She slips into the smoky room, pausing a moment to lean on the doorway and admire for perhaps the thousandth time the strange beauty of the scene before her. Amidst the soot-stained tools and crackling flames, a tall Human toils tirelessly at a well-used anvil. Despite the heat and strenuous work, his silver-streaked hair is neatly tied back in an impeccable ponytail which brushes his muscular shoulders as he works, moving back and forth between anvil and forge fires with well-rehearsed movements. As he finishes the piece he is currently mending, she can resist temptation no longer and quickly crosses the room, slipping her arms around his waist and planting a series of soft kisses along the side of his neck.
He shivers slightly, almost dropping the freshly repaired tool. "I need to put a bell on you. Hello, beloved." Samsaren reaches for Sendithu, drawing her close for an embrace and then releases her with a wince, eyeing his clothes critically. "I should get cleaned up before I ruin that dress."
The Elven woman laughs softly and gives his ponytail an affectionate tug. "Ruin it, arn sanbabest, I do not care. I will buy another, it is just a dress." With complete disregard for the scattered bits of metal littering the area, she seats herself atop the anvil, crossing her legs and arranging the plum-tinted firesilk neatly around her. "So, just getting started or wrapping things up for the day?"
He grins at her, taking a moment to appreciate the view. "I could be persuaded either way. What's on your agenda today?"
"I had not decided yet." She shifts slightly, picking at a non-existent piece of lint on her dress.
Samsaren smiles at her, taking her hand in his and brushing his lips across her knuckles just to make her blush. It always works, and they share an amused grin. He stretches, rolling his shoulders, before methodically taking out his forging tools one by one and carefully inspecting each for any sign of damage. Sendithu pulls a small ball of yarn out of her cloak pocket and casually begins knitting, humming quietly to herself. They work in comfortable silence for a time, her knitting needles clicking in time to his wire brush as he repairs his tools, until he glances over and notices that her work has gone awry and she doesn't seem to be paying attention to it. "Something on your mind?"
Sticks and Stones, Continued
Moving swiftly, longbow held close to his body, Maltris continued to backtrack the incoming forces. Staying to the shadows and cover of the wilderness, the Elf keeps a wary eye on the slowly tapering advance. After some time, and a few close calls the Ranger finally arrives at the source.
Well away from the city, hidden deep in the woods a large ritual circle glows with a sullen inner light. Moving carefully around the clearing, Maltris examines the runes from afar, sticking to the cover lest the caster or casters return. As a careful, but distant examination yields little result, the Elf carefully notches an arrow, preparing to move closer.
Before he can move closer, a feminine voice behind him asks in Ilithic “Runes are dull, any thoughts?” Leaping in the air in surprise, Maltris lands with an oath on his lips, arrow half drawn in his bow. Casually pushing the arrow aside with the her blade, Sendithu looks past Maltris to another unnoticed Elven figure. “Jumpy, isn’t he?”.
Clad in nightmare black leathers, and hidden in a shadowsilk cloak, longbow in hand, the second Ranger glances at the pair “To be fair, I imagine we managed to slip up on him.” Eyes shifting to the clearing he points a gloved hand before shifting deeper into cover. “We’ve company.”
Well away from the city, hidden deep in the woods a large ritual circle glows with a sullen inner light. Moving carefully around the clearing, Maltris examines the runes from afar, sticking to the cover lest the caster or casters return. As a careful, but distant examination yields little result, the Elf carefully notches an arrow, preparing to move closer.
Before he can move closer, a feminine voice behind him asks in Ilithic “Runes are dull, any thoughts?” Leaping in the air in surprise, Maltris lands with an oath on his lips, arrow half drawn in his bow. Casually pushing the arrow aside with the her blade, Sendithu looks past Maltris to another unnoticed Elven figure. “Jumpy, isn’t he?”.
Clad in nightmare black leathers, and hidden in a shadowsilk cloak, longbow in hand, the second Ranger glances at the pair “To be fair, I imagine we managed to slip up on him.” Eyes shifting to the clearing he points a gloved hand before shifting deeper into cover. “We’ve company.”
Sticks and Stones
The rhythmic hammering of shaping steel echos through the forge as two humans work the slowly yielding metal. The larger, older human lands blow after blow, while the younger, less stout man holds the piece in place with a set of heavy tongs. The work pauses as the albredine rings on both of their hands flash briefly with an inner light. An outside voice imposes itself upon both their thoughts, “Gents, could use a hand here, it’s getting ugly faster than the Half Pint Inn on ‘Tog appreciation night.”
