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 kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 26, 2017 15:16:55 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
he slips in with steps tacit like autumn leaves falling, dying; cloaked in the ragged silver-grey of silent mist over still waters, invisible, untouchable, a phantom immaterial like the ghost of a long-lost love still lingering in the echoes of memory halls. a sliver of light, ice-sharp and crystal-pale spilling through the crack in the curtains like a moonblade whet on the edge of his teeth; he ducks under the lattice of silver with shadows trailing beneath his feet, eyes alighting over the heavily-laden table, the precariously balanced tower of books and papers and coffee mugs and plates, potion sets with delicate glass vials a hairsbreadth away from collapsing into anarchy. laundry stacked in corners silhouetting grotesque beasts on the walls, a potted plant with sadly drooping leaves, the dark and bitter smell of caffeine heavy in the air.
and a candle, luminous, flickering, slowly toppling from its melted waxen pedestal.
a fragmented second, breathless, timeless, hung in the weave of the universe with gossamer-glass thread; it shatters on reality- kasimir drops the food hamper heavy in his hands, bites back a curse, lunges-
he slams his hands down on the flame that tries to roar into life, a thin coat of his own fire over skin protecting it from the bite of the candle spark; he clamps down, muffles it, suffocates it till it dies to ashes of the inferno it could have been, concern like fury flaring wild and green in his eyes.
[attr="class","lucystars"]he runs on gasoline, sleek mechanics and quiet efficiency: a stack of neatly arranged papers, a pillar of order among the apocalyptic situation of his study desk, slowly diverges into two over time, one for graded assignments, the others yet untouched. he runs on gasoline, lit on with flint that consists of many things ( of which include everything to do with self-loathing and self-deprecation; with the reminder of a broken promise; with the fact that he cannot stand to see the disappointment on the students' faces if they find out the teaching assistant has somehow delayed the return of their scripts ).[break][break]
he runs on gasoline, aiming to emulate something more machine than human that is, to his dismay, just as capable of breaking apart like any other. the cup of coffee grows cold beside him, his wrist is starting to stiffen and lock up, and the pile of unfolded laundry in the corner is beginning to resemble something out of a nightmare. a scented candle wavers on a separate surface; he continues working in a vanilla-scented haze ( tragically overwhelmed by the sharp bitterness of caffeine almost tangible in the air ). when the words begin to flicker in and out of focus, he pauses, places the pen down and thinks, 'this is probably a great time to take a break and work on some chores.'[break][break]
not that he actually gets around to it. ninos makes his way to the pile of laundry, sits down on the floor, and tugs at the corner of the pile. it promptly gives way, and the next thing he knows, he is partially-buried under the fallen mountain of soft cotton shirt and sweats. it's pretty comfortable. maybe he'll just take five minutes. five minutes couldn't hurt.[break][break]
five minutes stretches into something much more than five minutes.[break][break]
a muffled thump, the scuff of feet against wooden flooring; he wakes up, mildly startled, brushing aside the ( still unfolded ) laundry to get a better look at the intruder. "oh," is the first thing he manages, blinking owlishly at the familiar face. he doesn't quite make any effort to move, looking both content and as comfortable as one can be sitting in a mountain of clothes. exhaustion delays the reaction somewhat, but a smile spreads across his face nonetheless, warm and welcoming as one can be, if not somewhat perplexed. "this wasn't what i was expecting."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Oct 3, 2017 13:12:53 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
the particularly large pile of laundry on the floor moves, and somehow, kasimir is not quite as surprised as he should be when it shifts to reveal a face. a familiar face with sleep-fogged eyes and exhaustion carved onto his face like weather-wear on stone, bemused but warm as he smiles in welcome. kasimir's furious concern instantly gains a river of fond exasperation to underlie it; as much as he attempts to grasp on to and convey his initial reaction through a fierce glare at the man currently nestled within a mountain of clothes, his affection for ninos cannot help but seep through.
"you," he says icily, towering over the older witch with narrowed eyes and a rigid pose, "could have died, knight, and that is all you have to say?" kasimir takes a step forwards, expression wrathful, desperate incandescent concern alight like green fire in his irises. then the rage drains from his posture leaving nothing but tiredness and a tangle of concern and fondness behind.
he drops to his knees beside the laundry pile, reaching out but not quite daring to touch his friend, something like longing and affection and worry and vexation flashing across his features. "if this is how you insist on living when i am not here, clearly i need to visit more," he whispers, studying ninos, drinking in the sight of the man alive and well.
