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.
"But Papa!" she had tried to argue. A puppy face and big doe eyes used to do the trick, but Mr. Lindt simply wasn't having it this time. With a loud thump, he closed the front door right in his daughter's face and didn't reopen it for her, despite her incessant bangs. The distinctive sound of three locks clicking shut made her growl in frustration, and at long last she conceded. Her feet started dragging her away to the Helios Knights Hall.
It was one of those delightful sunny days in Sundial that Vera so loved, but she was locked inside her small laboratory, trying to reproduce the consistency and properties of baking powder for a potion. Normally, she would have given up hours ago and decided to keep trying later, after a long walk through the park or a shopping trip, but not this time. Against her own desires, she was sitting on that highly uncomfortable chair of hers, face inches from a vial filled halfway with an indigo liquid.
She just felt so close to a breakthrough.
You're too impatient, Vee, she heard her familiar counter as she turned one last corner before reaching her destination.
With a sigh, she maneuvered past the statues of grand witches long dead—the Twelve Founders, Lunella Lacehart, there was even one of Sylvia Yanus and Killian Marjane together, perhaps as an act of rebellious irony or strange fanatism—and into the Hall.
Two years in and she still held the rank of fledgling. All because she hadn't been taking on enough missions or making her name known to the coven, according to Papa. According to him, mission signals wouldn't come as easily and readily as young witches in line to buy the latest installment of the Dark Magicians saga. Listen here, the last one ended in the worst cliffhanger in all of contemporary fiction.
A part of her understood what her Papa must have been thinking when she kicked her out of the house half an hour earlier, really she did understand, but the most primal side of her was angry. So angry that he wouldn't understand her dream. Her Opa's dream. A dream he, too, should be sharing. It was part of their family's legacy! Perhaps just as important as being a Helios Knight. She was practically stomping her way to the Missions Board so she could grab a quick one, shut her Papa up, and return to her worktable. Hopefully, she'd also find a willing partner for it.
There was an empty silence to the grand hall Morgana always found both comforting and worrying. The echoing footsteps, slight murmurs of whispers... The occasional pitter-patter of claws or talons against the stone floor marking the familiars who didn't float nor fly. The sounds of coven society were the comforts- it was the eyes the young woman felt that were discomforting. Always staring. Always watching. She could feel their gazes on her skin whenever she came anywhere near the mission board, almost as if wary of a 'fledgling' thinking she could handle anything other than being a book slave. Pack-mule. That seemed to be a daily occurrence for the less fortunate she'd witnessed in her much earlier years.
Morgana shook her head. The casual hood decorated with rabbit ears bounced slightly with the movement, adding more of a rustle to the bare necessity of sounds within the hall. Not even the heels on her boots were as deafening as that slight rustle... 'Paranoia does not suit you, m'lady.' Noi's call came, the owl himself seated rather disrespectfully on an infamous figure's statue. She didn't even look at him, didn't respond. The amount of times she'd scolded him for that exact behavioral acts always bounced right off, thus her current reaction of: 'that's not mine, nope- walking along now'. Noi didn't seem to mind, he probably already knew how to fry her nerves even more with all his staring and constant fluttering to perch onto the next statue she was passing. She picked up the pace.
Eyes diverted to the ground, taking in all the details of the stones being stepped on; praying that those around her would avoid her like the norm. After all, she could still feel eyes on her... though that may have just been Noi. His voice prodded at her mind in a more annoying hum than actual words, a soft hoot of which she could safely assume was a coo for reassurance or perhaps comfort. Either way he still didn't bother to warn her of the figure she was quickly approaching.
If it hadn't been for the slightest view of another person's legs in front of her, Morgana would have probably ram-headed straight into that poor person's spine. Instead, not thinking; the woman slid on the heel of her foot, vaulting herself face first into some poor statue with the momentum that had built up. Again, why didn't she stop? Foolish. Foolish pain... The purplette fell into a crouched state almost instantaneously with that lovely, solid thack. One hand gripping the base for support, or was it a stone cloak; the other practically glued to her face to try and hide the high pitched whisper of a groaning whine. It didn't take a genius to know her nose probably redder than a cherry and the stinging in her eyes could only be the tears brought on by pain. "Ow..." The groan continued, a brief moment to pull away from her hand to check for blood prove safe in that regards.
