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.
What seemed like an ordinary night had turned out to be so much more-- and terrifyingly so. Late into the evening, reisdents of Sundial found themselves trapped in nightmares, many even dying as a result. Emergency personnel, authorities, and covens found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer amount of requests that lasted until early morning. [break][break]
"It was terrifying," Lunacea Joyheart recalls, a prominent member of the Helios Knights, "We must have had over twenty saves that night. I thought it was never going to end." She was one of the few squad members on patrol that night. Soon after people started sleeping, they found themselves rushing from one home to the next, waking up the witch--to see them perfectly fine, if not just a little shaken. Vital signs normal, so they would hurriedly move on to the next call. All seemed well within the first couple hours. [break][break] And yet, some witches never woke up from their nightmares. [break][break] "We managed to save most of our coven members, but it's a tragedy for those we couldn't." Joyheart says, her voice strained. More civilians died than coven witches, according to authorities. Coven witches possess a unique item--a trinket that can alert other members when their mana levels are low. With the constant threat of danger, this trinket is needed in such missions--but regular citizens lack this necessity. This lack of response was unfortunately, what led to many witches' demise. [break][break] Experts speculate that this may just be a freak accident, but caution not to sleep alone. This is just one of the many precautions in the aftermath of the nightmares. High profile covens such as the Helios Knights and Jester's Den have been sent to investigate the culprit, but there's lack of clues and evidence leaves them stumped.
We reached out to leaders such as Medeia Trevil and Dmitri Wisbane, but they have chosen not to comment. [break][break] A week has passed since the attack--authorities are on high alert for a potential culprit. Citizens are advised to look out for anything suspicious, and to report to the authorities if they have any tips. Please stay tuned for more news and stay safe!
Newspapers were published around Sundial a couple days after the nightmares happened, although your character may have seen this much later. Write a post with at least 200 words with their reactions to reading/hearing about the newspaper, and you will be rewarded 80g!
There were so many words to describe how Sybil was feeling: lost, scared, depressed, tired... The nightmare he had to endure was no nightmare, he was certain of that. No matter what people told him, no matter how many articles 'experts' would publish - it was real. And the deaths supported that fact very well. People died. Sybil wasn't sure how many... On the up side, his family had shown the first genuine concern for him in a long long time and told him everything they also knew. Of course that pity didn't last for too long, after realising he was fine, they left him in his rented apartment in the city so they could go back to the family mansion. Sybil was alone. Well, almost, he still had Arveen by his side.
A few days had passed since that night, and Sybil was still trying to recover from it all. Unfortunately, all he could do was lay in bed all day. The child was too scared to sleep and he had little energy in him even eat anything, Arveen would try to help but alas, Sybil acted like a lifeless corpse 24/7.
Dead eyes wondered to the side of his bed where a day old newspaper lay, a picture of a blonde woman that Sybil had met roughly last week. At the time, he had no idea who she was, but he learned of her reputation among witches and the status she holds - Lunacea Joyheart, a well known member of the Helios Knights. Gingerly, he'd pick it up, dragging it over to his lap which lay underneath the warm duvet covers.
His parents had brought the paper with them, but he didn't see the point in reading it. After all, he experienced it.
[attr="class","m2notes"]251 words // even more shitposts.
[attr="class","m2invis"]nah
[attr="class","m2content"]it feels surreal -- he's afraid to close his eyes. the events play over and over again, growing increasingly nonsensical each time. sometimes it starts with the flames, dancing, taunting, as he lies helpless. he remembers screaming, and in the real, ostensibly physical world, he swear his throat aches. he doesn't dream ( there's nothing new, but recycling every second drags out the torture almost more than he can stand. )[break][break]
to the best of his ability, he tries to comprehend the theories offered. a seemingly harmless dream, turned fatal over such a short span of time. candlelights burn low in the forge, a figure hunched over books and research articles, eyes searching for any scrap of dream-related magic. and perhaps it is a useless effort as far as any actual insight into the situation is concerned, but maddox is able to stave off sleep for some time, and that is enough. when he does pass out, the sleep is short and restless. it feels only like a blink, and he's as tired as the night before, but lethargy is somewhat preferable to death.[break][break]
aeris leaves the paper at the breakfast table, the headline bold enough to speak for itself. there are no words to be said. a blink, and he recalls a scene: funeral caskets for untimely deaths, ghostly through his tears, drifting through the streets at the crack of dawn. the newspaper is left untouched, words barely skimmed. he doesn't need reminders -- it's the kind of thing that's difficult to forget.