[attr="class","lucystars"]ninos meets his gaze evenly, steadily, eyes a soft forget-me-not blue in that half-shadow where he sits ( but a spark of inductance and steel-silver stubbornness rests behind, near invisible in the flickering light that filters through half-drawn blinds ). "oh, please. we both know it takes more than that to kill me," he says, looking up at his friend with a mixture of affection and macabre mirth, lips curving into a lopsided smile. beside him, shadow melts into a mottled form: a painted wolf bounds out of the laundry pile, strewing pigeon-grey sweaters in his wake, and caring little for it.[break][break]
'it's nice to see a friend,' the familiar explains gently, nosing kasimir's shoulder in greeting. 'we kind of expected something else.' behind him, ninos looks almost betrayed by the information, glaring but without heat.[break][break]
then his eyes soften, voice subdued, barely more than a whisper. "i'll be okay." there's something about a heart too big for a frame too small, shoulders weighed down with the weight of the world, and he wants to say, take care of yourself too, please. ( he's not sure why he doesn't. not yet, anyway. ) but for now, he lapses into silence as he grasps kasimir's arm to hoist himself up, spinning on his heel to pivot neatly and come crashing down onto to the sofa behind. two identical pairs of pale eyes glitter in dim light, concern mirrored in both. at least, he thinks, breathing a little easier, there's no blood this time. [break][break]
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Oct 15, 2017 9:50:51 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
he glares at his friend's reply, glares at the steel-strong stubbornness that threads cornflower eyes behind that placid veneer, glares at the casual dismissal of potential danger and bodily harm that steals the air from his lungs in breathless fear for ninos' safety; "that is no excuse for complacency," he says, hiding that desperate terror behind quiet disapproval and lips tilted downwards at the edges. kasimir gives in to the desire to touch his friend, to reassure himself that the man is completely and wholly real - he drops his hand against ninos' shoulder and takes comfort in the physical materiality.
the shadows stir - layers and layers of veil-soft shadow gauze coalesce into the shape of a mottled wolf; he does not quite smile at the familiar but his eyes soften and the stiffness of his posture relaxes. "miro," he greets, and kirjava swirls into being just long enough to nudge the wolf in her own version of a greeting before melting away again. then he narrows his eyes at ninos. "something else?"
somehow, he does not think that the 'something else' bodes well.
"i'll be okay," ninos says, and kasimir has to bite back on the eminently sarcastic 'really?' that springs to his tongue, instead shooting the man a look that should convey the same message. for someone eight years older than himself, the alchemist worries him as much as saskia, on occasion.
a ghost of amusement touches his lips as ninos pivots neatly onto the sofa, somehow avoiding toppling any of the precariously balanced stacks around or sitting on anything important; kasimir twists around so that he is facing the man, kneeling comfortably before the sofa. he frowns at the scrutiny. the concern. "do not worry about me," he says softly, as reassuring as he is able. "worry about yourself, please."
[attr="class","lucystars"]"something else?" comes the question, narrowed eyes and suspicion heavy in kasimir’s voice, and ninos winces. there’s that look, the disbelief and incredulity and ninos almost feels bad for that blatant lie, because any rational mind who looked at his situation could tell, quite easily, that things were not okay, neither now nor the near future. still, what else can he do? he does not answer the question yet. lets it hang heavy in the air, unsaid. at this point, even miro looks at him with some air of disapproval, and frankly, it stings.[break][break]
‘maybe later,’ he tells the wolf silently, and receives only a baleful glare in response. ouch.[break][break]
“yes, yes, i shouldn’t worry about you, but i do,” he says, hands outstretched in a theatrically magnanimous curl, palms facing skyward as he regards his old friend. “i know you well enough to know that you do stupid, dangerous things.” a pause, then he continues, almost sheepishly, “...and i suppose i am your partner in crime in some aspects, and i ought to share some of the responsibility. damn.” [break][break]
he is silent for a moment, broken only as he pats the seat next to him ( absentmindedly shoves away a lumpy couch cushion to make room ), inviting kasimir to take a seat. when he speaks once more, he is decisive, eyes bright, almost feverishly so; a madman with a plan. “so, you get hurt, i’ll try my best to help. like, really, i’m living in the same town as you now, so please don’t bleed out on the streets trying not to trouble anyone when i’m literally right here.”[break][break]
his eyes soften, shedding dramatics momentarily. “just because i can’t help myself sometimes doesn’t mean i can’t try to help others, you know.”