"Key lesson... momentum is evil..." The woman grumbled, hearing a soft flap of wings overhead and feeling the soft prick of concern at the edges of her mind. Mean, evil bird. Noi stared down at her silently, the ever-so-faint hint of a chuckle escaping him. Never mind the figure of whom she'd successfully avoided, her attention was on that copper-colored owl in all his nonchalant glory. One teary face looked up to spot those dark eyes staring down at her with his head cocked in a near perfect right angle. "Are you laughing at me..?" The woman managed through the cover of her hand. 'Why yes, m'lady; I am.' Such an honest answer, evil little thing. 'You could not have halted?'
...
A mere shake of her head, a flick of the hand. Clearly, Morgana had not even thought of that- much to the dismay of her face and the statue's robes.
Entertained as she was letting her temperament get the best out of her, and boil up her brain cells in the process, Vera wouldn't notice the quickly approaching witch until it was too late. Too late for the newcomer, that is. To your right! her agouti familiar had tried to warn, but she was too engrossed to understand what was to her right and what Fondue wanted her to do about it. Before she got a chance to react, a pained groan greeted her from the general direction that Fondue had pointed out. A little more northeast than strictly east, but close enough.
A pair of long black ears dangled in the air.
Vera's first thought at this turn of events was that she was in front of a human-sized black rabbit, and that she was extremely lucky to be witnessing such a sight. The second thought that came to mind was that she'd barely missed a collision with this oversize rabbit, which made her doubly lucky. Until the rabbit produced noises that the brunette recognized as suspiciously reminiscent of modern English.
"Are you laughing at me?" came the fallen woman's muffled demand. Vera stared wide-eyed, oblivious to the conversation going on in her mind, terrified that she was the subject of the woman's question.
"N-no! I'm not, I swear!" she fumbled over her words, trying to remember how to speak after the shock of finding the black rabbit was actually human, which was naturally far greater than the shock of having nearly being crashed into. Apparently, it was also greater than the fear of actually being crashed into. Fondue remained silent throughout this all, though his witch could swear she felt him shake his rodent head for some reason or another. Vera was too busy to even try to decipher the meaning of his simple gesture, though. She was trying to avoid being hated by this witch unjustly!
"I would never laugh at you!" she insisted. "I mean, obviously we can't know that, no one but a seer can know the future, but you should know that I wouldn't—okay, maybe I would—laugh at a stranger. But not at you! Promise!" Her eyes were frantically trying to catch other witch's to reassure herself that she didn't hate her, when the realization that she'd just crashed into a statue and was undoubtedly hurt hit her. Like lightning dancing straight through a lightning rod. Finally, tentatively, she reached for the fallen witch with both arms. "Oh, Merlin! Are you all right?"
The aching pain shooting between her eyes, nose, and parts of her upper lip were numbing rather slowly by the witch's standards. Hand still clutched to cold stone, the woman kept her kneeling if not keeled-over position for a while it seemed. Or at least that was her intention, against her familiar's silent prodding and poking. The urge to throw something at him in the most childish manner possible caused a brief relapse of a silent scouring of the area, her fingers trying to pick at the dust when nothing presented itself to be her ammo in range. Pity. Not even the dust wanted to help her in her petty vengeance, causing more of that not-so-subtle laughter to echo from that overgrown heart-face above her. Maddening. Irritating. Could she just tip the statue over and call it even? A test of strength with one hand against the stone cloak proved impossible. A little more strength? The tingling sensation in her fingers told her otherwise, the numbing beginning to spread due to idiotic blood-block off.
