this is Salem, a land filled with magic and maladies. It is a place where witches and their elemental familiars gather, a home to legend and
lore that predates time itself. Yet of all the wicked and wonderful stories the past can tell us of, the most magical are the ones yet to happen.
This is Salem - this is the start of your very own journey. Welcome to starfall
Starfall is an animaga witch roleplay set in mostly modern times. Members play as witches in a world plagued by monsters, where the only safe spots are walled cities. Starfall strives to be a character-driven roleplay with expansive lore and a highly interactive plotline. We want to allow members to
create and look back on a magical journey, and mold the site and its plot as their characters grow.
Post by saskia burovski on Sept 3, 2017 16:19:40 GMT
there is a rumble by her side, the bear shifting to regard brother and sister, tenderness pooling in dark eyes. there is something about what he says -- and perhaps it is the way he says it, fascination and an aura of what she thinks is pride, the way he says, i have full faith in you -- she smiles, somehow, even brighter.
( and there is the little girl once more, with her palace of a heart and bonfire spirit, wonders fluttering at her ribs and a mind that demands lights and skies and stars and adventure. )
"i will," she laughs, and there is certainty now, no longer a question of 'if' but 'when'; firefly light dances in her eyes. if anything, she will do it for him; there is a lightness to kasimir she does not often see. she is no complete stranger to the workings of silvertongue ( she has lived here for long enough ), and though her knowledge fails when it comes to what her brother actually does, she knows the way he walks -- as though carrying the burden of the entire world on his shoulders, as he always does. she cannot change the fact that the burden is yet unknown, and knowing him, will remain as such for a long time to come.
but -- but! -- if this alleviates it in any way, she thinks, it is more than worth it. there is a light to his eyes, a fire that illuminates the room, reflects on the wall like the warm sunlight does ( and she wonders if he knows that it does so much more than simply burn ).
a question bubbles up in her lungs: 'and what of you?' but she does not ask that, contents herself with trusting kasimir to tell her when he so wishes; she cannot simply pry the weight off his chest. "hey," she says instead, "you should share some of your baking secrets with me. i tried to bake a cake with jocelyn the other day and it just--" she pulls a face. "blegh."
kasimir burovski ✨ i dont even know how this post deteriorated in quality so quickly rip
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 9, 2017 11:16:43 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
saskia laughs, and for an instant, everything is alright in the world. she laughs, and for a moment, there is nothing but silver hanging in the air between them. she laughs, and for that brief breath, the weight that perpetually rests so heavy on his shoulders dissipates into mist. this is what he lives for, this is what he loves.
luci shifts, fur rippling like ice fire as a contented rumble vibrates through her chest; kasimir leans back into the bear and picks up his knife once more.
he laughs quietly when his little sister pulls a face, having a fairly good idea of what the result of her baking session might have been. "i will, i will. come spend a day in the kitchen with me and i'll teach you how not to burn water." in his hands, the sycamore block begins to gain detail - the graceful curve of kirjava's back smooths itself into existence.
"jocelyn is a friend of yours, i presume?" kasimir asks, raising an eyebrow. he cannot quite remember if his sister has mentioned this name previously, nor can he place a face from any of his coven members to the name.
Post by saskia burovski on Sept 18, 2017 8:29:51 GMT
he picks up the knife once more, settling into the rhythm of carving, and her eyes drift back to the gradual shaping of the sycamore block. slowly, it begins to take shape -- she blinks, and she is staring down at the sloping contour of the ocelot's back, the grain and swirls of the wood painting fur and pattern alike. then his comment registers, and her face morphs into an expression of indignation. "hey, that was one time!"
luci regards her levelly, dark eyes glittering with amusement. she tilts her head, and clarifies for kasimir, "one time that you know of, at least. i assure you, there have been more."
saskia gasps with dramatic theatricality. "betrayed by my own familiar!" ( but what luci says is not a lie; to be able to be so phenomenally terrible at cooking is a skill of its own. )
"and yes!" she clasps her hands together, eyes bright. there has hardly ever been an instance in which saskia has delivered a less than positive opinion of people, and this time is no exception. "she's a knight, she's super cool and pretty and generally a great person, i sure!"
