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","much_text"] ◥◤ He knows for a fact that his shop is closed and locked with a sign hanging from the front door telling any passing pedestrians that he's taken the day off. Such a thought should comfort him, but even after attempting to tell himself for the seventh time in ten minutes that everything's alright, he still feels sick to the stomach. His leather-gloved hands are clasped tightly in front of him, no doubt in an attempt to calm himself down.
[break][break]"You think too much. Clear your mind, the shop is fine."
[break][break]The soothing voice of his familiar cloaks itself around his mind in a comforting caress and the tension in his straight back eases slightly. She isn't beside him for once, a thought that worries him immensely, despite it being her own idea, suggesting that in a crowd as such this, a large feline predator would surely rouse fear and panic. It is only his undying faith in her that allows him to believe her.
[break][break]There is no small amount of 'excuse me's' and 'sorry's' being handed out person by person, as he accidentally brushes against someone or if he attempts to weave through a throng, trying his best not to touch anyone. His height makes up for most of the view, allowing him to be able to see over the heads of most people, but as always, there are always taller people.
[break][break]He comes to a stop where there are less people (or rather less tall people) and he has a clearer look at the collapsing pillar. It's a sight to behold, perhaps not spectacular in its omen but extraordinary nonetheless. There's something sombre about the way the stone crumbles from the structure and there's a brief moment when he asks himself if someone can fix it.
[break][break]His gaze lingers on the pillar for a few more seconds before he looks at the masses again. He stiffens when he suddenly catches the stare of a stranger. The regard they hold in their eyes has him recoiling in uncertainty. 'Why are they looking at me? Have I done something? Oh no. Please don't look at me.' His hands curl into tight fists by his side and he tries not to shake from the dread that floods him.
[break][break]A sigh breathes over his consciousness and he is relieved by Sigrun's presence in his head once more. "Breathe. They probably like your outfit for today. It looks quite fitting on you."
[break][break]There's confirmation of her words when the stranger suddenly gives him an approving smile and he lowers his head, bangs falling to cover half of his face. A flush travels up to his ears and he is too embarrassed to return any sentiment of thanks.
[break][break]Instead of moving forwards, he takes a step back and subsequently feels the solid sensation of a body and he freezes. A harsh bark of a voice frightens him and he whirls around, arms bent in front of his chest in a natural defensive position. He is too startled to look up and he stammers softly, "I-I-I'm s-so sorry, I didn't mean to..."
[break][break]He chances a glimpse of the person he addresses, fully expecting a grown man, angered and ruffled but instead he sees a woman with an owl on her shoulder. He recognises her immediately, the memory of her in his shop as clear as day and he utters, half in greeting, half in shock. "Miss Fei..."
[break][break] tag:Aisling Fei [break]ooc: save him
[attr="class","alive_mucha"]
[attr="class","alive_much2"]-- Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
[attr="class","shockwave-lyrics"]and i'm waving through a window
[attr="id","shockwave-textbox"]
She blinks once, startled, recognising the voice that stutters apologies in recompense, before she regains the composure she has perfected over the years. Locating the direction of man's voice, Aisling smiles gently, inclining her head in a graceful greeting. "Aisling, please," she says warmly in a direct contrast to the intense glower she can feel Lyze laying upon the tailor.[break][break]
( a quiet, amused touch to his end of their bond - she sends along exasperated fondness soft like butterfly wings and receive impressions of outrage and steel-woven protectiveness in return; he is well aware that the man did not mean to startle aisling, but the fact is that he did; and if his partner is not going to hold him accountable then at the very least lyze will )
[break]
She holds herself poised, a pillar of stillness and calm within the roiling crowd; she has to lest she lose herself within the sea of people, drowning in limbs and unfamiliar voices upon an unfamiliar ground. That such an equanimous demeanour is expected of her rank and title is merely motivation more. [break][break]
"And how are you today, Master Borchardt?" she asks, folding her hands together. On her shoulder, Lyze straightens and continues glaring, all but daring the tailor to make another blunder.
have i always loved you? have i always known? / have i always loved you alone?
[attr="class","posty"]
[attr="class","posttext"] [break] Asha was a polar bear.