Snorting loudly Samsaren quickly hangs his forging hammer on the wall. “Send a thought to our friend about a gate, I’ve a beacon.” Eckan nods quickly, his thumb lingering a moment on his ring, before he starts buckling on armor. Samsaren grabs his shield, fastening the weapon harness as he steps out of the forging society.
Reaching into his longcoat he pulls forth a ruby red crystal shard. Raising it the shard skyward, it flashes into a beam of red light that slowly fades from view. Moments later a red-gold fountain erupts, as a moongate appears before the men. Stepping through, the warriors find themselves just inside the Western gate of Crossing.
Nodding a quick thank you to the Magi, Samsaren turns to the gate guard. “Open the gate.” The guard pales before stammering, “B-b-b-ut,m’lord, the monsters!” Sighing, Samsaren launches himself up the stairs to the battlements, uncoiling a heavy rope as he ascends the steps three at a time. Tossing the loop over one of protrusions he launches himself over the wall. Eckan meanwhile grins at the guard, “Gee thanks, get him all wound up BEFORE a fight!” before chasing off after his patron, using the rope to descend.
Snorting loudly Samsaren quickly hangs his forging hammer on the wall. “Send a thought to our friend about a gate, I’ve a beacon.” Eckan nods quickly, his thumb lingering a moment on his ring, before he starts buckling on armor. Samsaren grabs his shield, fastening the weapon harness as he steps out of the forging society.
Reaching into his longcoat he pulls forth a ruby red crystal shard. Raising it the shard skyward, it flashes into a beam of red light that slowly fades from view. Moments later a red-gold fountain erupts, as a moongate appears before the men. Stepping through, the warriors find themselves just inside the Western gate of Crossing.
Nodding a quick thank you to the Magi, Samsaren turns to the gate guard. “Open the gate.” The guard pales before stammering, “B-b-b-ut,m’lord, the monsters!” Sighing, Samsaren launches himself up the stairs to the battlements, uncoiling a heavy rope as he ascends the steps three at a time. Tossing the loop over one of protrusions he launches himself over the wall. Eckan meanwhile grins at the guard, “Gee thanks, get him all wound up BEFORE a fight!” before chasing off after his patron, using the rope to descend.
I don't like making titles, you pick one
Sunset draws brilliant colors from the evening sky, pink and purple swirl across the horizon, bashing into the edge of storm clouds forming on the horizon. The battle for the sky reflected back by the restless surface of the sea.
An Elven woman stands on the beach, stripped off armor and packs tossed to the side, she holds a conical gwererest shell up to her ear, concentration etching lines across her face. Slipping off her boots, she drops them in the sand before stepping into the waters edge. Cool waves wash over the top of her feet wetting the hem of her skirt. There, she stands and waits, whispering into the shell and listening for some sort of reply.
Time passes slowly and tension builds, her body becomes rigid as she glares out at the horizon, hurt and anger lining her features. She charges further out into the water as if attacking the sea, an angry scream ripping from some where deep in her chest as she hurls the shell into the deep water.
Fists flailing and feet kicking she lashes out, pushing forward against the tide, punching and ripping at the air in front of her in a violent dance, a fight against nothing and everything. She throws herself deeper into the water, the waves pushing back as she slams into it, coral cutting her feet as she marches forward, eyes flashing, feeling nothing but rage.
Storm clouds and color battle for the sky above her, lightning flashing in the distance, the rumble of thunder drowned out by the sounds of the sea. Her strength fades, her flailing arms weaken and she collapses into the unrelenting waves, slipping below the surface. Her lungs feels as if they are on fire, she arches her back and pushes against the water but it only pulls her farther in. The world falls silent, colors muted as the current pulls her deeper, her body relents unable to fight, she watches as the surface fades from view.
An Elven woman stands on the beach, stripped off armor and packs tossed to the side, she holds a conical gwererest shell up to her ear, concentration etching lines across her face. Slipping off her boots, she drops them in the sand before stepping into the waters edge. Cool waves wash over the top of her feet wetting the hem of her skirt. There, she stands and waits, whispering into the shell and listening for some sort of reply.
Time passes slowly and tension builds, her body becomes rigid as she glares out at the horizon, hurt and anger lining her features. She charges further out into the water as if attacking the sea, an angry scream ripping from some where deep in her chest as she hurls the shell into the deep water.
Fists flailing and feet kicking she lashes out, pushing forward against the tide, punching and ripping at the air in front of her in a violent dance, a fight against nothing and everything. She throws herself deeper into the water, the waves pushing back as she slams into it, coral cutting her feet as she marches forward, eyes flashing, feeling nothing but rage.