Oh well, she would get back at him later for th- A voice broke that train of thought. At first, Morgana simply thought it her imagination. Perhaps the sounds of an overly loud conversation in the distance... No it was being persistent, loud, and sounding far too close for comfort. Cautiously, the woman peaked up and around from beneath her hood; keeping one eye open while the other was duly covered by an itch of bangs. Thank goodness too since the purplette was one-hundred percent sure that those staring green eyes were right on her. Oh who was she kidding, there was a 'little girl' staring right at her. With so much straightforward attention it was only natural that-
Morgana face went to hide straightaway into the cloak of the statue, forgetting that not only was it stone but the earlier impact was at the near exact same speed. There was a good, sound thwack as the woman reeled back once again, landing on her hindquarters with a rather maiden-like pose; hand extended out with a throbbing red due to its formerly protective measure. She hadn't even been paying attention to the poor lass, couldn't even hold eye contact until the glimpse of arms toward her drew her full attention.
"Wha- no! Er, I mean; it's fine! ...I think? Yeah good-" Morgana pivoted her body to face the girl at least half-way, only realizing mid-sentence that such a unbalancing act would, well; unbalance her. Her hands rushed to catch herself, swing herself onto her feet, and hold a rather disoriented pose while regret and a sudden sense of lightheadedness and nausea took hold. Composure... composure...
It took an effort to try and create, let alone maintain; a decent pose of wellness. One hand went to her side while the other rested at her chest when she faced the girl. Lavender eyes staring off at the cracks in the floor, yes those lovely cracks were quite appealing... "Yes, I'm fine now thank you." Her words came out rather well if she did say so herself, a bit slurred at the end but that was alright. Never mind that her lip felt awfully wet, completely ignoring the red dribbling rather profusely from one half of her nose. She'd look to see what that wetness was on her hand later, pose fir- 'M'lady, you're bleeding. It's getting on your clothi-' The concerned voice in her head felt himself cut off rather rudely, a indignant hoot sounding from above. "Shut it." The woman mumbled, a desperate attempt to keep her face neutral despite the audible venom spilling out.
Yes, Vera could see it clearly now. The black bunny was no bunny but a woman—with really pretty purple hair, at that; she'd have to ask her about her hair care products as soon as she'd made sure she was, in fact, as well as she claimed to be—in a black hoodie. A black hoodie that was for some reason retreating back into the shadows shed by a statue. The scene reminded her of a newborn duckling rushing to the warmth and protection of its momma's plumage. Or, at least, it's how Vera always imagined it to look like. She'd never seen a duckling in the flesh.
Oh. Or was that an Ouch? Even Fondue, the remarkably smarter-than-Vera Fondue, had no words for the witch's second collision against the statue.
Vera's lips pursed into a frowny pout. "Are you sure?" she asked, in a tone that was so evidently incredulous it was almost comical. Really, the way in which the witch continued to move and sway and flail would have fooled anyone into believing she was fine. After all, who would be able to move like that otherwise? But she kept insisting that she was fine, and Vera wasn't sure what to do, and there it was again, she was claiming to be fine again, and even going as far as to thank her despite having just stood uselessly to the side while watching the painful display.
"Oh, if only I had my books and working table here, then I'd be able to brew something for you and we'd both be absolutely sure nothing's going to be the matter," she lamented, more to herself than to the purple-haired witch. But no, even if she had those available, it would take her a while to look up and then prepare any mixture that could help. It made her feel useless. She hated feeling useless.
Just then, her familiar's voice resounded in the back of her mind, bringing her back from her me-thoughts. She smells like iron.
It wasn't visible at first, what with her face down, and hair and hood concealing what little the angle of her face didn't. It took Fondue's warning and a closer inspection of the bodice she was wearing to notice the bright red liquid quickly dripping down her body. This new discovery sent the brunette back in action.
"Come with me," she said. It was not a question this time. "I'll take you to the infirmary, get those wounds cleaned and patched up, and something for the pain." Once again, she reached for the hurt woman, tried to take her hand; not realizing, and even then not caring, that the witch had pointedly rejected her touch before. Not realizing that the hand, too, was bleeding.
The order to hold her tongue didn't go by unnoticed. It stung, somewhat, but wasn't heeded. Wouldn't be. This wasn't the first time she was being told to shut up. Sometimes, the delivery was far less delicate. She very rarely listened, but mostly because she just couldn't. Not when someone was hurt; not when the same someone wasn't getting treated.
