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 corvus kasparian on Sept 26, 2018 4:29:02 GMT
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Corvus Adjusted his formal wear: a lavender time with gold trim on top of a pastel matching shirt and blue slacks. Polished, brown leather oxfords covered his feet and reflected the bustle before him. The clothes he wore cost at least a month or two in food. Not even the shitty kind, basic groceries that could well nourish him for an entire 2 months. He wore that on his back. A gift from their employer so they could better blend in with the high fashion, high stress environment that was Witchcraft Beat’s skyscraper of a fashion headquarters. He’d never really taken interest with the magazine and it marveled him they needed that much space to develop a 200 page issue every month. Half from what he could tell was adds anyway so it didn’t make sense. Then again, he didn’t know a thing about what kind of work it took into a magazine of the sales and secrecy it took to keep that shit under wraps.
He handed his temporary partner in crime, an id badge after clipping on his own. Fakes. Issued by their employer. Again, they were blowing a lot of money on trying to get a few mock ups but whatever. He liked being paid big. He was lucky enough to get paired up with an older silver tongue at least. Desmond looked like he knew what he was doing. “Alright you sure you don’t want to grab a cup of coffee first D- dude?” he asked as they made their way to the building. He adjusted his tie and passed a hand over his partly slicked back hair. “I’m kind of impressed. You don’t seem very nervous Everett.” He added quickly.
It had been a while since Desmond had a need to dress professionally. Normally, he had a preference for looser fabrics and odd baubles over stiff uniforms, so he didn't dress with the latter unless there was a need. Even so, outwardly, he seemed comfortable enough in the gray security uniform, simple and utilitarian in its design, albeit with a few oddly angled accents which he could only assume were considered fashionable. His hair has been tied back as tidily as the wavy strands would allow, and he had shaved, to make a point of neatness. At the very least, he looked the part.
"Not much of a coffee person, myself," Desmond (or, "Everett" for today) notes simply as he takes the fake ID from his companion and begins attaching it to his shirt, "... are you nervous, Aaron? We can stop someplace for a few minutes if you need," he then asks after a pause, as he glances down at the younger Silvertongue. Nervousness was a way to prompt suspicion and blow cover. He would have rather started later and worked without it than jumping right into the den of the beast, so to speak.
Regardless of the other's answer, Desmond lets his vision blur so he can see the colored paths to help guide him. There was no way he would have learned the layout of this massive building beforehand, nor uncovered the 'safe' nearby businesses.
Post by corvus kasparian on Sept 29, 2018 6:51:52 GMT
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Corvus tended to need coffee to keep him up. He could fall asleep anywhere with ease. All it took was to decide he would be napping and boom, done. Though, sometimes he knocked out against walls, or lampposts for a few minutes before someone shook him or he snapped back to consciousness. Today however, he just wanted something to hold. He did have a bit of the jitters and he definitely did not want to screw this up. They’d given him the cover as ‘intern’ and Desmond was his mentor. Whether he was from a different branch or had always been in HQ, he didn’t know but he knew that his position afforded the very liberty to do as Desmond ordered without looking suspicious.
“What about tea then? They probably have tea.” Corvus, now Aaron asked. He paused before nodding at his companion. “I don’t want to make us late, but I think…a bagel and some coffee would be nice.” He also did not want his stomach rumbling loudly while he was trying to sneak around unseen. Plus, carrying coffee for himself and others would look natural for someone of his ‘position’. He waited for a moment tilting his head at Des- Everrett before adding, “Snacks also really make good impressions. Everyone likes the intern that brings in donuts for the office on their first day. I think...is that too much?” He let out a small laugh. It was almost passable for natural.
"I wouldn't mind some tea," Desmond admits after Corvus expresses a want for some bagels and coffee, "There's no need to rush. We're not expected." They'd likely need to put on an act of rushing once they got inside, though. Desmond wasn't entirely familiar with how businesses like this operated, but he had been able to glean a bit about its environment from wealthy businessmen whom he'd done mercenary work for in the past; the pace of work never seemed to be casual in those sorts of places.
"We can get something here," he says, motioning to a cafe just up ahead. The colors from his Guide-enhanced vision are warm, and inviting rather than threatening. He relaxes his eyes, and the colors fade.
"That's up to you. You'll likely get more attention if you bring food along," Desmond notes. It had its benefits, of course: the more people they interacted with, the more likely they were to find someone who was willing and informed enough to provide them with the information they needed. On the other hand, being more memorable would make returning to this area of the city a potential risk. It was an inconvenience that Desmond didn't really want to deal with, but he also didn't want to fail such a simple mission over something so small.