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 20, 2017 9:07:14 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
he raises a brow at saskia's indignant protest, amusement slanting his lips upwards. luci looks up with quiet mirth paralleling his own as she tilts her head, her words underlined with a hint of rumbling laughter. "as i can imagine," kasimir says drily. the aforementioned 'one time' he knows of is more than enough to supply him with a clear picture of what the bear is insinuating.
kasimir's smile gains a touch of ( mostly ) self-directed exasperation at his sister's bright eyes, her enthusiastic praise. what did he expect, of course she would have naught but praise for this friend of hers - truly rare is the occasion where saskia's opinion of anther is negative, no matter how dangerous, how despicable they are. ( he should know; but, but, this beautiful, boundless innocence and light is kasimir's saving grace and he would take on a thousand debts, serve a thousand masters, fight the entire world before he would let it be extinguished - and it would always, always be worth it. that said, he would prefer it if his sister could choose some... less dangerous people to make friends with; with this precedent, he wonders how safe truly is this jocelyn )
"it's good to see coven affiliations aren't limiting either of you," he says instead, and yes, of that he is most definitely proud of his little sister. merely concerned, also. "perhaps one day you should bring her around - i'd like to meet your friends."
wood shavings like autumn leaves start tapering off, start slowing to a light dust of cashmere and hazel as the general shape of the sycamore kirjava begins to gain fine detail - almond eyes tilted upwards in sly mischief, tapered ears delicately thin, the beginnings of sharp, sharp claws hidden beneath soft paws; his familiar blinks, twists around to gain a better look at her miniature self gaining life.
Post by saskia burovski on Sept 22, 2017 14:09:13 GMT
luci rumbles approval and assent, this time finally shifting off the bed ( mercifully, with the wooden frame in mind ) to sprawl out more comfortably on the floor. the bear stretches out on her back, partially bathed a pool of sunlight. the warmth is absolutely luxurious, and she could have fallen asleep right there and then, if not for being so enraptured by the slow shaping of a miniature sycamore ocelot.
whatever remaining protest saskia might have had in defending her cooking skills ( or lack thereof ) dies in her throat, her attention now fully dedicated to a separate topic altogether. "coven affiliates are--" she searches for a word, "--kind of meh, i think?" on some level, she does understand: the knights are sundial's stalwart defenders, ivory-armored and bold crimson capes. silvertongue, not so much. but, stubbornly, she insists, they can't all be bad. perhaps there is some misplaced affection for her coven, but if the snake's lair has been a sufficient roof over her head all these years, then she cannot help but love them for it.
"i will!" she agrees brightly, and there's a fond and faraway look in her eyes as she contemplates, though not for long. "i'm sure they'll like you too!" there is nothing but conviction and heartfelt pride in her voice. she looks at her brother, and thinks, who could ever hate him?
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 22, 2017 14:35:59 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
kirjava shifts as luci leaves the bed to sprawl out on the floor in a languid mass of brumous fur, sunlight dancing off her pelt in sprays of stardust glitter; the ocelot slips off his lap to join the bear, pressed into her side like a shadow clinging to night. there is a certain bond between the familiars, a kinship - where kasimir presses his heart into saskia's hands and wraps her fingers around its fluttering beat, so as kirjava gravitate towards luci in a physicality of trust.
his hands shape the last of the details as saskia speaks, woodgrain smooth beneath his fingers as he nods an assent. "they are," he agrees, thinking of the distrust he has towards the majority of his supposed coven allies, the surprising partnerships he has had with witches from different covens. were it his choice solely, the snake's den would not be his allegiance, his affiliation - but it is nice to know that its reputation does not hold his sister back as he has feared.
conviction and pride; warmth like summer sun spreads through his chest and gilds his ribcage gold at saskia's words, even knowing them for their unintentionally bittersweet irony - it is the thought that counts, deeply and true. "you overestimate me," he says wryly instead, though the light in his eyes and the smile creeping onto his face belie his tone.
and he sets down his carver's knife, turns the sycamore figurine over in his hands once, and presses it into saskia's.
