back to me, we were in the middle of a conversation." And she gestured towards the orc, just to clear the confusion.

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Antius Geminus Character Portrait: Caspian Polarus Character Portrait: Danairia Feyn
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »
  1. Altering this so everything is crossed out and nobody gets confused.

    by Captain Awesome

0.00 INK

"Danairia, that was... About what I was expecting to hear happened during your disappearance. Well, I thought there'd be more smut, but you get the idea," Antius noted with a slight smile on his face. He had never run into anyone whose life was quite as random as Danairia's. Nor anyone who was as crazy, come to think of it. Who just jumped through life with their blade and expected to always land on their feet unharmed? It was a little maddening to tell the the truth. It was as though she lived in a comedy while everyone else lived in a drama if one looked at their lives through the lens of genre.

"Yes, books. They are amazing. I am glad you have finally noticed that," he stated lightly before approaching a librarian. He put on his best scholarly expression: one of mild curiosity and admiration for this great collection.

"Excuse me, we are looking for cartography section," he stated. The librarian raised an eyebrow, stroking his long beard as he eyed the strange group before them.

"You do not look like you are from around here."

"We are foreign scholars from the Academy of Aetumnas from the Empire of Dessor."

"Even the elven girl with you?" he asked skeptically.

"Of course, she is our expert in.... Elven customs."

That sounded lame, even to him. Antius suppressed a sigh.

"We were not expecting a party from Dessor."

"Oh, I am sure the missive got lost on the way here. You know how seas can be dangerous even for the most experienced crews. I wouldn't want to guess that he was killed, but he must have been delayed at least."

"Yet, you were brave enough to come here yourselves."

"Knowledge can only be gained through risk."

"Huh uh..." he murmured before turning to Danairia.

"Tell me, what do you think of Sindrelei succession laws?"

0 Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Nylae watched from afar, the stars blanketing her eyes and form. The never ending nyx coalesced around her. The celestial waters flowed behind her into a bottomless pool as she sat and played on her harp. The once-Aea Geiroesh bestowed her the instrument before he fell in the great war. The strings, she strummed and plucked, but her eyes cast a glance toward eternity and her mind thought of a million things.

Now she played the strings as a reminder of times disappeared before she played them as a reminder of times to come. A discord entered her melody, but only briefly before a reunification and harmonious rejoice. She sat with eternal patience and turned to face the silky waters and its radiance. Her eyes glowed at the reflection of herself, but the waters never rested still in the pool.

She felt it time to resume her duties, and thus she set aside the harp, a reminder of a friend long gone. A reminder of mistakes that needed rectification.


Princess Anundhel found herself within a land of shadows. The trees were bright white, as though they were spirits themselves. They stood outlined against the blackness of the sky. She felt lost, wandering in a land all alone. She could hear fierce cries.

“Maevra?” she turned around, no one to be seen.

“Ardassius?” she was alone.

Her breaths began to quicken, she felt fear.

She remembered that she stayed in an inn in Khi’ir, how did she find herself here?

Unseen howling. Blood curdling screams.

“Madness…” Anundhel whispered to herself, her first instinct demanded she search herself for something to defend with.

But she stood in nothing other her nightgown, her potions and concoctions gone. Her knives gone.

She was alone and defenseless. Helpless.

Then a single blue light shone in the distance beyond the shadowless tress, it was bright and beautiful. She could feel its warmth radiating without end. She felt inclined to seek it. As she drew closer, she could hear a voice calling for her to come.

Without much else to lose, the elven princess set off in that direction, seeking answers as she always did. Beyond the trees with no leaves, she stood before a fount of blue light shining from a hole within the ground. The hole’s brightness made it difficult for Anundhel to discern the source of the light.

A warm, rich voice spoke from the light. It sounded like that of her mother’s.


“You must continue as you were. The journey proves perilous, but you must continue.”

The Princess did not speak because she felt hesitant but also fearful.

“I am your friend,” the light continued.

Then a face began to form from the light, that of a woman. Then her form, from the waist upward, began to take shape from the specks of light. They pieced together like sewn threads. It was not her mother, it was the spirit.

“Am I on the right path?” Anundhel finally spoke.

The face nodded.

“Who are you, spirit? Why did you come to me that time? Why have you not come to me since? Why do you come to me now? Where am I?”

Then the spirit disappeared. Along with the blue light, the black sky, and the shadowless trees.

Anundhel awoke in her bed, beads of warm sweat on her face. She looked around, she was back at her room in the inn. She exhaled, exhausted.

