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.
She is a witch newly fledged, just testing her wings. And like any foolhardy juvenile, she finds herself leaping from the tree with nothing but faith in herself and a sprinkle of chutzpah. That is--walking through the Hovel as the sun settles into its slow descent, no doubt sticking out like a sore thumb in her well-tailored, clean clothes. She reminds herself that looking down on the poor is unseemly, but the reminder has no emotion. It's simply an adage from her childhood nurse; a set of rules and manners to follow to seem good and kind to the public. So Leonis flickers a smile, offers a beggar a tantalising glimpse of pearly white tooth, and drops a few coins in his cup. "Good fortune," she offers him, a closed fist. Even if he could surely rise above his station with just some effort. That's really all it is--elbow grease and spit and drive to succeed.
That's why she's out here, of course. Leonis thinks there must be some hidden magic here to learn amongst the peddlers and hawkers of the Hovel. These gnarled, worn sellers may be poor, but their eyes are shrewd, and their magic no less for it. Newly fledged, Leonis has just awakened her hunger for knowledge, and intends to wet it in the one place where magic lives and is not bound to parchment and ink. She eyes a row of charms, fluttering in the wind, and wonders at their quality. The curves are exquisite, the brushstrokes delicate--just the right amount of flair--and certainly more than she would have given the woman credit for.
"Protects against simple unwanted magics," the woman offers, holding one up on a bit of twine. For all their beauty, the materials are common. Leonis suspects the wood is scrap the woman literally found on the ground, though bites her tongue against saying so. The seller also offers Leonis a gap-toothed smile, which Leonis returns warily. Perhaps the charm does do just that; Leonis admits she can't even begin to guess what it means--not yet. Her study of runescripting has been bone-achingly slow, more an exercise in linguistics and the physics of moving halfway across the land in search of knowledge than painting lines on paper.
"Is it," she murmurs.
"I'll even refresh the array for you when it fades, eh? Good for one or two weeks, this one."
Leonis blinks and finds herself producing a few silvered coins. The seller seems to take it for granted as she quickly plucks the coins from Leonis' hand and places the enchantingly grubby rune in their place. There's no discussion of cost and Leonis finds herself just accepting this change of fates, fingers curling around the rough edges of the array.
"Thanks for the business girly," the woman says with a wink. "We gotta keep the old ways alive somehow, eh, eh?"
copper hair twirls behind her as her worn shoes slap against the pavement. her arms swing by her sides as she runs through the heart of the hovel. sweat licks her freckled arms, gathers in small drops just above her parted lips. she swipes her forehead, breathes deeply, gait dipping as she adjusts speed. only when she hits the third mile mark on her route does she slow down to a jog.
she attracts attention on these streets, mostly because it's not a place most use for a scenic and leisurely run. the beggars she passes by hold cupped hands momentarily before thinking better of it, and instead watch her pass with solemn, bewildered faces. and she thinks nothing of it, just blows the bangs from her eyes and loses herself to the balance of her breaths, the hammering of her heart.
even here, where she catches stares, it's better than running in the 'safer' parts of sundial--where the houses tower high and the people walk carefree, where she sticks out like a sore thumb with her wild eyes, nervous movements.
and far after her lungs are aching, she comes to a halt, hands folding behind her head. she walks a few paces to cool down and licks her lips, swallowing in an attempt to stave off the intense thirst that hits her like a wrecking ball. she unwraps the small bandana tied around her wrist and pats her face, rubs the back of her neck. then she wraps her frayed hair in it, rolls her shoulders.
her route has led her to the hovel's own market square. it doesn't really compare to the one many prefer in central sundial, but if you're in the market for jinxes and curses, well...
she nods at a shopkeeper, terse lips softening into a smile. a middle-aged woman smiles back at her. she offers a cup of water as parker walks up, cuts off a slab of meat from where it's sitting on ice, and throws it onto the cast iron bars in front of her. the witch snaps her fingers and lights the tinder and parker's stomach growls as the lamb starts to simmer.
she reaches into her own pocket and tosses a small pouch to the woman. "they're fresh. got them just yesterday for you."
"my fav'rite," she says, eyes widening as she examines the pomegranate seeds folded carefully in cloth.