The line was fairly short, so it didn't take long before Desmond was requesting for "One small black tea, please."
Post by corvus kasparian on Oct 22, 2018 5:21:07 GMT
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He nodded at Everett contemplating it. Maybe donuts would be too much. Perhaps blueberry bagels in a mixed box of bagel would be enough. That and some sweeter spreads for those who wanted it. Not as GREAT as donuts but, still positive. He swerved in the direction his companion directed him in and nodded his head once more. “I’ll risk it. The better the feedback, the quicker we finish yes?” he returned willing to put himself in it on a simplistic mission such as this. If they ever returned he would simply disguise himself. For now he wandered as he was, with the additionally implemented glasses. They weren’t prescription. Corvus was fortunate enough to have 20/20 in both eyes.
As the older witch placed an order, Corvus piped up right after. He offered a quick wave and a cheery smile with ease before ordering. “I’ll take uhh, one of those fancy boxes of bagels. The uh- 24 one- please, and a hot mocha latte please. Oh! And an everything bagel with cream cheese as well thanks.” He said passing the money over with ease before moving over to wait with his companion. He tried not to fidget, consciously curbing the to mess with the hem of his coat. Relaxed. Calm. Half the job was basically just getting there. This would be fine.
Corvus took a moment to steel his nerves as they waited. He used the few minutes of stopped silence to take a few deep breaths and help himself zen out. It worked for the most part. He didn’t hear his name called out and he perked up to offer an easy laugh and an apology for the wait. He sipped his beverage slowly after taking a good whiff of the coffee. The smell mingled with bagels. It was great. He hooked his arm through the plastic bag to carry the food and promptly began scarfing down the soft bagel with melting cream cheese. Ahh. Yes. Breakfast. It’d been a while since he’d properly eaten it.
He looked up at Desmond through bites before adding, “Would you like for us to get lunch later? Since you’re not eating now.” He asked in an attempt to be polite. Most likely the answer would be no, as he doubted anyone wanted to spend more time with him than they needed. Still, he was being courteous. Besides this was natural conversation for mentor and intern, right? Ugh, he was overthinking it again. He munched thoughtfully on the remainder of his breakfast. They took a few minutes to sit, mainly because he was actually eating before rising up once more and heading back on their merry way. Back towards the foreboding magazine building. They cross the street with a crowd of other office workers and arrive at a luxurious lobby with modern detailing and people buzzing to and fro. They would have to check in at the info desk, right? Or, he supposed there was another way to get through security, but the info desk was just a basic check in. No problem. “It’s pretty nice in here don’t you think?” he said absently as he made way for someone passing by. The air in the lobby wasn’t too hot or too cold, probably an enchantment keeping it regulated.
"Maybe," the seer replies to the younger Silvertongue's logic. And then, after a pause and in a tone which was more ponderous than concerned: "Probably." Truthfully, Desmond wasn't a huge fan of missions which required pleasant social interaction -- there were too many variables, and too many directions which even one conversation could turn. Attempting to divine the outcome was often futile, and, frankly, he just wasn't very good at it (both its divining and its execution).
But the purple-haired kid was friendly. Having the idea to bring food, and the way he ordered it proved that well enough. The seer wondered who'd dragged the poor soul into the world of corporate espionage.
He swirls the tea gently in his cup, eyeing the dark surface as he waits for his companion to pick up his breakfast. As he does this, his mind directs a question into the liquid scryglass: Where will we find the draft of next week's issue? The reflections on the surface dance at the question, revealing a neatly kept room (not this one) and faces he didn't recognize (not anyone here) flickering into view.
"Would you like for us to get lunch later? Since you’re not eating now."
The question breaks him out of his trance, and his eyes glance up at his companion. "We'll see how the mission goes," Desmond answers noncommittally. Lunch felt far away at the moment, and Desmond had never been one to plan much in advance (at least, not for anything so trivial). He finishes his tea and discards the cup before they leave, wanting for his hands to be free by the time they reach the business's headquarters. Corvus/Aaron had finished his meal as well, and appeared much less nervous than earlier.
The duo make their way to the magazine's headquarters, and Desmond immediately takes note of the positions of the guards out of habit. "They're one of the more profitable businesses in the area, and have a reputation to uphold. It's expected of them," the seer answers. They couldn't just walk straight in -- not with his young companion's hair standing out so much and his potentially suspicious bag of bagels. He leads the younger male over to the front desk. "Good morning -- I'm Everett, from the Sundial publishing branch. Are there any formalities I need to go through before showing our new apprentice around?" he asks with a tone of unerring confidence, brushed with just a hint of impatience.