[attr="class","m2icons"]
[attr="class","m2icons2"]
[attr="class","m2hov2"]ONE MAN'S OBSESSION IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRASH
there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying
that i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
[attr="class","rotation"]
[attr="id","content"]
Nightmares of death
is what they called them. It's a surprisingly accurate, if not at all catchy, name. Guess even journalists were too shaken by their own nightmares to come up with something more clever, Erin thinks as her eyes proceed to scan the rest of the paper. She can't help thinking that it's an uncharacteristically long coverage with too few details for a journal like The Sundial Times, but the events that took place two nights prior very well deserved that kind of recognition, even despite the lack of information.
Forty deaths wasn't that high a toll, for a disaster of this caliber. It was extremely high for one nobody saw coming, however. One nobody yet understands. She wonders why the council hasn't spoken up about it yet, wonders when the same journalists will bite at them for every bit of information they can get. Neither Medeia Trevil or—and at this she lets out a breath she did not realize she was holding—Dmitri Wisbane give any declarations to the media. It's understandable, but honestly unsettling. It feels as though the murder at Gale Valley was so long ago now.
Erin is just beginning the article's last paragraph when she hears footsteps closing in. She looks up.
She's never seen Zephyr hold a newspaper in his hands, or levitate one for that matter. Use one of those nifty atheneum tricks to process information without the need to actually read? She wonders if he's read the article already, or if he ever will. The enchantress decides that he can't be left in the dark, if not, and skips any form of greeting in favor of retelling the news to him.
"Over forty dead," Erin proclaims, and it's only while giving them voice that the chill long coming finally made its way down her back. I could have been one of them, is her immediate thought. She, or any of her friends, including the blonde young man currently standing in front of her. Any of them could have fallen victims to whatever mastermind lay behind these nightmares. She's so glad, so thankful, they didn't.
Her eyes turn to the three last sentences magically printed on the yellowing pages. "As expected, they don't know what—who—caused it. Coven leaders find it to be a sensitive topic." She can't help letting this last sentence to come out as a snort, though quite frankly she cares little about the execution this time. It's the meaning behind these words that truly gets to her: if even high priests are too scared to declare, what chances did they, even as novices, have against this unnamed enemy?
And then. And then. "Are you recovering fine?" comes the question not even herself expected to hear from her own lips. Even though medical examinations revealed they were mostly fine following their dreams, there was a psychological factor to trauma that couldn't be brushed off as easily. Well, in Zephyr's physique's case, mostly fine was an overstatement, really. His scars wouldn't brush off at all. Either way, they took a hit. At least, Erin did, and she could only assume so did he.
The Sundial Council could take months to uncover the truth behind this odd hellish incident. In the meantime, Erin has her own mini council to attend to. She stands. There is training to be done.
Xuan sat himself down comfortably on a chair, slowly nibbling on carefully sliced peaches while he unfolded the newspaper. His eyes slowly scanned the articles, lingering and narrowing at the mention of Helios Knights and the leader of Silvertongue.
A ounce of worry graced his otherwise calm features, the only indication of the turmoils within. Was his younger brother one of forty the dead? Did he know any of the people present that night? He reread the article again and again until his eyes strained themselves to focus on the text through the blurriness of his vision.
You shouldn't worry so much. What's done is done. You of all people should know that. Xue Mei appeared before him, nudging her snout against shoulder before settling on his lap and staring up expectantly at him. Xuan nodded silently, feeding her a slice of peach while running his other hand through her fur. He closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the chair rubbing his fingers against his temples. I just... wish he could come home safely.
He took a deep breath in, clearing his head and tossed the paper into the fireplace, letting the flames eat it up and turn it to ashes before stretching out his arms and fingers. "I guess we better ask around. It's not everyday that this type of opportunity arises. Ah, the people to see and places to fill~" Xuan hummed the last part, a friendly smile completely covered the trace of unease from before. Xue Mei was right, what is done, is done. Loitering too much on false hope is useless and unneeded.