"it's a thank you," parker explains, though looks away. the silver threads in the witch's hair have grown more prominently lately, and the sallow tinge to her skin has not gone unnoticed to the young woman. magnolia does what she can to get by, but it's no secret that she's sick, that she should be resting most days now, that she should be tended to. "for everything."
magnolia skewers the meat and hands it to parker, saying nothing but speaking with her eyes the gratitude that she feels. parker's cheeks go pink and she awkwardly grabs the skewer with a nod. and then magnolia's gaze shifts past her, brows raising.
"you dun' see many people like tha' down 'ere," she says and parker turns.
everything about the blonde screams that she doesn't belong here. from the clothes on her back to the way she carries herself, and parker instantly feels lesser for it, and in turn strikes sparks to annoyance and aggravation.
"think she a knight?" magnolia asks as she starts cleaning a blade.
parker shakes her head. "i doubt it. she doesn't look like the type." and then she smiles as she polishes off the rest of the food. "know what? i'm gonna go find out."
"stay outta trouble," magnolia warns with a sigh. and as parker walks away, she calls, "and thank ya again fer the seeds!"
parker waves over her shoulder, gaze too focused on the blonde's interaction with another merchant to give a proper goodbye. as they finish their transaction, parker lopes up to her and throws her arm around her shoulder.
"so, someone after you, princess? 'cause a rune like that isn't gonna do much."
leonis rubs the ward through her fingers and swears she can feel a thrum of power. she's not sure what to do with it now, though. the cord is too short to string around her neck, and she's not sure it's something she wants to wear on her sleeve, so to speak. it feels tacky, somehow, to walk the hovel with protection. and leonis, with her ramrod back and air of hauteur, most certainly does not need protection from the rabble.
she tucks it in her pocket and nods in thanks to the merchant woman. and just as she swipes her thumb across the surface of the ward once more, a heavy weight slams down on her shoulders.
it tightens slightly, a noose and a reminder. leonis' arm jerks reflexively as she moves away from the stranger and she swears (no ladylike words from this girl, oh no) as her thumb snags on a splinter (of course this back market bauble isn't sanded).
first.
she looks up, blue eyes narrow, mouth set in a facsimile of a smile. sneer would be the more accurate term, though you would have to admit leonis is trying. kindness does not come easy to her.
"oh, hello. and no, thank you, but no one is after me."
leonis pulls her hand from her pocket and licks the tip of her thumb free of blood. she shrugs as she does so, sidestepping the stranger's grasp if she'll allow it.
"but perhaps i require protection from the likes of you."
it's implicit, leonis' distaste. she thinks that this is typical, that the members of the hovel have no manners, no comportment. her gaze travels the body of the other woman.
fiery hair, fiery temper; that's how it goes, no? and though leonis snow-white blonde and as cold as ice to match, she feels annoyance bubble in the pit of her stomach. annoyance, and a certain fear too. this woman is a firebrand, a wildcard--leonis can see it in her eyes and predator lines of her body. leonis, who loves order and stillness and the security of knowing, feels something cold prickle her back where the ghost of the woman's arm was
leonis thinks: too cold, too cold by far
leonis thinks: but she doesn't matter. none of this matters. they're nothing, nothing, nothing
leonis thinks: shame this charm can't protect me from myself
she looks at her hand again and sees that the blood has run free. the red is selfsame as this stranger's hair. iridescent and ruby, and trickling oh-so-slowly
down
down
down
when the wildcard speaks again, leonis won't recall how long she's spent gazing at her hand, trying to ignore the desperate rabbit-stamp beat of her heart.
she doesn't know why these episodes come, or why they affect her so. she doesn't know why her hands grow cold and damp and her chest winds up into thrumming pain. why the touch of another person makes her skin want to grow legs and scuttle away to hide somewhere deep and dark; a primordial hole.
but she registers the gentle coolness in the air as eulalia manifests on her shoulder. feels her familiar run her smooth beak along her cheek in silent comfort. leonis lets out a breath and it feels like letting go.
