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.
So it had begun. Dmitri had not smoked in a while, so he thought it wouldn't be too bad to indulge himself in this once in a while. The night before had been filled with the panick of all his workers-- everyone had somebody or the other to rescue. It had been unnerving as a Coven Leader, but as Dmitri Wisbane he really could not offer any emotion to the moment. [break][break] Instead, he would perform the ceremonies with the funding from the coven, the Silvertongue way. That much, he could do. [break][break] He had been perplexed with the thoughts of his own nightmare, although the dream had been brief and vague it had certainly stirred something better left untouched in its entirety. In short, he was running low on sleep and high on emotion. He wasn't, therefore, functioning very well. [break][break] Nevertheless, he seemed wideawake (that, too, dulled when he cigarette lit automatically). He smoked a bit before sighing and tossing it away, creeping back into the building that shone silver in the moonlight. He had things to be preparing for, and for once he wasn't working from home. Not too mention he still had a few annoying leftovers from the Valley to deal with.[break][break] Every passing minute was a trial on his patience. [break][break] On the way back to his office, however, he caught the sorry sight of a red head limping towards the closed door. "Sorry, love, leader's away on important business."[break][break] The sarcasm runs dry as he brandishes a key from his pocket. Did the novice come through the back to escape prying eyes?
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jul 17, 2017 11:45:55 GMT
and i won't feel a thing
reality is a lovely place, but i wouldn’t want to live there
the floor is dark beneath his feet. first was stone, vast blocks blandly grey in a perfect reflection of the dull lifelessness sunk into the souls of those trapped within its walls; then cobblestone, uneven, rough, cracks spiderwebbing across an infinite of grey-browns, faint blue hues splayed in the shadows, seven generations of scuff marks leaving their ghosts behind.
step
( breathe )
step
( breathe )
step
( b r e a t h e )
hireling's keep - winding corridors and the tattered veil of night and floors dark enough to hide the traces of crimson he leaves behind. home is where the heart is, he was once told, but even the residence of the center of his world (saskia, beloved, beautiful saskia!) cannot allow for these halls to hold the sacrosanct title of home. but familiarity... familiarity is something he has learnt to appreciate, and this coven keep has sheltered him for not an inconsiderable amount of time.
he cannot wait to return to his quarters, to bathe and close his eyes and release himself to the exhaustion that has saturated the entirety of his being.
step
grit teeth
step
the faint scent of cigarette smoke and a trailing phantom of footsteps are his only warning before a too-familiar voice greets him, dry as the most parched of deserts and equally as sarcastic. "sorry, love, leader's away on important business."
his spine stiffens into steel, ramrod straight, and he forces his stance to even despite the weight it places on his injured leg; he commands his aching limbs to move, to face his coven leader and to sketch a short bow. kasimir has no desire to antagonise the high priest - he has enough enemies as it is, and he does not wish to see how much worse his life can be made. "your grace," he greets formally, expression blanking into an impassive mask. "i have completed the assigned mission."
kasimir was...a strange creature. now don't get dmitri wrong, he'd love to have good rapport with the kid...but honestly speaking that would just be another worry on his plate right now.[break][break] "i thought you'd have enough manners to bathe before coming here at least," he drolled, moving past the assassin and his too-formal bow to head to the door. he unlocked it and pushed it open. "oh?" he asked, putting on an air as though he was mildly impressed. or maybe he was. it was difficult to tell. [break][break] "isn't that lovely. you should have taken the night off. grabbed a drink with a friend or three." [break][break]
it was hard to tell if he was mocking kasimir or giving legitimate life advice, but to be fair, it was likely both. the interior of the room lit up when he crossed a certain distance- the office thus unveiled was the definition of sophistication. a pendulum clock hung at the end, the desk was made from the finest wood. it smelled crisp and clean, and felt cool despite the weather. in other words, it was an intimidating place to be for anyone other than dmitri wisbane. "we have a few things to talk about, don't we?" [break][break] when he reached the end of his desk he turned around to eye kasimir. "sit," he instructed, but then winced at the redhead's sorry state. "no, actually. go see a medic first." [break][break]on hindsight, it was the dead of the night and the halls were likely empty. it was an impossible task to fulfill, but he wondered nevertheless what the redhead would say to such an offhand comment. [break] [break] tagged: kasimir burovski ✨ [break] notes: n/a
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jul 18, 2017 1:52:34 GMT
and i won't feel a thing
reality is a lovely place, but i wouldn’t want to live there
bathe? kasimir suppresses the fleeting urge to shift in place as his coven leader brushes past him, far too aware of the itching sensation of dried blood clinging to his skin, his scalp, his clothes. the fabric is dark enough that none of the stains should be evident, however; kasimir cannot tell if the high priest is being serious or not.
