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.
[attr="class","j1scroll"] The book is still with him, even as the next day of saturnalia arrives.
[break][break]He does not let go of the blank tale, even when others stop by and look at what he is holding, even when they have made a general interest in it, even when they try to snatch it open and read it. But there is nothing to read here. Not yet. It's still a blank book without a tale, a tale that has the potential of being told.
[break][break]"The phoenix awakes from the bonfire and becomes--"
[break][break]He marks the unfinished sentence with a line and tears off the page, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it in a nearby garbage can. Caleb does not know why he's suddenly obsessed with this book. There is a certain connection that this book had forced unto him, but whatever that connection was, he does not know. He finds an empty bench after rigorously walking and, sitting on it, he opens the book again and is about to write.
[break][break]"In the beginning, there was fire and hell."
[break][break]...He marks it off with a line again and groans exasperatedly to himself.
Post by raziel of the autumn court on Oct 25, 2019 0:28:12 GMT
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There are fragments of possessions
Saturnalia wasn't something that the Autumn Court celebrated; they were a culture of efficiency, and putting extra days between years just seemed like a needless complication of timekeeping. But, Sundial was not a land of the Court, and thus the city was in the spirit of the holidays whether the young Court merchant liked it or not. With so few people willing to work during Saturnalia without overtime bonuses, and so many potential customers drawn away by the many celebratory activities of the season, it hardly made sense to keep the Court's businesses running, aside for a few stores manned by minimal employees. And so, Raziel was left with little to do and well over a week to do it.
They huff as they leave their apartment, dressed in muted grays instead of their usual outfits of radiant white, and with a light, seasonal hood over their head to block their face from prying eyes. It wasn't a disguise, per say -- the merchant's robes were just as neat and spotless as always, and their hair done in its usual style. They still wore bangles on their arms, and jewels on their fingers, but... all of it was less than the merchant's typical grandiose persona which was normally bright enough to dominate a room.
They don't walk far -- just to the nearest bench, where another was already seated. The remains of a torn-out page and crossed out text suggested that he wasn't having a very good time.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" Raziel asks with a warm smile, not waiting for an an answer as they take the other half of the bench and pull out a crisp folder from their robes, "I have some writing to do myself, though I doubt it will be anywhere near as interesting as what you're working on." Though such flattering remarks were common in Raziel's conversations, the words weren't untrue. Just about anything was more interesting than composing the finer details of a trade deal.
[attr="class","j1scroll"] The tenth page he rips off makes him return to reality once he realizes it almost hit someone else's shoe.
[break][break]He looks up and finds a young fellow dressed in clouds of grey, in contrast to pale skin and white hair that are like the white of spider silk. They almost look unnaturally like a god, Caleb thinks in awe; but he realizes he is staring too much, and at that moment, looks away with the same disappointed look on his face as he remembers where he is.
[break][break]They ask for permission to sit, and he nods, though they don't really have to ask from him; the bench is not Caleb's, after all. He returns to eyeing the storybook that's been blank the tenth time. His mind runs out of ideas then and there after he tries to think of something; running a hand through his hair, he musters a silent huff while glaring at the white pages in front of him.
[break][break]But then, Caleb hears the fellow next to him. They say they have writing to do as well, but then tells him that it would nowhere be as nice as the thing he is working right now. Caleb doesn't turn, but his eyebrows narrow. As if he'd been working on something great. He hesitates for a while, wondering if he should converse with them; but he grabs the notebook tucked inside his jacket anyway, and begins to write. He then shows it to his companion without looking at them.
[break][break]...I wish. But I'm afraid that is simply untrue; I haven't been able to work on anything to write this morning, after all.
Post by raziel of the autumn court on Nov 5, 2019 13:44:38 GMT
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There are fragments of possessions
They'd barely jotted down the structure of the first group of agreements which they intended to detail before the stranger presented to them a written sentence. Normally, they'd be suspicious if someone showed them something written without preamble -- after all, certain spells could be triggered from words being read -- but Raziel was the one who'd made the choice to sit here, so they shelved that suspicion for now.