Storm clouds and color battle for the sky above her, lightning flashing in the distance, the rumble of thunder drowned out by the sounds of the sea. Her strength fades, her flailing arms weaken and she collapses into the unrelenting waves, slipping below the surface. Her lungs feels as if they are on fire, she arches her back and pushes against the water but it only pulls her farther in. The world falls silent, colors muted as the current pulls her deeper, her body relents unable to fight, she watches as the surface fades from view.
Text-y little elven empath with a penchant for things not being her fault, even when they are.
Lending out a Squire
High above the west gate of Shard, two figures stand close together, gazing over the parapets as the sun sets over the Wyvern mountain range. Sighing contentedly, the shorter of the pair snuggles in closer and her companion tightens his arm around her waist in response. As much as she enjoys the rush of the hunt, this quiet time together is something she treasures. "What's on your mind?" he asked, brushing his lips against her ear.
She shivers slightly and smiles, twisting around in his arms to lean against the wall and look up at him through the dark veil of her eyelashes. "What makes you say that?"
Chuckling softly, he tilts her chin upward with his knuckle. "Dearest, I know you. There's -always- something. Now, what's on your mind?"
She flashes a crooked grin at him, marveling for the thousandth time at having finally found a partner as direct and unflinching as she. "Eckan," she replies after a moment.
He arches an eyebrow at her in surprise. "Thinking of trading me in for a younger model, then?"
She smirks and gives his chest an affectionate shove. "Yes, you absolutely bore me to tears and I feel like I could do better." His grey eyes crinkling in amusement, he pulls her even closer in a tight hug and then releases her, leaning back to gaze into her eyes patiently. "No, you lovely fool," she continues. "I was thinking about that offhand comment at that badge quest thing the other night, about sending Eckan off for some additional training. Protecting someone, Mistanna perhaps, like we mentioned. I think it would do him some good to be around...well, people, and she is more tolerable than most. It would be good for him."
"I don't disagree," Samsaren begins thoughtfully. "The lad has always been a bit...skittish around people. Spending all his time in the field is great for his martial skills, but you're right, rounding him out a bit isn't a bad idea. Would you mind making the arrangements? You're better at finding the proper words for such."
She reaches up and gives his carefully arranged ponytail a playful tug, drawing an amused chuckle from him. "Paperwork? Hmph. I suppose I could be persuaded..." Suddenly he leans in and captures her lips with his, and whatever she was about to say is lost in the night air.
---
The next day in Rivercrossings, an Elven Trader glances at a pressed sheet of pale blue paper before sealing it with a blob of dark purple tinted wax stamped with a lily and sending it off with a courier.
"Mistanna,
I hope this letter finds you well. Straight to the point, we have been giving the matter of Eckan some thought, and we feel it would round out his training to have some practical experience in a more social setting. Martially, the boy is quite capable, but he suffers a bit with anxiety in some situations and could use a bit of polish. With your experience and good nature, we think you would be perfect if you are willing to take him on as a bodyguard. As he is still Samsaren's squire, you naturally would not need to provide a salary. Consider it more of a temporary fostering. Mull it over, and let us know.
~S"
She shivers slightly and smiles, twisting around in his arms to lean against the wall and look up at him through the dark veil of her eyelashes. "What makes you say that?"
Chuckling softly, he tilts her chin upward with his knuckle. "Dearest, I know you. There's -always- something. Now, what's on your mind?"
She flashes a crooked grin at him, marveling for the thousandth time at having finally found a partner as direct and unflinching as she. "Eckan," she replies after a moment.
He arches an eyebrow at her in surprise. "Thinking of trading me in for a younger model, then?"
She smirks and gives his chest an affectionate shove. "Yes, you absolutely bore me to tears and I feel like I could do better." His grey eyes crinkling in amusement, he pulls her even closer in a tight hug and then releases her, leaning back to gaze into her eyes patiently. "No, you lovely fool," she continues. "I was thinking about that offhand comment at that badge quest thing the other night, about sending Eckan off for some additional training. Protecting someone, Mistanna perhaps, like we mentioned. I think it would do him some good to be around...well, people, and she is more tolerable than most. It would be good for him."
"I don't disagree," Samsaren begins thoughtfully. "The lad has always been a bit...skittish around people. Spending all his time in the field is great for his martial skills, but you're right, rounding him out a bit isn't a bad idea. Would you mind making the arrangements? You're better at finding the proper words for such."
She reaches up and gives his carefully arranged ponytail a playful tug, drawing an amused chuckle from him. "Paperwork? Hmph. I suppose I could be persuaded..." Suddenly he leans in and captures her lips with his, and whatever she was about to say is lost in the night air.