[break][break] Honestly, though, that was the least of her worries. She had, you see, been practicing a grimoire on the outskirts of the city (so that if she messed up she woudn't be destroying anything too close to civilization) and she had very recently succeeded in casting a changeling's scroll. [break][break] She had taken the shape of her familiar after roughly two hours of staring into Polaris's soulless eyes. [break][break] And now there was a giant polar bear in addition to the edges of the crowd as Rowenna Shephard attempted to shuffle her way away from the madness. [break][break] Asha's beady brown eyes had been fixated on the falling pillar, to the point where when she saw the patch of red hair she had to do a double take.[break][break] "Miss Shephard! Oh my god, you have no idea what an honour it is to finally meet you, you're like, like the greatest transfiguration expert in Sundial. EVen people in the Metropolis talk about you, I'm a total fan--" [break][break] Or at least, such were the semi-competent words she tried to speak. The only thing that came out of her mouth, however, were disgruntled polar bear noises.
[attr="class","notes"]
notes using a CHANGELING'S SCROLL[break][break]SOLSTICE
[attr="class","elihcontent"]SUDDENLY, SHE IS BESIDE HIM, her voice firecracker bright, her eyes resting on him one moment before returning to the runes, and really, he can't blame ling at all. "they're very, um, nice," he responds more placidly, spurred on by her enthusiasm to inspect the runes himself ( from a safe distance ). try as he might, they are beyond his current understanding; he makes a mental note to look into the subject the next time he visits the library, if only for the sake of understanding ling's scientific ramblings.[break][break]
"you could try," he says, softly encouraging, but she's already away, pressing on through the crowd ahead. she disappears soon after, and all he catches are glimpses of dark hair bobbing among the crowd, likely in an attempt to gain a better vantage point. part of elih wishes he were taller so he could help, while another part is content with standing where he is.[break][break]
his attention drifts, the constant shifting and hum of the crowd almost hypnotic, a mass of miscellaneous people and a polar bear inexplicably drawn together--[break][break]
wait.[break][break]
a polar bear?[break][break]
he can't help it. he stares, baffled, incredulous, partially horrified at the thought that crosses his mind. a letter comes to mind, excitement tangible even through written words ( part of which seem purely technical terms relating to transfiguration, of which once again is little known to him ). against his better judgement, he moves closer, just in term to hear the tail end of some disgruntled bear noises. worried eyes flick between his now bear-shaped friend and the fiery-haired transfiguration master.
Last Edit: Oct 5, 2017 14:27:37 GMT by elih kartal
[attr="class","lucystars"]he is trying to blend in, for once, though it would take a lot more than fear of his parents ( or their acquaintances ) recognising him to purposefully go for anything too dull. the keyword is 'trying'. a dark cloak, edged in a soft blue that mirrors sharp eyes, is as far as he will go. there's something odd about not having his familiar trotting at his feet, something almost uncharacteristic about the way that his arms aren't wrapped around a precariously balanced tower of books and research papers.[break][break]
'you said you'd rest today,' miro reminds him, a voice underscored with affectionate resignation; he knows all too well that rest is akin to some foreign concept. even now, ninos moves restlessly, brushing past the fringes of the crowd to find himself comfortably settled in the heart of the crowd.[break][break]
for a moment, there is a flash of pale hair in his periphery, a silhouette painfully familiar ( different, yes, as one does with age, but unmistakable ). for a moment, his heart stutters, his breath catches, and his throat closes up; something like regret and panic and longing rise in his lungs like a flood. then he blinks: the figure vanishes, the crowd shifting like a curtain drawing close. a figment of his imagination, perhaps? not entirely unexpected; it's been quite a while since he's been back in sundial.[break][break]
unbidden, he takes a step backward, narrowly avoiding the misfortune of elbowing a stranger. "oh, shit, sorry." but he's not disinclined towards some light conversation to distract him from a ghost coming back to haunt him. ninos turns back, smiling wanly, sheepishly. "if it does collapse, how much do you think it'll affect us?"
As he trailed after the woman, he had paid very little attention to his surroundings more focused on getting through this stupid crowd so he could get his story right. He was startled by the cat’s appearance and felt himself overtaken by her cuteness. The urge to pick her up was so strong- He didn’t even have enough time to process that if Dr. Puddy had made an appearance, her witch was probably nearby. He flinched hearing the familiar voice and a hand flew out to lightly smack Billy’s away. Why now? “I’m actually working right now.” He returned, hoping that the guy would get the hint and pester somebody else. He restrained the urge to nudge Billy away while in front of Rowena. There was a chorus of gasps as a larger chunk of the pillar crashed down onto the magical barrier and Heath looked for a moment at the crumbling building once again. It was going with such finality. He doubted they could’ve stopped it if they wanted to.