[attr="class","pwfhdnotes"] doing an expose on feelings i don't fully understand
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[attr="class","pwfbody"] perhaps parker was wrong. maybe this blonde is a knight. she expects a sound, some sort of start to suddenly having an arm around one's shoulder (and she gets a swear, yes) but she witnesses practiced patience, a wash of calm over a tidal wave. and that's all she can manage to snip from this woman before she's jerked away, face turned away from parker's. [break][break]
she eyes the blood dribbling from the woman's thumb and then looks away. for a brief moment she feels regret, but it's stifled by earlier annoyance and growing curiosity. the woman is too different. parker wouldn't dare go as far to say that there's something special about her. no, perhaps odd would be a better term. [break][break]
and, ah, there it is.[break][break]
'from the likes of you.' [break][break]
parker snorts, lopsided smile making its way back to her face, wiping any traces of concern from her features. her eyes harden, sharp as flint. she laughs, puts her hands in her pockets as a grand gesture of good will, cocks a brow when the blonde gives her the up and down. [break][break]
"see anything you like?" she says, but her words seem to fall on deaf ears. [break][break]
and then she thinks, yes, definitely odd because the woman is gone now, eyes cloudy, thumb left unattended too long. the blood slip-slides down her finger and parker watches it go, debating on whether she should spare herself the oddities and walk away or slap the woman back to reality. and just as she's started to lean toward the latter, the woman comes to. [break][break]
her familiar manifests on her shoulder. and parker braces herself for...a fight? but the bird seems more invested in pressing her feathered head against her witch's cheek. parker looks away, feels her hands burn. [break][break]
"you're not gonna get very far down here if you keep an attitude like that. so for your sake, i hope you're just visiting."[break][break]
she walks a couple of stalls down and chats with one of the merchants, produces a copper coin in one hand and swaps it for a small vial. and then she returns, tosses the vial to the witch. "for the nerves," she says. "and don't worry--august's been making shit like that for years now. his husband used to be a nutcase."
Leonis' mouth tightens. Her back straightens even more--if that were possible--and there's a decidedly defensive set to her shoulders.
"I am not a nutcase," she says. Her voice is soft, perhaps dangerously so. But even so she catches the vial deftly and curls her fingers around it. Unconciously, she rubs her thumb over the thick glass and rubber cork. She pretends to be unaffected, but a part of her desperately wants to take the concotion--whatever it is--and see if it fixes whatever part of her brain fell apart long before.
But she won't admit that to this leering stranger. Leonis deflects, rolling her shoulders back and tucking the vial into her pocket.
"What do you mean by my...attitude?" Is it so obvious that she's uncomfortable, a fish out of water? And because she's raised well, she adds: "I don't mean anything by it. My apologies if my behaviour was uncouth."
Sincerity doesn't drip from Leonis' mouth. In fact, it's barely started to condense. But at least she looks contrite, facial features arranged all suitably. Only Eulalia, crooning as she runs her beak along Leonis' cheek, ruins the image.
we should go, Eulalia whispers in her mind. Leonis can feel the underlying"you" and her mouth sets. She can't--won't--keep running.
"Do you usually go around diagonising strangers and writing their prescriptions?"Leonis finally asks, curious despite her best judgement. She should really leave, given this woman's barbed warning, but when fear is her bosom friend, it is easier to embrace it. text
FOR parker jones ― ITS NOT GREAT BUT ITS SOMETHING /rip
[attr="class","pwfhdnotes"] doing an expose on feelings i don't fully understand
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[attr="class","pwfbody"]wrong choice of words. she's not the most eloquent, that much she knows, but it's made even more apparent next to this woman. it unsettles her just how much less she feels next to her, that she embodies an existence so far above her own, and that it can be made that apparent. but parker's spinning thoughts stay under the surface, hide behind a shark-toothed smile and easy laughter. [break][break]
"we all got a little crazy in us," she says, brows raised.[break][break]
gods, she talks so stiffly. robotically. parker doesn't have a quick rebuttal because she's so bewildered. it bugs her that her earlier question didn't get an answer--that this woman has some sort of business here at all bothers her. and she's never claimed herself a social justice warrior, but there's something about the way this woman carries herself, looks at her, looks at the rest of her people, that makes her hair stand on end, makes her bristle.[break][break]
"i do when it's in my best interest. but mostly i'm lookin' out for you and i'm lookin' out for them." she gestures around them. "so if you're here for a certain group of people, well, i'm gonna kindly ask you to leave." she pivots, takes a long stride forward so she can walk backwards in front of the woman. she moves to slow them down, but not touch her. while she may be wary, while she may not like her, she knows that look, understands that fear, wherever it may come from.[break][break]