The woman asks to check both of their IDs, as well as Corvus's bag, but after a minute of quick checks and signing in under false names, they seem to be in the clear. "Go down that hall and take the steps to your left -- our HR department is there on the second floor and they'll be happy to show you around and answer any questions," she offers with a smile. Desmond merely nods and offers a quick word of thanks before turning to that direction.
Making a conscious effort to not turn his head too much so he didn't look unfamiliar with the space, he again lets his vision blur into paths of color. Though he walks down the same hall which she directed, he walks right past the stairwell without explanation nor hesitation.
Post by corvus kasparian on Nov 11, 2018 5:34:44 GMT
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He hopes this mission will go well. That isn’t to insinuate he has doubts, which he does, but he buries them deeply under his surface thoughts and focuses on the mission. More importantly, he puts his trust in his coven-mate. Desmond did this kind of thing all the time right? Right. Corvus can only nod along and follow. He attempts to steel himself, and by extension, his expression, but he can’t help but offer a couple of polite smiles to the people working the check in before following along his partner. He’s more than happy to keep quiet. He’s just an intern after all, he didn’t need to talk unless spoked to first. The young man kept close to the other Silvertongue, using the motion of fixing his glasses, or touching up his hair to look around for those stairs.
The exact stairs that they passed by without a thought. He said nothing once more, passing off the surprised words as a hiccup. Corvus can only assume Desmond had a plan he couldn’t discuss. Then again, he’d been warned this might crop up beforehand. He just hadn’t been ready for it, caught up in the emotion of it all. Whatever. This was a good learning experience. How many young Silvertongues could say they had the privilege of spying on company for another company? Ok. When you put it like that it sounded bad. In fact, it was pretty bad all things considered, but the price tag for that job had been so good. It was good business for the coven, the money that went into renting them out tightening the bonds of business….or something like that. He didn’t really follow too much all the things that happened overhead and he didn’t care too either. As long as he was fed, and trained it was alright.
The witch noted, with as casual of a demeanor as he could muster, that the offices and chatter seemed to lessen the further they went. There was offices sure but, employees didn’t seem to be buzzing from room to room carrying around documents. Or, if they were they were less chatty about it. He saw cabinets upon cabinets for documents lining some of the hallway though. Didn't look like they had to much. There was also the occasional WET FLOOR sign underneath a small hole in the wall, covered up with some plastic. Corvus wondered what kind of roundabout way they were going for the HR department. They were incredibly lost. Yes, so very lost. Was that novel or what? It didn’t matter. He was pretty sure he could pull off the stupid confusion. That was perpetually his state of being most days. “Oh, careful.” He murmured carefully tugging Desmond to the side so he wouldn’t step into a puddle of brown-grey liquid, once again, from the ceiling. “Remodeling huh?” he added.
The gentle tug from Corvus was enough to pull Desmond out of his semi-aware trance, forcing him to once again focus on his surroundings rather than blindly following blurs of color. His nose wrinkles at the sight; when had it gotten so run-down? Wasn't this supposed to be a fancy magazine HQ? "It would appear so..." he agrees when Corvus mentions that it's likely due to remodeling, though his tone is laced with an the uncertainty of an unspoken question: but for what?
Eyes sore from the strain, he screws them shut and rubs the edge of a palm up against one of them for a moment of relief. "We should turn left up ahead. It's a better path than going to HR," he says with a vague wave of his other hand forward, as if that explained anything.
Before his seer-granted vision faded, Desmond hadn't seen any glaringly detrimental paths in front of them, so he takes a moment to gently push the edge of one of the plastic coverings to the side and peek through the hole in the wall. It wasn't obvious at first, but after a few moments his ears picked up on the quiet drip... drip... drip... of a leaking pipe, falling somewhere from the darkness above. Wordlessly, he walks over to another covering and finds a similar situation. They building's maintenance workers must have been struggling to find the source of the leak. It must have been incredibly troublesome, if they'd started relocating employees to other rooms.
"Hm... bad plumbing," he comments as he slips the covering back in place and strolls over to the left turn he'd identified earlier. Behind the door was a stairwell, rarely used by the looks of things. At least the doors seemed to be labeled with plaques... not that Desmond could properly read them, unfortunately. "Speak up if you see a department that sounds like they might have plans for the next issue," he instructs after an irritated sigh.