Post by saskia burovski on Sept 22, 2017 14:58:58 GMT
"you underestimate yourself," is the immediate protest, soft yet insistent, a smile curling at her lips. but she knows her brother too well at this point to argue with him on this point, and settles somewhat for a resigned chuckle. that, however, dissolves into a gasp as the figurine is pressed into her hands.
"oh, this is beautiful." her fingers trace the smooth spine of the wood-carved feline, words barely above an awed whisper, marveling at this miniature replica. a breath and a pinch of imagination, and she could quite possibly breathe life itself into it; ignore reality for a moment and the wooden-kirjava stalks along the palm of her hand, effortlessly graceful as always.
she clutches the figurine to her chest, eyes wide and shining, and exclaims, "wait just one moment." that is all the warning she gives before she is rushing out the door, luci springing up and loping after her ( a grumbled complaint is enough evidence to suggest that this is no life-threatening matter, and not any cause for worry ), the door left ajar in her haste.
it takes only a moment before a pair of footsteps announce their return, the light tap of human feet followed by the much more deliberate gait of the bear. she resumes her seat on the bed, throwing herself onto it just like before, while luci at least takes the care to shut the door behind her.
in her hands, she holds a pair of crocheted dog socks, ones that match the pair on her feet. a canine face grins up at kasimir as she offers it to him, beaming. "these are for you!"
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 22, 2017 15:24:27 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
sunlight through the new leaves of spring; his eyes glow in pride as joy dances across saskia's face, her fingers delicate against the sycamore wood with the curves flowing beneath her touch. forget any material recompense, any monetary gain or prestige or rank - this, this moment suspended in sunlight and gossamer laughter, awe and happiness like childhood dreams, is the most precious thing he could ever have wished for in return. the smile is soft on his lips, warm in his gaze; for once, for a breathless instant, his hands seem not to belong to blood-soaked murderer, but a crafter, a creator.
then, the moment shatters like frosted glass, but not for the worse; he blinks, raises an eyebrow as his sister rushes out, her hurried steps muffled by her socked feet. kirjava grumbles a mild protest as luci follows, leaving her bereft of her cushion and floor companion. "what do you think they are getting?" kasimir asks his familiar idly, equal parts amused and curious.
a pause. the ocelot makes her way back up onto the bed, wrapping herself around her witch. "i like this," she says instead, soft and solemn and inordinately fond. and the wordless thrum of fierce protectiveness and agreement between them needs not to be spoken, can not be spoken for the intrinsically limited nature of words; they wait in companionable silence for their younger siblings to return, secure in their unvoiced, absolute vow.
it does not take long for the pair to return; kasimir pauses, cannot help but fail at his attempt to stifle his laughter at the offering his sister presents. "i love them," he says, grinning, reaching out to accept the gift. debating the merits of wandering around hireling's keep in them, the dog-crocheted faces looking back at him make his decision exceedingly easy. he reaches down to his own socks and tugs them off, changing into the new pair and sitting back to admire them.
"what do you think?" he presents his feet to saskia, tilting his head at her. "very stylish, wouldn't you say?"
Post by saskia burovski on Sept 22, 2017 15:45:04 GMT
she watches, delight etched in every feature, as kasimir receives the gift and promptly tries it on; luci looks on in approval, settling back down on the floor, and there is amusement twinkling in her dark eyes at something decidedly innocent and beautiful in the guiltless appreciation of each other's company. much has been taken from them already, at so young an age -- they, at least, deserve this, making up for lost time in the pockets of time where they can.
"what do you think?" he says, "very stylish, wouldn't you say?" saskia considers the socks with an air of solemn gravity, a hand lifted to stroke her chin thoughtfully. it can only last for so long; mock seriousness vanishes as a giggle bubbles up, and she sticks out her own feet to match them side by side. now, four crocheted dogs look inquisitively up at them; she wiggles her toes experimentally, as though to make them move.