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Nov 26, 2017 11:28:10 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
his eyes narrow further at the grimace that steals across ninos' face, lingering for an instant before vanishing like mist in morning sun. the baleful disapproval miro turns upon his witch only serves to further kasimir's suspicion as well as driving his concern to new heights. there is a pause, heavy and thick and slightly uneasy as neither of them back down; the older witch breaks their impasse with an almost theatrical gesture, turning the topic of discussion back onto kasimir.
he glares. both of them know he will not be so easily diverted.
“i know you well enough to know that you do stupid, dangerous things,” ninos says, and kasimir's glare gains an edge of incredulity and exasperation. "you are one to talk!" he exclaims. case in point, today. "i would like to point out that i am hardly given a choice, in many instances." unlike you lies unsaid - but likely not unheard.
meeting ninos' fever-bright eyes, all of kasimir's indignation fades away leaving old guilt and quiet affection behind. the older witch has always been too good to him, too good for him, too willing to risk his world just to help a desperate little boy with too much blood on his hands. he rises slowly, cautiously sinking into the couch next to his friend; "ninos," he says, leaning forwards as if that would better help convey his point, as if it would make the man believe him. "do not worry about me, i am fine. i am part of a coven now, you know." his personal feelings towards silvertongue aside, there is no doubt being one of their members is still much of a step up from being in the employ of guerra.
"but, the same goes for you, too," kasimir points out, his frown returning in the crease between his brows. "i may not be able to do much, but i can still help. please, ninos," he pleads, voice soft. "let me help you."
[attr="class","lucystars"]he knows, with each passing second, that he cannot keep hiding the fact from kasimir any longer. it’d be easier to blame miro, feel bitter and let it simply be that, but the knowledge that his familiar is acting to protect him makes that a lot harder. ninos can’t hate miro, and even his frustration lasts but a mere moment before it fades into resignation. he doesn’t want to tell kasimir -- he really doesn’t -- because he knows kasimir will try his darndest to get involved and, for the love of whatever few deities may look upon him, ninos doesn’t want someone else to get hurt just because he was a selfish, selfish bastard who decided to run away. [break][break]
ninos sinks deeper into the couch as his friend speaks, resting his head on the top of the backrest, eyes focused on the slow-spinning ceiling fan above. unwilling, or unable to meet kasimir’s gaze? he doesn’t really know either. [break][break]
"let me help you," says kasimir, and ninos releases a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. he remains quiet for a little while longer; the answer floats in his lungs like a rising flood. shifts his shoulders, uncomfortable. some part of him is already formulating an excuse. it’s not that bad, he wants to say. i’m just being dramatic as usual, really, you know me. it’s not that bad, because there are worse things that could happen. it’s the type of thing he’ll look back on a few weeks from now and laugh about. overreacting as usual. just ninos being ninos, what else would you expect? he’s not troubled, not really, it’s just kind of numb. out of ten, maybe a five. but what if a metaphorical five is too big? what if it’s too small? [break][break]
he doesn’t realise he’s bolted back upright until miro is pawing at his feet. he doesn’t realise that he’s dug his fingers so tightly into his palm that it leaves little red crescents. “i-- um. okay,” he says. laughs shakily. “okay.” [break][break]
“you know the gist of it already,” he admits, shoving his hands into his pockets. they’re shaking. “the drama of the parents, the assassins.” [break][break]
“i just-- i don’t know if they know i’m back. the last attack was when i was in eclipse--” gestures half-heartedly to a single shirt that lies outside the laundry pile, scarlet having since darkened but yet stark against white, “--so maybe they don’t know yet. maybe. i expect them to find out soon.”[break][break]
he hesitates. "i don't actually know how you can help. don't stress out over it, okay? i think i can deal with it."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Dec 2, 2017 12:20:39 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
for a long moment, hung in tenebrous drapes and sunlight-strung dust motes and the unspoken weight of esterified memories, kasimir fears that ninos brush his plea away as a human hand does to a clumsy moth; he fears ninos will gently divert him, will shut him out, lock the door, and reduce the key to molten slag. frustration flares like sunstorms alit through sky-blue eyes, then fades, quickly as it had come. 'trust me,' he wants to say, wants to beg. 'please, trust me, let me help,please.'