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ya'weh
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Tyce
After Zoni had taken action against the assassin, ending their pathetic and evil life, she needed to rest.

“I’ll go check on Ya’weh,” she told Hans and nodded to Tiberius.

Tiberius smirked at her. She felt good. Almost as though she had earned her place on the ship. A sense of respect for her radiated from the ship-mates. It felt nice. Zoni believed Ya’ always felt this way, and it felt nice to experience. As soon as they had gotten on the ship, Ya’ went below to rest, she thought the worst was past.
Zoni turned the corner after the last stair and saw Ya’weh in the sleeping “quarters,” if they could be called that. A small area of bunk-beds and a couple of hammocks tucked away. Zoni noticed two other men sleeping in the bunks and she kept her voice down. Ya’ was sweating and seemed pale, for a Sivynne anyway. Her tattoos were sporadically lighting up, giving Zoni a bad feeling in her gut.

“Ya'?” Zoni said lightly as she kneeled next to her hammock. She touched her shoulder and lightly shook her. Ya’ was now turning in her sleep.

Ya’weh looked at her twin, Shkiran. She was his physical match, but she knew as soon as he went through the growth period, he would be far superior to her in strength and speed. She prayed she would be able to be a suitable warrior and defend her family's honor, as well as those who were unable to defend themselves. She had started feeling odd things about her as she neared the growth time. She and her brother were thirteen worldly rotations old now. They had a lot to learn still, but were at least as good as the other village’s sixteen rotations. Ya’weh was by far the most spiritual of the family. It was her older brother who taught her all about spirituality. She realized when she prayed she felt “tapped in,” in the spiritual way, but something more…

Three days later during a foot race between Ya’ and her brother, Ya’ noticed that when she wanted something badly, she could start to get it. She had always been just slower than her brother, but today when they raced, she wanted it so badly, she actually beat him, by quite a bit.
Gasping for breath Shkiran asked, “How did you beat me by that much Ya’weh?” He was out of breath but she could tell he was serious.
Without hesitation or even breathlessness she responded, “I’m not quite sure. I just know I wanted it. And I’m not even tired now.” She smirked at his frustration.

“Mother, Ya’weh has abilities!” Shkiran yelled the following day, after another loss.
“Ya’weh?! Is this true?” She asked astounded.
“I don’t know.” Ya’weh said indifferently. “I just know sometimes when I want something bad enough I can get it. I don’t know if that is magic or something else.” Her brother scoffed at this comment. “Well, scoff all you’d like, but I have won the last two races. Maybe praying would behoove you as well!” He glared at her and she stuck out her tongue at him. They silently smirked at each other. They were so close, being first friends, and lifelong friends, rarely getting into any real fights. Shkiran was just a sore loser


"Your uncle has pulled some strings to get into the magical university!" Ya'weh's father said with excitement.
"The senator?" Shkiran asked smugly.
"Yes, the senator," their mother said softly. "Ya'weh was approved for full tuition given her family circumstances, and the diverse background and ability they believe her to have." She smiled at Ya'.
"Did they say what her powers are?" Shkiran asked half-heartedly.
"They won't tell me until I finish my intro classes," Ya' replied.
"Aren't you something special," Shkiran said with distaste.
Ya'weh's parents shot each other quick looks at his comment.

Days later...

“I hope you never come back!” Shkiran screamed at Ya’weh. She stood there, with her stuff on the wagon. She knew he was upset, but she had no idea why. “You and your magic friends are going to have so much fun!” he taunted her. “You’ll forget all about us and never come back. We will never be as powerful as ‘Ya’weh the Great,’ he said in a mocking tone. Ya’weh began crying. Her mother walked over to Shkiran and grabbed him by the shoulder. She then proceeded to whack him on the bottom so hard everyone went silent. Ya’weh stared. Her father nodded in agreement to his wife. Shkiran refused to look at Ya’weh as tears ran down his cheeks in pain. Ya’weh’s tears were from pain too, just a different kind.

Ya'weh shot up. She looked at Zoni, turned away, and emptied her stomach onto the floor. Zoni patted her on the back.
"Ya'weh, whatever you are blaming yourself for, or what ever you are trying to suffer for, you need to stop and just use your abilities to heal." Ya' shot Zoni a glare who did not back down. She laid back down, sighed, and shut her eyes. As she began to meditate her tattoos lit up. She heard Zoni leave and head back up top and then she turned her focus to healing.