"very stylish," she agrees, and luci echoes her from the ground. "we're gonna be the style icons of hireling's keep, just you wait."
"it's almost a pity that these will be covered when i wear shoes." she frowns down at the socks, and seems almost genuinely troubled by the fact. the glory of dog socks is fully enjoyed when shared with others. but then, a revelation, only half-jokingly: "oh, i know! what about dog shoes."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 22, 2017 16:02:16 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
he matches saskia's mock gravity with an air of solemn dignity, posture impeccable and expression grave as if he were waiting to be judged by his coven leader on his performance in a ranking exam rather than awaiting his sister's pronouncement on the stylishness of his crocheted dog socks. it is only his experience with facades and stoic endurance that he does not break into laughter at the way she stokes her chin, the giggle that bubbles up like the sparkling fizz of pale gold champagne dissolving on the tongue.
but even he cannot cling onto the pretence of sombreness when saskia sticks her feet next to his and wiggles her toes, contorting the dog's in the oddest of manners. he laughs, bright and true, and wiggles his toes too. "perhaps you should make them a trend," he suggests jokingly, though the mere tiny thread of serious possibility in such a thought is enough to counter a week's worth of nightmares. oh, the thought of his coven leader in such socks...
he shakes his head in fond exasperation at saskia's near-genuine frown at the thought of her socks being covered by shoes, then has to restrain himself from dying laughing at her revelation of dog shoes. shoulders shaking, mirth like stars in his eyes, kasimir bumps her shoulder and promises, "i'll buy you some dog shoes someday, i promise."
Post by saskia burovski on Sept 23, 2017 4:03:31 GMT
their laughter hangs in the air, golden like spinning dust motes, warm like the first rays of sunrise, never mind that it has been hours since then. put simply, she is content. perhaps some part of her has missed this, in the way one misses a best friend or how one misses the sensation of sunbathing on a beach when you live in a rainy city -- this, laughing with her brother with the day, empty and full of opportunity, stretching ahead of them. a blank canvas, prime for a masterpiece.
right now, she cannot immediately recall the last time they have had the opportunity to do this. she promises herself this: to make time with her own two hands if the universe ever came between them.
"i could make them a trend," she responds, and considers the thought in all seriousness, list of names and faces springing to mind. "silvertongue is going to be the most fashionable coven ever." she doubts she can fully persuade everyone to embrace her own tastes -- pale summer dresses and ribbons in her hair -- but dog socks would certainly, certainly, be a step in the right direction. not to mention, there are some individuals with a distinct fashion sense, one that she herself cannot hope to pull off, but then again, saskia is a firm believer that dog socks can improve anything.
and then kasimir is offering to buy her shoes; she clasps her hands together and tells him, gratitude and affection in every earnest syllable, "you're the best."
luci considers the socks, her breath tickling the witch's feet; saskia draws her feet back up with a peal of laughter. "just dog socks?"
"and bears," comes the hasty promise, her eyes twinkling. she looks back at the figurine, still clutched in her grasp like a precious gem, and then to kirjava. "and cats, definitely."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 23, 2017 4:32:38 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
"with you at the helm, we certainly will be," kasimir responds, hiding a grin soft like dawn's light at her earnest seriousness. the mere thought of his petite little sister forcing the proud and blood-drenched witches of silvertongue into pale pastels and shining ribbons, dorky hand-crocheted patterned socks and delicate lace - well. their coven certainly would have quite a different reputation than that which they possess currently, that is for sure. and for the better, he thinks.
she clasps her hands and beams up at him; "you're the best," she says and he melts, both internally and externally. reaching out to ruffle her hair, pink strands soft and silky beneath his fingers, he cannot find the words past the lump in his throat; so he tucks her close and lets his actions speak for him.
kirjava huffs a laugh at saskia's promise, flicking her tail against her legs. "i appreciate it," she says solemnly, eyes like sunlight through amber gleaming with mirth.