“my apologies,” he says quietly, and slips into the room after wisbane. it is an impressive room, certainly, ambient lighting lingering on the pendulum clock of the finest make, the beautiful craftsmanship of the desk, the atmosphere of subtle intimidation. he has seen grander, seen far more lavish offices among the mafia men, but in this space, with his erstwhile leader in front of him, they would have felt entirely unsuited and out of place.
he stays silent as the high priest comments on his mission completion, a mocking lilt to his tone. no question has been posed to him, explicitly or otherwise, thus it is not his place to speak. but no matter his training, no matter the heart he has long since killed save the light of his beloved sister, kasimir cannot help the pain that flares into life as he is reminded of the companions he does not have.
friends. but it is not as if he deserved any.
“we have a few things to talk about, don't we?” his leader says, and kasimir has never been able to understand why so many like to keep the facade of an ordinary conversation when the reality is anything but, but he is grateful nevertheless that his report has been asked for such that he may fully complete the mission and finally be released.
“yes sir.” kasimir moves towards the proffered chair, hiding his relief at being able to take his weight off the pain lancing through his left leg. relief he may be able to mask, but even he cannot stop the faint grimace that flashes across his face as his muscles spasm and lightning flares, blazingly glacial, as it tears through his body and sets alight all his other wounds. his very bones ache from the cold making itself known - the bitter, bitter chill of mana exhaustion; kasimir is fire and flame and burning heat, not ice, never ice - but he can make it through a report.
he stops cold at the high priest’s next words. see a medic? no, no, he has no desire to subject himself to the mercy of one he does not know, one he does not trust; his injuries are not ones he cannot see to himself besides. facing his leader stiffly, kasimir does not mince his words, stilted as they are. “that is unnecessary, sir. i am well enough to report.”
dmitri wanted to sigh and roll his eyes. he appreciated the professional relationships, he really did. if things got messy, it would be like having another kirean on his hands. and he really couldn't deal with another one of those people. but it simply wasn't enjoyable to tease people when they refused to respond. it could be satisfying sometimes but-- maybe he was just expecting too much.[break][break]
dmitri watched as kasimir winced, his face impassive and thoroughly arrogant, unphased as he saw -and knew- the pain that seared through the assassin's body. the man didn't get in his seat before dmitri's next words, but the coven leader saw him come to a screeching halt in the middle of his action. [break][break]
dmitri's eyes narrowed. he wouldn't have off with someone's head for not listening to him, but the man's desperado attitude wasn't exactly something that he wanted to encourage. "no, you're not." he was curt when he spoke, and the only figment of a warning he gave was a flick of his hand- the gesture was quick and inelegant. but it got the job done. a sudden dull-blue glow appeared across the cuts on kasimir's body. [break][break] when dmitri cast his spell (a rather lazily performed version of the classic claustra)- the mana in the room seemed to leap across distances to come to his aid, and the effects vanished in a few seconds, erasing all traces of the wounds. [break][break] "sorry, didn't mean to startle you-- but your wincing might have made the report unbearable to sit through." a fraction of his lips twisted upwards. "now sit down, kasimir. relax. make yourself comfortable. do you want something to drink?" he hadn't exactly used the experimental healing scroll on anyone but himself, but assumed a novice would be able to deal any complications of the accelerated mana-rejuvination. nevertheless, he might as well be polite. [break] [break] tagged: kasimir burovski ✨ [break] notes: scrolls used- AUGETES AND BAGUETTES: clasutra (v2.0) a modified version of augete: claustra that aids in the physical and magical restoration of living beings.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jul 21, 2017 12:41:37 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
he feels watched.