---
The next day in Rivercrossings, an Elven Trader glances at a pressed sheet of pale blue paper before sealing it with a blob of dark purple tinted wax stamped with a lily and sending it off with a courier.
"Mistanna,
I hope this letter finds you well. Straight to the point, we have been giving the matter of Eckan some thought, and we feel it would round out his training to have some practical experience in a more social setting. Martially, the boy is quite capable, but he suffers a bit with anxiety in some situations and could use a bit of polish. With your experience and good nature, we think you would be perfect if you are willing to take him on as a bodyguard. As he is still Samsaren's squire, you naturally would not need to provide a salary. Consider it more of a temporary fostering. Mull it over, and let us know.
~S"
Kattena: A Lady's Story
Night falls bringing relief from the summer heat, as the moons trek across the star speckled sky. Strings of gaethzen orbs weave between the branches of towering trees, casting a soft glow on the forest floor below. Lengths of filmy grey mistsilk are draped across sturdy tables set in a half circle amongst the trees, cascading bouquets of rich champagne Lion's Mane irises and exquisite teal roses fill polished vases of hammered silver serving as centerpieces. An arch woven from olive branches serves as a backdrop for a small podium bearing the crest of the Paladin guild. A gentle breeze coaxes a melody from crystal chimes greeting guests as they arrive.
As men and women filter in from all directions, an Elven Trader whispers a greeting and directs them to tables. Disgruntled looking hirelings carry trays of appetizers and glasses of wine, their furrowed brows and muttered complaints lost in the din of quiet conversation.
A raven haired Elven woman slips into a seat next to an armored Paladin, batting him with is ponytail before giving the Trader a slight nod.
"My benefactor tells me they are close," the Trader announces softly. "Please quiet down, we don't want her running off before she even gets here."
A few stifled giggles roll through the group as they fall silent, only the soft chimes and distant chirping of grasshoppers disturbing the peace.
As men and women filter in from all directions, an Elven Trader whispers a greeting and directs them to tables. Disgruntled looking hirelings carry trays of appetizers and glasses of wine, their furrowed brows and muttered complaints lost in the din of quiet conversation.
A raven haired Elven woman slips into a seat next to an armored Paladin, batting him with is ponytail before giving the Trader a slight nod.
"My benefactor tells me they are close," the Trader announces softly. "Please quiet down, we don't want her running off before she even gets here."
A few stifled giggles roll through the group as they fall silent, only the soft chimes and distant chirping of grasshoppers disturbing the peace.
Text-y little elven empath with a penchant for things not being her fault, even when they are.
The Fete of Banishment
“Our Goal will be killing one thousand Undead.” Leucius’ words seem to echo as the small group moves through the mist into a black granite stairway. At the fore, leading the group into the darkness steps a tall, powerfully built Paladin. Pavise shield held firmly in his hand and jaalmin longcoat hiding the promise of the heaviest of armor underneath, Samsaren strides forward, eyes alert for resistance from the undead. Moving gracefully at his side is a beautiful blue-black haired Elven woman, her violet eyes eyes catching every movement in the shadows.
Traveling behind the Paladin is a second elf, her auburn hair carefully tucked into a helmet, and the hint of a giggle stirring behind mirth filled eyes. Bringing up, and protecting the group's rear is another Paladin. Slightly smaller in stature and height, the other human moves carefully, constantly checking behind the group, expression as serious as the grip on his spetum.
As the group moves down a second stairwell inside the Temple the light from the hidden door above beings to rapidly fade. Gently, the lead Paladin calls behind him “Eckan”, prompting the second Paladin to trace a complicated glyph in the air. After a brief moment and nothing happening, Eckan looks dejected. With a glance carrying only the barest hint of reproach the older Paladin traces the same pattern murmuring quietly “daily prayers lad” as a series of orbs of light spring into existence and settle into a revolving pattern around him.
Traveling behind the Paladin is a second elf, her auburn hair carefully tucked into a helmet, and the hint of a giggle stirring behind mirth filled eyes. Bringing up, and protecting the group's rear is another Paladin. Slightly smaller in stature and height, the other human moves carefully, constantly checking behind the group, expression as serious as the grip on his spetum.
As the group moves down a second stairwell inside the Temple the light from the hidden door above beings to rapidly fade. Gently, the lead Paladin calls behind him “Eckan”, prompting the second Paladin to trace a complicated glyph in the air. After a brief moment and nothing happening, Eckan looks dejected. With a glance carrying only the barest hint of reproach the older Paladin traces the same pattern murmuring quietly “daily prayers lad” as a series of orbs of light spring into existence and settle into a revolving pattern around him.
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