"i know a tailor," kasimir replies, the corners of his eyes crinkled above the slightly mischievous slant of his mouth. "a silvertongue fledgling, you would like him." a pause, and he extends a hand to her, tilting his head towards the door. "shall we?"
Post by saskia burovski on Sept 23, 2017 14:29:33 GMT
he ruffles her hair, wordless, and she bumps his shoulder with a huff of a laugh, gaze lowering to meet kirjava's golden eyes, fire opal-orange. "i promise they'll be very cute," she vows, and wonders whether there indeed exists a pair of patterned socks that will do the ocelot any credit. but nothing is impossible, not to saskia -- if she searches far and hard enough, she is certain she can find them. even if she has to travel far and wide ( which yet remains a mere fantasy, she is loathe to admit, hampered by a body too fragile for supernova dreams ).
"i know a tailor," kasimir says, "a silvertongue fledgling, you would like him." her worries ( slight as they are ) dissolve entirely, replaced by excitement and anticipation at meeting someone new. the look on her face is all too familiar; even luci looks mildly resigned, though there is endearment and tenderness alike in the familiar's good-natured sigh.
"shall we?"
"what are we waiting for?" she grasps the proffered hand, fingers looping ( or trying to ) around his wrist. never mind that his stride is larger than hers, his legs longer; saskia's enthusiasm grants her winged feet, albeit in dorky crocheted dog socks. that fact that she actually doesn't know where they are going doesn't seem to deter her in the least. she is out of the door and half of a mind to drag her brother down a randomly-chosen corridor before she pauses, sheepishly, and returns to a more reasonable pace beside him.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 24, 2017 10:54:34 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
sunsparks scintillate across the bridge of her nose like golden pinpoint freckles, excitement like fireflies and smokey honey-wood dissolving on the tongue; a perfect counterpart to the fond resignation soft like dark velvet cloth in luci's eyes. kasimir huffs a laugh at his sister's brilliant enthusiasm, allowing himself to be dragged off his bed and to his feet, kirjava on padded feet a silent shadow at his side. he spares a brief moment of consideration for his dog-crochet socked feet - what would the coven think, what would his peers think? - but dismisses it in the next breath. what does it matter what they think; that these are his sister's gift is immeasurably more important.
kasimir shakes his head, laughs when saskia returns with a sheepish expression; "this way, sister mine," he says, gently looping his arm through hers and guiding her left. the corridors are rather bare, hints of cold seeping through to their shoe-less feet, but that this is home for all it is worth grants it warmth like afternoon sun.
"tell me," he says as they navigate the maze that is hireling's keep, paying no mind to the gaping fledgling they pass. kirjava flashes the poor witch a sharp-fanged smile, and both witch and familiar watch with disguised humour as the boy hurriedly turns and rushes away. "have you ever heard of, or met, laurent borchardt?"
Post by saskia burovski on Sept 24, 2017 14:45:47 GMT
kasimir guides her through the maze of the keep, one that grows more familiar with each passing day. perhaps some other situation would have found her more willing to tackle the challenge of navigating it on her own, a member of silvertongue no less or no more than other fledglings, though there is a softness to her eyes that looks almost out of place. alone, she would have been dwarfed by the high walls, the stark empty corridors; but beside her brother, even in spite of the cold floor beneath her feet, she feels quite at home.
she also does not, in any one bit, regret not wearing shoes. saskia is especially proud of these socks, even more so because her beloved brother matches her, the pair striding along in dorky sock-ed glory.
especially when a fledgling hurries past -- she beams at him, eyes shining. luci does not mirror it, her head swinging towards the stranger in moderated suspicion. saskia doesn't catch kirjava's knife-sharp feline smile, and only looks mildly confused as the boy hurries away. but no matter, a new name springs up in the conversation, and she wracks her memory.
or rather, she asks luci, silently, and receives a slow shake of the head in response. "nope!" she chirps back, eyes sweeping the corridor, as though the mysterious 'laurent borchardt' is hiding behind a column somewhere. "is he the guy you told me about?"