The reporter turned back to his interviewee, but couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that the woman was done with him. Though she hadn’t seemed very open to the interview to begin with so he couldn’t’ say he didn’t see this coming from some angle. He nodded quickly before uttering a small, “Master Rowena.” As he was dismissed. With that he took a moment to scoop up Dr. Puddy to avoid seeing her trampled by this chaos. He shoves the notebook and pencil in his armpit before keeping the feline close and using his now empty hand to scratch the top of her head. He then put her on his shoulders to keep his hands free. “I have something to finish up, sorry.” He explained unsatisfied with the little he’d gathered from Rowena. He still had one other person to speak to…if he could just slide through this damn crowd in peace. Though, he doubted he would have any peace if Billy followed which he had the feeling he would.
Even more if he told him not to. “Give me a couple of minutes if you want to catch up.” He added, a hint of begging in his voice. He doubted Billy was a professional type. He even doubted the guy knew how to pretend to be professional. Heath held back a sigh, he would have to roll with it. Turning his attentions back to the powerful woman he caught the tail end of her conversation with another young man. He interjected once he felt there was a pause in the conversation. “High Priestess Trevil, my name is Heath Ambroise a reporter. May I have your comments on the pillar falling?” he asked as he popped open the notebook to a clean page. He gave a curt nod and an apologetic look to Percy, but if he could get his information quickly he could leave. The blonde twirled the pencil in his hand once before putting it to paper. “Ma’am, with the pillar’s downfall will the Order of the Helios Knights up their peacekeeping patrols in Sundial?”
Post by chanel crestwalker on Oct 6, 2017 11:44:04 GMT
初めまして。
The kid looks like she's just woken up, fallen asleep and woken up again in the kind of haze-daze of a much deserved and yet unobtained night of rest. Chanel would suggest coffee, but that's only because she'd make a terrible parent.
Then the girl seems to get flustered, but Chanel is used to that- people tend to be awkward around authority. And even when she's not in her red-and-golds, Chanel can be the snappiest bitch in the world. Add that to blue eyes and blonde hair and honestly, she's more surprised when strangers aren't flustered.
Chanel frowns at the girl's leg rocking (it's unsettling and just out of place; nothing she's ever seen a proper young girl do unless they're in front of the new collection of Enchanted, in which case it can't be helped). Runes? She blinks at the girl. "Are you a budding historian?" she jokes- the edges of her lips turn upwards but her eyes remain unmoved.
She hasn't seen someone below Master Gammana's age line be excited about runes in all her life. God knows Molly hated runes, and that was her birth affinity. Runes were things people clung to when they didn't have enchantment...Runes were out of the ordinary.
Chanel thinks about the blond boy she'd met at the train station. She thinks about her lab back at home. She decides, quite vehemently, that no one in their right mind should be rocking back and forth at the mention of runes.
Through the woods we ran Deep into the mountain sound
[attr="class","mtnsndb"]Although Des was a seer, he was very very far from all-knowing. Truthfully, the majority of divination-centric jobs he'd taken when he was younger had been solved by a lot of bluffing and no shortage of reasonable-sounding lies. All he knew about the events of today was that this pillar would begin to crumble. He hadn't seen if it would completely fall, nor that his daughter would be among the crowd, nor that he would end up getting pushed from behind by a sarcastic woman.
[break][break]Although it was merely an accidental collision with limited power behind it, Des felt like the impact caused the whole world tilted the wrong way (a sensation, in reality, caused by his drink). He stumbled a step forward, and likely would have tumbled to the ground if the crowd hadn't been so densely packed. An outstretched hand which had been intended to break his fall instead landed on the shoulder of a stranger, which the seer instinctively grasped to balance himself.
[break][break]It took a second or two before he was upright again, glancing at the person he'd just used as a support with a hollow, unapologetic gaze. "Apologies." He speaks shortly as he lifts his hand off of them, palm laxly facing forward for a brief moment to express his lack of ill intent.
[break][break]His eyes then turn downwards towards the culprit, who seems to have only just realized the potential gravity of her offense. However, Desmond was not particularly spiteful of slights against himself. He offers a resigned sigh. "If you're looking to pick pockets, you'll do better near the nobles," Des says apathetically, vaguely waving a hand towards a handful of finely-dressed individuals (though, the woman likely wasn't tall enough to see them above the crowd).
