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","diag"]Talk about Portia Vanruschild and her book of fables has reached virtually everywhere, made its way even to the farthest corners of Salem and back, but it hasn't reached the conversation two particular witches are having inside a pretty flower shop downtown. Not yet, anyway. The topic hasn't gotten its chance to come out to the spotlight, as they're currently discussing a whole different set of children and their romantic pursuits, though it's always present. The wanted ad magically stuck outside can attest to it.
"It's so disheartening when they refuse to listen to your advice, and jump straight into trouble," Eleanor sighs. One would think that, after the first few times, the utter dread in her guts would start to control itself. But no. Every time was just like the first. Every time was like a new punch. "As important as it is to learn by trial and error, I just wish they never had to feel the pain that goes with it." She just hoped her own daughter would get lucky when she grew old enough.
Eleanor picks her teacup up once their discussion's calmed down. They could still go on about who liked who and how messy some love triangles had turned out to be (blame Eleanor), or about the blessed, happily polyamorous relationships (also blame Eleanor), but for now she felt all three intermingled topics had been exhausted to their maximum potential. At least, until something new happened that called for their intervention.
For now, Eleanor merely wants to enjoy her tea in the soothing peace of her friend's beautifully decorated shop. The sound of paper flapping in the wind can be heard, if they're attentive and quiet enough. The light summoner assumes it to be that ad she saw earlier on her way in. And, at last, the topic everyone's raging about slips in.
"Speaking of," she starts, putting that teacup back down for what she's sure will turn into quite the animated rant. "Portia Vanruschild, that poor darling. Can you believe it took an accident of this scale for those parents of hers to finally do their job?" Eleanor has heard her good share of bad parenting tales, but the Vanruschild's case was an exemplary one, if only because it was also covered in many gossip magazines, and greatly exaggerated while at it. "My heart almost stopped when I found out, Tay. Thank the spirits nothing happened to her in that mysterious explosion."
Nothing substantial had been revealed about the magical incident, other than it was a magical incident, which gave room to a lot of wild speculation. Although Portia was still too young to develop her affinities, it was easy for those who've been in the business long enough to make an educated guess as to what—or who—was responsible for it. It made for interesting conversation, when she wasn't busy worrying over the child. Eleanor's own theory dealt with transfiguration magic. Let's be honest, though: she never stopped worrying.
and most of them are mine. there are things even my mind can't deny.
[attr="class","les"]
H
is attention remains steady, with an almost practised dedication. at the edges of his mind, he's barely conscious of iris riding imaginary bow wakes in the air, but the familiar's stubborn optimism is like a cold that stubbornly clings on despite all the rest one can humanly get. taylan is certain that if he lets himself, his mind will drift back into other, easier topics that require less conversation ( or at least, verbal participation on his part. ) things like watering the plants, checking the flower shop's inventories, various missions -- unbidden, his concentration wavers and his gaze flicks outside. but only for a moment; the next, he's listening to eleanor again.
a sigh is met with a vaguely affirmative grunt and an almost imperceptible inclination of the head, the type that wordlessly prods one to continue with whatever train of thought they were having. the next statement is met with a similar response. and so the pattern continues.
but as of yet, he has nothing much to add to the discussion -- dramatics seem confined to eleanor's sphere of town this time. the week's quota of frantic young lovers rushing around for needlessly extravagant bouquets has yet to be fulfilled, though he is certain that it will soon. people seem to have their minds elsewhere this week. ( he can't blame them. )
as if on cue, the topic comes into play. the clink of porcelain against its saucer is the only warning he gets, a single-note prelude to her speech. absently, he drops a small cube of sugar into his tea, and proceeds to stir ( quietly as he can, minimising the clinking all while listening attentively ). "well, it's them," he points out, as if the single stressed word explains all the mysteries of the universe. begrudgingly, he does relent that escaping relatively unscathed is still a good thing, though the only indication of such is a slight crease between the brows, and again, a slow nod.
"so much trouble for a book, though," comes his only assessment. "i honestly can't figure out if it's important, or important." taylan's attention, this time with the slightest hints of annoyance, is drawn back to the page fluttering in the wind. it isn't loud, by any means, but just within his hearing range to sound as though it is purposely antagonising him. "s'cuse me--" he stands to retrieve it, and despite the scathing tone to that brief apology, is careful not to tear the paper. instead, he slides it across to eleanor. "as much as it pains me to admit it," and the distaste is almost palpable, "i'm quite curious about it."
[attr="class","diag"]Eleanor hasn't known Taylan Karga for long, but in the short time they've known each other she's found a patient, understanding friend whose company she came to appreciate, and whose opinion she came to value. She still finds the time to marvel at how easy he is to talk to, with his light nods and affirmative grunts, and allows herself to pour out her weekly dose of frustrations. It's the same kind of language her own husband uses to communicate with most anyone; it's familiar. It makes of this one of the few moments in her weekly routine when she doesn't completely regret leaving Eclipse Town for Sundial. "Have I told you yet that you're the best, Tay? I'm so grateful you understand." Eleanor smiles over her tea.
The topic change does produce the kind of reaction she was looking forward to. She nods at his first words in the last few minutes, wholeheartedly agreeing with his judgement of the Vanruschild family. Another name symbolically charged with prestige and expectations that could easily drown the weak-willed.