Post by chanel crestwalker on Jul 14, 2017 14:37:25 GMT
初めまして。
chanel was in a surprisingly good mood, so she wondered why sol had run away to forage. he usually only brought her flowers when she was feeling low, but she suspended the thought in favor of admiring her latest design.
it had been a few years since she had sketched-- and she hadn't exactly drawn something mechanical, it was...just a dress. nothing more. a pretty one. maybe she'd paint it later- she liked the color splashes floating around in her mind...
swallowing down persistent bile, she turned to see that sol's nails were clawing at the window. chanel went to open it, and then saw the newspaper, covered in sol's saliva. "you're disgusting," she lamented (though she hardly had much complaint when the flowers were delivered).
the newspaper pathetically unravelled by itself, and sol lashed his tail around- the very tip threatening to slam against the chandelier. chanel eyes the headline from afar and the picture of lunacea. she remembered a pigeon crashing through her bedroom window in the middle of the night as the announcement of the demise of one of her uncles had come through.
she remembered hearing her mother cry behind shut doors.
she sighed lazily and walked away from her familiar. "i'm not touching that," she declared.
[attr="class","gearcore"] As far as tragedies went, Zephyr seemed to be coping fairly well with this one. He told everyone how he got to punch an evil zombie clone of himself, quick to laugh it off and instead listen to how others had it worse. He'd been yelled at more than once about being insensitive. People had died, they said. This was no laughing matter.
But what else was he supposed to do?
He slept like a rock the night after the event, not asking for any company or watch to keep him safe. If the nightmare had been caused by a witch's magic -- and what else could it have been? -- that city-wide stunt would have exhausted their mind and their mana. That's what he had to tell himself, at least. Even his nightmares couldn't seem to shake him. Unlike the Nightmare (with a capital N, as Zeph had begun to refer to it), Spock was always there, and she made him strong. Together, they could easily put a bunch of zombies in the ground. They could keep the ones they cared about from dying. They could stave off the looming fact that, without the other, they felt alone.
Spock hadn't let him further than an inch from her grasp these past few days, though few could tell the difference from her usual constant presence.
As he walked through the halls of the Black Widow, he didn't need to see the title of the paper in her hand to know what Erin was talking about. He paused his stride. "T' be honest I was expectin' more," he replied. Granted, the number would likely increase over time -- who knew how many others had been living on their own, with no friends or family in the city to check on them. Dying alone in their sleep, just to start rotting in their bed... what a shitty way to go. And of course, still no one knew how it had happened. "No surprise there. Spells o' that caliber are a bitch t' track. The mana's fucked all over th' place, so it doesn't leave much've a trail." Zeph wasn't an expert on atheneum (yet), but he knew enough to understand the basics even if he couldn't properly cast the spells yet.
Erin's next question caught him off-guard... mostly because Erin was the one asking it. It broke the norm of their typical sarcastic banter, making it feel more genuine than similar questions asked by more honest people. "I'm managin'..." he replied, which was a more truthful statement than the jokes and the manufactured cockiness he'd been showing to everyone else. Granted, it was quickly eclipsed as he recovered their usual verbal stride: "But I'd be better if I knew I was takin' missions with someone who could cast at least one offensive spell," he verbally prodded Erin while offering a light physical nudge, referencing her reliance on him to take down their lookalike pursuers in the nightmare, "Let me know if ya ever wanna spar for a bit, yeh? I reckon we could use a break from this gloomy shit."
Post by claire fermont on Jul 16, 2017 7:59:54 GMT
[attr="class","ig"]
[attr="class","ninety"]
[attr="class","joker"]
[attr="class","game"]
@y'all i hope i made it???
[attr="class","kikan"]
“
So she wasn't alone. There are hundreds that had been haunted in their sleep, and she is one of the lucky ones saved. Her eyes scans the length of the article. It took her fifteen minutes to take in the information, and it only adds to her frustration. The paper is shaking in Claire's hands, and her vision blurs. She has to sit down on her mattress and take a deep breath to calm herself.
She almost died.
"Vani," she calls. In a wink the boar materializes in front of her. Without a word Claire hugs her familiar, and she could hear Vani's croaked whisper.
"I'm sorry Claire," the boar says. He leans as much as reasonable weight to Claire in response to her affection. Claire is silent, just basking in the warmth of the Vani's wool, in his presence.
Vani wishes things had turned out differently. That night, he was sound asleep in the familiar world, and he thought Claire was safe, too. It was too late for the sudden spike of mana to alert him something had gone terribly wrong. He materialized just after the Knights barged in their apartment. He helped wake Claire up, and she jolted upright, breathing heavily, cold beads of sweat on her neck. Just like today, the first thing she did was to hug him. She was obviously shocked with her dream.
The boar wishes he was there.
Claire drops the newspaper with the front page facing the floor. She is not crying. Claire Fermont does not cry. But she is scared. Scared without doubt. Scared for her life, scared with whatever had befallen her.