the heavy weight of his leader's impassive gaze leaden on his shoulders, too-sharp and dangerous like a predator pretending to be prey; kasimir is a tiny bird struggling with flimsy wings against his captor's iron grasp, he is a supplicant before the catalytic end waiting for judgement to sear its mark into his flesh. dmitri wisbane's eyes narrow at his momentary defiance, and kasimir... regrets it.
even now he manages to forget his place. he is not known to defy orders ( but no, he is; kasimir is fire and fury and wild, incandescent rebelliousness - he just hides it better than most ) and his leader could well force him to go to the medics anyway.
"no, you're not," the high priest snaps, curt and cold. kasimir has only a moment to tense before the older witch flicks his hand and casts a spell. mana flares, heavy and powerful and surging against his skin like lightning waves, sinking into his cuts and bruises and colouring them luminescent blue.
kasimir flinches violently.
he curses himself a moment later, forcing himself to stand still and wait for what he now recognises as a healing spell to take effect, but it's far too late - there is no conceivable way dimitri wisbane will have missed his reaction. but he could not help it - spells laid upon him that are not cast by himself invariably mean pain, from both enemies and 'allies' - his instincts demand his avoidance.
"sorry, didn't mean to startle you, but your wincing might have made the report unbearable to sit through," his leader says, and it feels flippant, feels mocking. he does not know what to read of the slight frown that follows. stiffly, kasimir makes his way to the proffered chair, gingerly seating himself on the very edge as if needing to be ready to stand at any given moment. he will, however, grudgingly admit the pain previously flaring under his skin like a thousand razor-edged glittering glass shards has abated into a mere whisper save for the lingering ache of a fractured rib the spell was not able to heal. that, and the bone-deep chill of mana exhaustion wrapped around his chest like the bitter numbing cold of mid-winter's heart, something nothing can remedy save rest.
he does not thank dmitri wisbane. verbal admission of gratitude is tantamount to ensuring something will be demanded of him in compensation, and he cannot afford to be further in debt.
"no thank you, sir." he declines the high priest's offer, tamping down with iron control over his urge to clench his hands. kasimir cannot bring himself to relax any more than he could had he been in the midst of a crucial infiltration task - less, in fact, because his leader has the power to hurt him (saskia) far more than any enemy ever could. if only dmitri wisbane would simply allow kasimir to report and escape already...
at yet, there's a likeness unlike any other that the blond cannot deny.[break][break]
the mistrust of all outsiders, the inability to lift the mind from a singular, consuming fixation, the terrifying capacity to bear sin and hardship. really, basically somewhere he might have ended up if he had fucked up and killed the wrong person. ah, but that was just guess work. [break][break] "what? no thanks?" dmitri asks, carelessly. his ice blue eyes betray no sign of emotion as he lets the sentence hang in the air for as long as he needs to make things painfully awkward, and then relents as soon as the redhead opens his mouth, or as long as he is patient enough to wait. "just kidding. we know eachother too well for that." [break][break] dmitri sighs. "you're difficult, aren't you?" [break][break] kasimir hasn't of course, been difficult at all-- in fact, xuan seemed to have conditioned him well enough so that there was never any difficulty regarding him at all. but maybe the high priest's careless thought would make the assassin realize that there was something far more simple dmitri wanted out of their exchanges. [break] [break] or maybe not. dmitri was tired, and he'd let the red head give his report before he tried anything else for tonight. [break][break] "at any rate, the floor is yours." he gestures with his hand and leans back into his chair, chin tilted upwards and to the side to maximize comfort. tagged: kasimir burovski ✨ [break] notes: n/a
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Aug 14, 2017 14:29:03 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
"what? no thanks?" his leader asks, and kasimir feels his spine stiffen. he had not thought the man would call him out on it, not with the games of pretty stained-glass words and the dance of implicit understanding of the undercurrents that bind their ( his ) movements with gossamer chains - just what does dmitri wisbane want from kasimir? but it is clear what he is required to respond here; he opens his mouth the offer the verbal gratitude implicitly demanded of him- only to be cut off by another flippant statement from the older witch.