"It was an heirloom, wasn't it?" she continues Taylan's train of thought, or what she assumes to be his train of thought at least. "Wouldn't be surprising if its pages were enchanted with powerful magic." Ancient magical artifacts carried such a strong monetary and cultural value, and if Portia's book of fables had indeed been passed down across generations of Vanruschild witches, as gossip panels allegedly claimed, Eleanor could see how it would be the latter kind of important. Didn't make it any less funny, in the greater scheme of things; nor did it make the flyer outside any less exasperating.
"Go right ahead," she reassures, confident that his tone is directed not at her, but at the pesky piece of paper he's gone to retrieve. When he ends up sliding it across the table towards her, though, suspicion doesn't take long to appear.
"That worried, huh?" she asks, a knowing look passing through her gaze because she, too, feels the same curiosity and worry. Eleanor imagines they're going to come upon many children searching for those same pages, as well. "I could use a walk, after this banquet." Her hands gesture at the small table, and the many snacks impossibly filling it all—most of which were devoured by the woman. It wasn't really a banquet; but, given the caloric weight of everything she ate, it might as well have been. "Did you extract those sugar cubes yourself? Deliciously sweet. I'm going to have to ask you to make some for me to take home, one of these days."
anyone less stoic would have been considered defensive, and anyone who knows taylan well enough is well aware that the noncommittal grunt that follows the accusation of something inane as worry is very much a half-hearted protest. any concern for the wellbeing of others is, unfortunately, undeniable, but it isn't a main driving factor. he's not that great a guy, really.
( if he had been, perhaps ignacio wouldn't have left. )
he waits patiently for eleanor to finish up whatever she wants, or as patiently as he can seem. while his expression remains a veneer of calm, his wooden hand drums an erratic rhythm against his thigh ( almost imperceptible, the material makes it sound ever so slightly off ). eleanor's compliment draws the smallest hints of a smile -- or rather, a not-frown -- as he nods in affirmation. he's new to magic; it's not like he can do much else with his affinity right now.
"will do," he agrees, already standing up and pushing the chair in. he'll clear the dishes later. for now, he is eager to begin the hunt. outside, iris vanishes silently, retreating to the familiar plane as he steps outside, momentarily content with her share of air-swimming for the day. no doubt that she'll be pestering him to take a walk by the beach later, whining about swimming in the actual sea, or something of that like.
the air is crisp, a suddenly welcome change from the comfort of the flower shop. taylan stretches, surveys the bustling streets, and looks to his companion. "anywhere you'd like to start?"
[attr="class","diag"]Patience had never been one of Eleanor's strong suits, and it was precisely this fact that made the sight before her eyes even more amusing to watch. She laughs at Taylan's patient impatience. She appreciates his attempt, even if he can't disguise the eagerness he truly feels. She appreciates it so much she follows his lead and stands, too, though not before stealing a few cookies more. At first, it seems they are to snack on while they make their leave, but the idea flies out the window when she carefully makes a small bag out of napkins to carry them in. It's for her kid. Kids, actually, considering her husband would be expecting his own share of cookies when she got home.
After the plantshaper's promise to provide her with homemade sugar cubes, there is nothing left for her to do apart from tidying up. She doesn't wait for Taylan to do it himself, or to tell her he'd get to it later; a simple spell like Wingardium Leviosa doesn't require too much effort or mana, and the practice Eleanor's been getting lately is of help, not so surprisingly. When she's done, seconds later, there is a neat tower of plates sitting on the table. One larger plate carries the remaining snacks, while a dome covers and protects it from small thieves and too much oxygen.
She doesn't like the sight of dinnerware and cutlery lying unwashed and unattended, but Tay's rearing to go, and Eleanor can't but oblige. "Let me help with the dishes when we're back," she calls after him. It's a mystery she manages to keep the cookies she's secured for her family in one piece when she exits the shop and very nearly gets a piece of paper slammed into her face. Blue eyes follow the innocent-looking page on its way across the street, the ink marking it almost glowing under the sunlight.
Eleanor turns to Taylan, then back to the piece of paper getting progressively farther from the pair, in the direction of the nicer neighborhoods in the Residential Area. "That looks like a good place to start, don't you think?"
in the short moment he stands outside, waiting with thinly veiled impatience, he can hear eleanor moving the dishes -- feels a tiny twinge of guilt that comes and goes swiftly -- likely with magic, judging by the speed of it. he makes a note to learn more spells and scrolls, clears an afternoon in a mental calendar to pay a visit to the local library, and turns around just in time to see eleanor attacked by an errant piece of paper.
it is perhaps testament to the fact that he is a better assassin than bodyguard when he leans ever so slightly away from eleanor and the paper, weight shifting backwards, instead of perhaps leaning forward to catch it. that is, after all, the purpose of this entire venture. there is little doubting that the page is exactly what they are looking for. his eyes are already following the page before he moves, tracking its trajectory towards the residential area.
"looks like it," comes the reply as he squints into the sunlight, frowning slightly ( though no more than usual ). as welcome as the breeze had been earlier, taylan now wishes it would stop. naturally, it doesn't.