It took them a moment to realize that this was the stranger's chosen method of communication, rather than a passage from their story. Certainly an inefficient choice with a paper transport being so much slower than sound waves, but more permanent, and less vulnerable to misinterpretation. Raziel could respect that, and replies once they understand the situation: "Ah! Well, then I suppose my first question should be: what is it that you're trying to write?" The merchant had been raised in a community where chance and the whims of a muse mattered little; everything had structure, and a method with which to create it.
[attr="class","j1scroll"] They seem to understand the situation real quick, and at the stranger's question Caleb only smiles for a moment. He is not so sure if his method of communication is making it hard to them to respond. As he considers his response of what exactly he is trying to write, Caleb looks at the two books currently placed in his lap. He picks up his personal notebook and jots down his response.
[break][break]...I'm trying to write a fable, The written words read as he shows it to them again, this time with a face red of embarrassment for this pathetic excuse of a communication method, It's been in my mind for how many days since day 1 of Saturnalia. I have the idea, I have the story I want to tell, I have the characters, but the problem is how I'm going to relay it now to the storybook. It seems as if my mind has just blocked out how to do that.
[break][break]For a moment he runs out of words to write in his notebook, but then he realizes it must be difficult for his companion to keep reading passages in his notebook, as well as the potential to irritate them if he keeps doing so. Do you want to continue on talking like this? Reading from my notebook, I mean. He writes again. It would probably be irritating for you, and if you rather we sign to each other instead of continuously strain your neck just to read or if you want someone to interpret my words for you, I could call my familiar.
Post by raziel of the autumn court on Nov 14, 2019 13:50:44 GMT
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There are fragments of possessions
"That's seems like a noble endeavor, and not something that needs to be rushed," they reply to the first block of text, continuing with a slight, but encouraging smile, "And certainly not something to be embarrassed by."
They return to writing a few sentences on their own paper, as the stranger momentarily seemed at a loss for how to continue. In parallel, they also speak: "If the beginning is proving itself to be difficult, it may help to start somewhere in the middle, where the action is more clear and there's less pressure to draw the reader in."
The stranger begins to write again, and Raziel gives them a few moments to finish jotting down their thoughts before reading it. They think this is odd thing to be concerned about, though, to them, most of the mainland's cultural differences seemed odd. "Ah, don't worry about that! I don't mind at all. Our conversation isn't so heavy with importance that it could forge a trade alliance or end a war, so the method of communication doesn't really matter as long as we understand each other. Unfortunately I don't know the sign language used here on the mainland, but aside from this you should communicate in the way that's most comfortable for you," they reply with a warm smile. Truthfully, they did know a form of sign language, but it was so specific to the Autumn Court that they doubted anyone outside of the family even knew about it.
[attr="class","j1scroll"] The reassurances that come from their companion as well as the encouraging smile that he sees from the corner of his eye makes him feel quite a bit better. That is the last thing he expected to do, rushing a story. Of course... how could he forget that stories take time to write? But taking into account all the thinking and brainstorming he'd done since yesterday and the day before that, he almost wants to disagree, but instead doesn't say anything for the matter. Instead, he simply smiles back, and jots down the words: "I'd take note of not rushing everything. That may be the reason for why I'm having a hard time. Thank you for reminding me."
[break][break]While he was writing responses he hears them whip up advice for writing in the middle if he's ever having a hard time writing the beginning. Caleb stops writing for a second there, raises his head, and blinks. That does seem like really useful advice. But as fast as a second, he turns away and continues writing a response. Honestly, he doesn't know why he's taking this long to write a conversation... But finally, he's done.
[break][break]"...That is useful, yes... but I still have no concrete idea what the world is, and I have yet to figure out the problem... that's why I'm thinking of writing the beginning first, so I may have an idea of what the characters are going to face in the future." Caleb doesn't know if that makes any sense. He scratches his head in embarrassment. "Advice noted, though."
[break][break]Finally he's listening to him. The topic changes, however, and now they talk about his communication method. Caleb smiles as they tell him that he's free to talk in the method in which he is comfortable with. Caleb nods, sighing silently. He's yet to come to people like his current companion who would say that as a reassurance. Jotting down yet again, he hands over the notebook.
[break][break]"...That relieves me. Thank you for that reassurance." A small smile, before he adds, "We'll continue on like this, then?"