but he does not ( yet ) because some things can only be decided in silence; and he does not, because desperation has always tasted like nothing but ashes on his tongue.
ninos sits up, abrupt, sudden, like a marionette unexpectedly jerked by its strings. his eyes are blank and his breathing staggered like the breath they catch is no longer sweet and his nails dig crescents into his palm. kasimir watches, tension wired across his skin in an electrosynpatic webwork of storm-charge and breathless white; his eyes are the dragonfly-green that skim across a still pond's surface, waiting for the ripples to flare out. should he speak? anything to jolt his friend out of the unmoving stupor he seems to have trapped himself in, anything to break the stone he has carved his likeness of. but words stick in his throat in viscous honey-fear; should he apologise, leave?
relief is spring thawing a bitterly cold winter; ninos blinks, laughs- the sound is shaky but kasimir is far, far too relieved for much else to register. "okay," says ninos, and the iron-stiff rigidity he has wrought into his shoulders melts in the sun. "okay."
relief is also short-lived - kasimir's lips tighten at the mention of ninos' parents, knuckles whitening at the mention of assassins; the blood that drains from his face leaves pale fear that makes already darkened eyes look darker still. his breath hitches in his throat at the sight of the white shirt, the crimson stain - it is physical evidence of how close his friend had come to death and for a moment, kasimir cannot breathe.
gaze switching back over to ninos, he cannot help but rapidly scan him for any injuries, any harm, any lingering pain despite knowing the attack had not only just happened. "you-" he starts, then stops because the tangled mess of fear and horror and raw emotion is far too evident in the hoarseness of his voice. kasimir swallows, tries again.
"so close?" he whispers, eyes darting back to the shirt and its incriminating stain. he shuffles closer, needing the proximity to assure himself one of his rare, few friends is still here, still alive, still present in warm physicality. "ninos, i-" he reaches out, almost subconsciously, but his hand involuntarily spasms so he stops himself and lets it drop back into his lap.
kasimir looks up, swallows back the blackwater fear, and hardens the set of his shoulders. "i- i can find them. i will find them. the newest assassins. i'll- i'll deal with them."
he hates killing and hates blood, hates the lethal heft of a deadly stroke in his hands, hates everything he has been forged to be- but for ninos, for saskia, for those he has given the desperate beat of his heart to, he will bathe the world in red if he must. to keep them safe.
kasimir has always been a selfish, selfish monster.
[attr="class","lucystars"]the moment is over and the clarity brings shame and embarrassment -- shame, at the weakness he has revealed, like a chest torn asunder to peer into the heart that lies within. embarrassment, that he should lay such troubles on an already troubled soul. he cannot ask more of kasimir, he does not want to ask anything of the boy at all; he wants kasimir to flee far from himself and rid himself completely of the knowledge of one ninos knight, because no one needs that sort of mess in their lives.[break][break]
the air of the room is cold as he breathes it in, sharp and stinging, fresh only because he's forgotten to close a window some time ago and he hasn't been bothered to do it yet. not that it's a difficult task, but it simply isn't a task that he seems to be able to coherently do. "you know me," he ends up saying, something like a sigh, a smile curling bitter ash at the edges. "living life on the edge, and all that. real fun stuff."[break][break]
he reaches out to pat kasimir's hand gently in a gesture he hopes is reassuring before he falls back into the sofa, legs giving way; he draws his knees up to his chest and hugs them close, regards kasimir with eyes mirror-of-god blue, startling clear; there is something flint-like in them when he snaps out at the suggestion, a single word, sharp. "no."[break][break]
"don't you dare," he hisses out, but there is something torn in his voice now, like there is something struggling to get out even though ninos knight keeps perfectly still. "kasimir, i-" pause, breathe.[break][break]
"-i appreciate the offer, i really do. but i keep telling you, these are not yours to kill. i cannot let you do this for me. you don't deserve it."