his eyes flash fire. "thank you, sir, regardless," he retorts before he can stop himself, then snaps his mouth shut so fast he bites his tongue. this, this is why kasimir can never truly be the unfeeling tool he is made to be; this was what guerra saw and wanted. he should have learnt by now to keep his mouth shut and eyes downcast and just obey. nod, follow orders, be polite - it should have been easy.
his leader sighs, pins him with eyes blue like the heart of glacier ice. "you're difficult, aren't you?" he says rhetorically, and kasimir... pauses, bemused and incredulous and fearful all in one. he is being... difficult? yes, perhaps kasimir has not afforded his leader the complete obedience he is due, but he is still here to report, here at dmitri wisbane's beck and call at the heart of his domain, both of them electrically aware of their completely opposite social statuses.
kasimir says nothing in response - he has no words.
"at any rate, the floor is yours." and finally, back on familiar ground, where even the casually dismissive posture his leader adopts is no more than what kasimir expects. he nods, once, and begins to report, outlining the general information obtained, then providing a succinct overview of his actions in completing the mission. but- and he hesitates, and this is the portion that he is still both bewildered and ashamed about - how is he to inform his leader that it was a mere dream that had affected his performance so?
"there was a dream," kasimir says, deciding that there is no point in attempting to hide or delay his failure. "on the second-to-last day, i inexplicably awoke from a dream with my mana exhausted and unexplainable phantom pain. i... it affected my performance in the subsequent day, leading to my failure, and for that i apologise. there is no excuse. i will accept any punishment you deem fit."
he bows his head, face blank, eyes dark. in truth, in full truth, kasimir is... disappointed in himself - what kind of witch is he to be so severely affected by a mere dream? he may not enjoy what he does, may despise his job on the worst days, but he knows himself enough to admit that he is good at what he does, and there is a certain amount of pride associated with his more non-lethal skills.
dmitri says nothing at kasimir's rebuttal, finding the whole situation too vexing to comment on further- besides, it's almost tragic the red haired male is forced to derive remnants of sanity from what little rebellion he can afford. [break][break] the blond's eyes are closed when the mission report drones on in the background. though he appears apathetic, dmitri listens intently- ready to interject to obtain more information when necessary. [break][break] "there was a dream." [break][break] there is a flicker in his face, but he only opens his eyes when kasimir is done with his part. there is no hint of amusement in dmitri's eyes, no real kindness- sarcastic or otherwise. "really?" he asks, and the room feels like it's gotten three degrees colder. [break][break] "all the spunk in your step and you come here to tell me this?" [break][break] dmitri sighs and pulls open a drawer on his desk. in a sudden yet fluid movement, he tosses the latest edition of the sundial times at the assasin. "unfortunately for your masochism, fourty-four people died the other night for the same reason. i cant punish you for something beyond your control." [break][break] and yet. his fingers drum against the table as he watches kasimir read the paper, or at least its headlines. "still. you disappoint me. to think you'd be so adversely affected to end in that sorry state. now i'll have to clean up your messes in the morning." dmitri tsks impatiently and lets the silence linger before he shrugs. at that, the air of unspoken dismissal fills the room. [break] [break] "i'd suggest you shape up unless you want to be xuan jin's dog for the rest of your life." [break][break] tagged: kasimir burovski ✨ [break] notes: n/a
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Aug 29, 2017 12:29:35 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
he cannot read dmitri wisbane. kasimir cannot read his leader, cannot know anything beyond mere hints of what occurs beneath that casually carelessly arrogant air, cannot know what the high priest wants from him and thus cannot conform himself to suit those expectations; there is a reason he exists so cautiously around the mage. fearful trepidation lurks beneath kasimir's carefully stoic expression; there is a flicker of something across dmitri wisbane's too fleeting to decipher, then a veil of ice settling over the room, shivering and cruel upon his skin.
kasimir forces himself to remain still, to reign in his instinctive flinch. ice holds very little fond memories for him ( starvation, cruel hands, cruel smiles, pain and- kristian ). he suppresses a shudder, and wonders, morbidly, how painful this will be.