Post by raziel of the autumn court on Dec 17, 2019 4:17:03 GMT
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In a way, it's a bit like home. The Autumn Court (its nobility, at least) communicated almost exclusively through atheneum links since thoughts were both faster and more versatile than sound. Generally, sounds were viewed as a distraction and discouraged unless necessary. Up until now, they had not met anyone from the mainland who avoided speaking out loud with such a similar discipline.
"I'm glad," they reply simply to the writer's thanks, and assures that "Yes, that's fine. I certainly don't want you feeling uncomfortable on my account; that wouldn't help anyone," to the written sentence that follows.
"So," they continue, clearly intending to steer the conversation back to the original topic, "If the world and the problem isn't clear, what do you have so far? Characters?" The question is in a tone of curiosity rather than judgement, and the merchant's persistent smile implies they don't intend to offend. "Could you perhaps tell me about one of them?"
Raziel never imagined themselves helping to write anything of a creative nature, having little experience outside of writing practical and official documents. But, they did have a knack for asking questions. Making trades relied on figuring out what the other party wants (or, what they think they want), after all, and that was something they were rather adept at.
[attr="class","j1scroll"] Caleb tells his companion of his only current plan for the fable; it's unfortunate, really, that his mind hasn't come up with anything else to add. He has the characters for the story, human or other, but he's not sure what situation is best for these characters to hurl themselves into a conflict. Perhaps he's only too good with making people who will walk in the story rather than creating a plot, lore, and problem for both his characters and the reader to engage in. It's unfortunate.
[break][break]They ask if he has only characters so far, and he nods at this. He then requests a description for one of them. Caleb begins to think, taking the time to choose between which character he will describe. There are a lot of them, so maybe he can pick three from the cast, and so he does just that and starts with the protagonist. "Well..." He begins writing, "I have the main protagonist, one of the King's warriors and a soldier of faith... he's incredibly loyal and humble, yet at times can lose his composure in times of desperation."
[break][break]He then describes the second character, the soldier's lover and a rambunctious young woman. He goes on to the third, the soldier's young friend and a rather adventurous fellow, then the fourth, the King himself, who has lost his queen and little princess in a war, and is in great despair until today. "And I have a creature that I intend to be a fundamental object of interest for the king... the phoenix, a bird made of fire which births itself from its own ashes after it dies."
[break][break]Caleb stops writing his response once again and thinks for a few seconds, before taking his pen again. "I intend for the king to ask the knight on a quest, and there he is accompanied by his adventurous friend and head-strong lover to retrieve the phoenix, come to think of it... although I don't know where to go from there."
Post by raziel of the autumn court on Feb 9, 2020 23:31:22 GMT
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There are fragments of possessions
When the stranger (though not entirely a stranger anymore) begins to write out descriptions of their characters, Raziel returns to their own work of outlining a trade proposal, granting them time to fully finish jotting down their thoughts without the pressure of being watched. The merchant's style is a combination of words and symbols, all neatly written in a clear, visual structure. To them, writing is an equation; the meaning of what is written is the highest priority, leaving the linguistic rhythm and clever imagery of the piece mere side-notes.
This time, when they take Caleb's papers with the words he wants to say, Raziel keeps their own pen in hand underlines certain words with impeccably straight lines. "You say there's only characters here, but from what I can see you already have the seeds of a world and points of conflict to explore." They take a few more quick moments before putting down their pen and turning the papers around to certain words. "Since there is a king, the world must be made at least partially of different kindgoms. Since there was a war within the lifespan of the living king, it means that this kingdom is likely are not on good terms with the others... or possibly with its own people." At this point, they flip pages to the summary of the phoenix. "And it looks like like wraiths are not as much of a threat in this world, either, if humans have had enough prosperity to start wars with each other, though creatures of magic clearly still exist and seem to hold some importance of either a practical or cultural nature. This could provide some interesting conflict if the protagonist, for example, is forced to struggle with the incompatibility of his own religious beliefs about the phoenix, and the orders from his king -- to use the creature to reincarnate his family, perhaps?"
With underlines of key points to further explore (and some small, neat notes in the margins) Raziel returns the papers to Caleb. "What I mean, is that you have a good start of a story right here," they say, pointing at the now-filled pages, "Take any one of the subjects there and expand on it -- turn it into a chapter and repeat until you have a better idea of where to go with the narrative."
