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.
Why? The seer asks himself again. He'd lost count of how many times he'd already asked himself that same question since yesterday, when he'd encountered Lù-Xī at Sundial's bonfire. Why had he invited her to the flower shop, after hearing she had no other plans? Why did a scrying pool with a few drops of his own blood this morning reveal that she would accept?
"Is... Is it not enough that she's your daughter?" Grendel asks within his mind.
"She does not know that," The seer hisses under his breath.
"But it's the truth..." the familiar counters weakly.
Desmond bristles. The advice sounds too much like something Ezra or her student would say, and he immediately detests it. Just because something is the truth does not always make it wise to speak it. The seer does not offer a reply, and the familiar does not rekindle the short exchange before it shrivels back to silence.
The scent of warm spices wafts from the kitchen. He is cooking (for once, stealing the usual task of Taylan), though there is no action needed on his part for some time.
She's so happy she could cry, right now. Bouncing down the road towards Mr Tay's house, Ling is honestly on top of the world, she could float away, she's so happy. The fact that she's invited— the fact that Mr Des has warmed up to her enough to invite her — into his home, into his life, and on the second day of Saturnalia no less—!
She really is elated. She's never told anyone before, but day 2 of Saturnalia has always been a little sad for her. Yes, Jester's Den is her family, an amazing boisterous found family she loves with all her heart; but... she yearns, a bit, a little selfish part of her, for her family, for a small, close-knit bond. For parents, real parents, to celebrate with.
And this year, this year! Her wish has come true! She's so, so happy, has she said yet? The happiest girl in the world.
Ling barrels through the door maybe a little too quickly to be polite, Valkea trailing behind her like the watchful guardian he is; she smells the cooking first, warm and spicy and homely. Then she sees him standing there, a tall, dark figure at the kitchen counter—
( her brain i t c h e s ;
w h a t h a v e y o u f o r g o t t e n ?
a tall, dark figure ; a shorter, slim woman ; a kitchen, a hug—
f a t h e r ——— ?
p l e a s e ! don't g o ! )
— stumbles, rubbing her eyes; what? Blinks, spots Mr Des at the kitchen counter, and all else is forgotten. "Mr Des!" she yells in delight, running up to him with sunlight sparkling in her eyes, throwing her arms around him in as big of a hug as she can conceivably manage. "Happy Saturnalia!! Thank you so much for inviting me, it honestly means so much to me!"
Desmond has never cared much for being sociable. He has never liked the people he worked for (or with), and didn't care much about what they thought about him in return. He didn't need to be liked, and he didn't care for the happiness of others. Only when Lù-xī was involved did he wish he knew how he was supposed to act -- or what a good (or even mediocre) father was supposed to do. But, the wish is often fleeting, as he reminds himself how much more he wishes that she grow into someone who's nothing like him.
He hears the slam of the door and the light, but enthusiastic tapping of feet that could only be her arrival. He turns just in time to see her stumble briefly in her haste, but otherwise she does not hesitate to fling her arms around him. Desmond is reminded just how small she still is -- though, when is gaze brushes over her familiar, he is just as quickly reminded that she is not nearly as small as before. All the wishes of what could have been, and what achievements of hers he could have been there for, flutter and disperse. One arm hesitantly wraps across her shoulder blades to return the hug, though not too tightly to avoid the risk of her pain.
"Hello, Ling -- Happy Saturnalia," he greets. His smile is slight, but it is a smile nonetheless. "The dumplings just stated cooking, but they shouldn't take too long to be ready."
Mr Des has never been fully comfortable with hugs -- say what you will about Ling, and it is true that she can be denser than a box of rocks at times, but she's actually fairly good at reading social cues! especially when it comes to her favourite people -- but she's pretty sure he's getting better about them. There was only minimal hesitation this time! And Ling is more than happy to claim some part in this development.
"Dumplings!" she exclaims, delighted. She lets go of Mr Des to scurry over to the stovetop, peering into the pot. "I love dumplings! They're one of my favourite foods! You're the best, Mr Des!!"
"Volume control," says Valkea, who manifests himself with a swish of tail and bumps her gently away from the fire. A fox's face shouldn't be able to do 'fond amusement' so well, but somehow he manages. Valkea is magic, that's how ( literally! ). "Hello, Mr Desmond. I hope you don't regret inviting this little bratling over," he says, dry enough to be its own field of archeology. The fox familiar ignores Ling's indignant 'hey!' with the ease of long practice. "She's been bouncing uncontrollably all day."