and he is completely unprepared for his leader tossing a wad of newspaper his way. kasimir catches it more on instinct than anything, slightly of balance at the lack of reprimand ( at least ) that follows. then his mind catches on to the high priest's words: forty-four people dead? horror flashes through his eyes and he rapidly glances through the article picking out the information written. forty-four people... dead, and presumably far more effected. that is... kasimir can barely bring himself to consider the implications.
if this were some person's doing-
but his leader is speaking again, and kasimir's attention snaps back to the present. his spine turns rigid and his mouth is a grim slash across his face before he forcibly carves neutrality back onto his features. ah yes. here is the reprimand he had been expecting. he makes no move to defend himself - there is nothing said that is inaccurate, after all. unspoken dismissal fills the room, and at last; he moves to leave. but-
"i'd suggest you shape up unless you want to be xuan jin's dog for the rest of your life."
and something. inside of. kasimir. snaps.
"why?" he smiles pleasantly, tone mild though his eyes are anything but. "so i can be your dog instead?"
the high priest watches kasimir's reaction with a habitual intensity. he scrutinies that which flashes over his face- shock, horror, fear? anger? he does not know beyond that. his returns to his desk and the work on top of it as he leaves his final remark and he waits. [break][break] "why?" kasimir asks, and dmitri's mouth splits into a malevolent smile. ah, and there it was. whatever remained of this man's dignity, sparking forth like the remnants of a broken fountain as it ran its last run. but the water still runs crystal clear. and so it is no wonder that dmitri's expression thoroughly reflects the assassin's. [break][break] the same sharpness in their blue eyes- the same mirthless, mocking smile. indeed, Dmitri had met kasimir's hostility with more open arms and genuineness than anything else this evening. the air of uninhibited condescension, the way he leans on the back of his chair is a marked contrast to the soft and slow tone with which he speaks. [break][break] "do you think, kasimir burovski...that i am the type of person who raises dogs?" [break][break] no. dmitri did not need a redhaired maiden's life support nor alchemal remedies nor the names of familiairs to force an assassin to do his bidding. he could, quite literally, have anyone he wanted dead killed within a matter of moments. he could just as easily do the deed himself. [break][break] dmitri raises a hand to prop the elbow on the arm of his chair. "there are only three possibilities." [break][break] "either you are my ally," he says, and the index finger is raised. "my enemy." and the middle finger is raised, hovering next to the index and lazily tilted to the side. "or," he says, and both the fingers go down and the smile on his face thins (but does not disappear). "you are nothing at all."[break] [break] his hand falls and both arms are used to pull himself forward. he has work to do. "leave."
[break][break] tagged: kasimir burovski ✨ [break] notes: no more NPC posts will be made in this thread, unless provoked. your character does not need to respond but may choose to do so. the thread will be locked and archived in 48hrs.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Aug 31, 2017 13:44:13 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
his leader smiles back at him, jagged like broken shards of ice glittering between his teeth and malevolent, dark. kasimir clenches his jaw, glares up at the high priest, the inferno within him still blazing far too bright to die down into the quiet ashes of submission. dmitri wisbane's eyes are as cold as the ice he wields, blue like the winter sky and sharp enough to slice kasimir to shreds.
"do you think, kasimir burovski...that i am the type of person who raises dogs?"
the high priest speaks, pleasant and slow, as if he where speaking to a child, his tone completely at odds with the expression carved onto his features. kasimir sits ramrod straight, eyes burning, smoke heavy on his tongue and scorching down his oesophagus. he watches in weighted silence as his leader lists off the three possibilities: ally, enemy, nothing at all-
which is he, currently? he wonders briefly, beneath the wildfires licking at his mind. what does he wish to be? nothing at all - he says it as if it is something to be avoided. something terrible. but... is it really? to be nothing at all- it sounds restful.
( he looks at the face of his leader and wonders what he sees. what is real. wonders what dmitri wisbane sees when he looks at kasimir. wonders about the future he has stretching out before him in a path laid with pain )
"leave," the high priest orders, and he stands. back straight, face set in iron and stone, eyes spitting fire. bows, small, sharp - deliberately ambiguous whether it is mocking or not. "your grace," he says, something like a serrated smile flickering across his lips and vanishing within the blink of an eye.