Idly, he notes that he probably should have checked if dumplings were still one of Lù-xī's favorites. He hadn't even thought to scry such a question, as it had felt like an immutable fact at the time of the decision. But, so did the "fact" that her favorite stuffed animal was a hand-made spider, and the "fact" that she begins to babble meaningless sounds when she becomes too excited. Surely these had changed with time, so it was nice to know that some things, at least, had stayed the same after so many years.
A new voice pulls him back from contemplation, and his eyes fall upon the now-physical fox familiar. "Hello, Valkea," he greets, almost deadpan but with an amused lilt, "I assure you that's quite impossible -- you and Ling are always welcome here, and that wouldn't be the case if I regretted either of your company." (Technically, he knows he does not own any part of this space, and has no right to extend such an invitation. However, he is also well enough acquainted with Taylan to know that he wouldn't mind.) "Ah... but I hope you weren't excited for anything too special. My cooking is average," he admits. (After all, for what other reason would she have to be excited aside from the food?)
"Speaking of which... where do you want to eat? There's obviously a table here, but there's also pillows in the room with all the flowers, or the couch if you'd like something more comfortable."
The fox familiar regards Des with his dark, dark eyes before smiling ( or at least, the closest equivalent on his foxy face ) at the man and settling down across a chair, even as tears fill Ling's eyes and she clasps her hands together, happiness bright enough to rival the sun glowing from her cheeks. "Mr Des!" she sniffles, valiantly holding back her happy tears. "That's... that's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me!!" She can't control herself, her joy is all but bursting through her best; she darts forwards to seize the man in another tight hug.
"It's not about the cooking skill. It's about eating with family," she mumbles into his chest ( it wouldn't be a surprise if the words turn out somewhat incomprehensible to be honest ). "Not that I'm suggesting your cooking is not good," she adds hastily, pulling back to stare earnestly at him. "I'm sure it's amazing! It's gotta be 'cause you're amazing, Mr Des." He really could do with as many self-esteem elevating compliments, in Ling's humble opinion, so she's made it her solemn task to see that he gets them.
Finally ceasing to invade Des' personal space ( too much, anyways ), she pulls back to bounce around the room, poking her head through the doors to inspect the aforementioned rooms. "Anywhere is fine!" she says cheerfully. Valkea hops off his chair, wandering over in time to stabilise her as she trips over her own feet in her frenetic energy. "I do like flowers," he muses, adding in his own opinion. "And cushions."
At first, Desmond thinks he must have said something wrong, because he's certain that those are tears gathering in Lù-xī's eyes. Though he does pause, the quiet spike of panic through his veins doesn't reach his face. Years with Silvertongue has trained him too well to express such things when it might be perceived as a weakness; now he simply doesn't express them at all.
But then she proclaims that what he'd said was one of the nicest things she'd ever been told. That couldn't be right, though... Desmond could be described with a great many words, but nice was not one of them. The Jesters were supposed to be the nice ones -- the good ones. That's why he'd left her with them.
The ugly dissidence between her words and his understanding of the truth wrestles with the spark of simple joy that she is happy despite him being here. He wants her to be able to rely on him if she needs it, but she shouldn't-- he doesn't want her to fear him, but she would if she knew-- He could argue with himself until the world turned to ash, but time waits for no one, least of all him. Desmond shifts slightly under the pressure of her hug, hand hovering above her head hesitantly for a few moments before gently patting her hair. He hardly knows what to do with her whirlwind of feelings and it shows. "Well... it's true," is all he can bring himself to say on that topic.
Between the muffling from his shirt and the thoughts flying through his own mind, Desmond does not hear the word family uttered from her lips. The word escapes deceptively quick for something so heavy with truth, and the conversion moves on to lighter things. Desmond lets an amused huff of air escape in response to her continued unfounded compliments. "Like I said: average," he retorts, a slight upward tilt to his lips.
Though Lù-xī seemed equally enthusiastic about all of their dining options, Valkea was kind enough to voice a preference so Desmond didn't have to fish out some dice to decide for them. "It's decided, then -- flower room it is. Do you want to pick out some pillows? Most of them are in the closet that's to the left when you walk in. I'll be right over with the food." (Most of them were bought by Desmond himself, and were one of his very few contributions to the space. At least he could vouch for their comfort.)
It doesn't take long to plate the dumplings and the chicken + vegetable stir fry. They were only two people, after all -- it didn't make sense to cook up an entire feast. He takes the two bowls filled with food (resolving to bring utensils and empty plates for them to eat from in a second trip) and walks over to check on how the younger witch was faring.