[break][break]As yet another person nearly hits him, apologizing soon after, Des shakes his head slightly and dismissively. "It seems to be the nature of this crowd." And then, the stranger asks a question. "I suppose that depends why it's falling," the seer muses, no basis to his words other than his understanding of patterns of events, "If the others decide to follow its example, we're likely on the verge of some very unpleasant change."
I press the button and[break]it bursts into life[break]This time nothing will escape my sight
The Knight frowns at her slightly, and Ling feels herself wilt a little in response. The cheerful expression slips from her face momentarily, before returning, if not slightly less bright and exuberant as before. It's fine though, she's fine, the blonde witch is probably just tired of dealing with the crowds here today - right? "Are you a budding historian?" the Knight says, lips curving up (and if it doesn't sound quite as joking as the woman might have intended, if her smile doesn't seem to reach her eyes, well. Ling's not really the best at reading people anyways).
"Not really," Ling responds, still upbeat but making an effort to be a bit more restrained. "I like history and all but..." She trails off, eyes drifting back to the runes painted on the crumbling pillar despite herself. Refocusing, she grins, fingers tightening around her notebook, runes in her mind's eye itching to be drawn. "It's just, runic arrays as old as this are pretty rare, you know? And this one is so inured into Sundial's culture that it's function has probably shifted and changed in really interesting ways that the original runescripters didn't predict, which makes it really fascinating! The meaning behind the script itself has probably undergone changes, even! And I wanted to record some observations down before it crumbles, you know?"
She laughs a little sheepishly at her own rambling, twisting her braid between her fingers in a nervous habit. "So... yeah," she finishes lamely, offering a slight shrug.
He felt a chill run up his spine at the mention of his old title, one that in all technicality still held, and only a handful of people truly knew about. Some of Jester's Den had at least formulated that his family had some money, but only those connected to the underground truly knew the title of "Young Master Constantine". He tried his best not to let his unease show however, as now was not the time to let his own feelings towards his family get in the way of the event at hand.
"Thank you. I've personally found poetry and such arts of language to be intriguing. After all, what is a leader if not well-spoken." He would make his own smile towards the woman, a slight but well meaning one, full of the knowledge that whoever she was, he was aware of her knowledge. he turned his head back to the pillar as the chunk fell, and strangely, he felt nothing. It wasn't as if this was a huge earth-shattering rarity, but for some reason he felt nothing towards this chunk of ancient magic as it fell.
He chuckled a bit at the comment towards the high priestess. "Yes, she is. Imagine, if this is what she is like to protect the city she loves, I would hate to see her bad side." and then jokingly, "But who knows, maybe her bad side is killer in bed, but I'm sure not as good as you."
Post by iolani kótsyfas on Oct 7, 2017 14:12:38 GMT
the pillar is crumbling. collapsing. a piece of ancient sundial history, reducing itself to dust. iolani eyes the obelisk for a long moment, before turning away, disinterested.
what significance does a decaying monument have on her life, her future? what does it matter to her if a monolith stands or falls? nations could fall and iolani would barely blink - a single pillar in a single city in a single country in a single continent is so entirely inconsequential that it is almost amusing. certainly, the people crowded around the dusty little pillar seem to think otherwise, gawking and gossiping and whispering among themselves as if the crumbling were a herald for the end of ages. now if that were really the case, she thinks, she would certainly be a lot more interested. but in all honesty? a breeze would affect her more than whatever may result of this spectacle.
everything succumbs to time in the end, after all. to exist is to resign oneself to the inevitability of eventual oblivion.
iolani shakes her head at the insipid nature of humans, gaze drifting over the throngs of people; her eyes brighten and a pleasant smile spreads across her face as she spots the high priestess medeia trevil at the head of the crowd, the politician rowenna shephard not far from her. a column crumbling is of no interest, really, but the words and actions of influential figures such as the two master witches- now that is a different story. perhaps this little excursion won't be completely worthless after all.
she drifts towards them, careful not to differentiate herself from the mindless sheeple around her, careful not to draw attention from the guards. once within earshot, her ears perk up at as what seems to be a reporter begins questioning the high priestess. her answer should prove to be- if not interesting, than at least less boring than the little dust column.
tag:heath ambroiseSOLSTICE @anyone else words: 320 notes: aka iolani gives no fucks about the pillar
[attr="class","much_text"] ◥◤ He rests his hands in front of him, clasped together in a semblance of grace. He does not lift his gaze just yet, collecting his wits and letting the caught-up tension gradually release itself. There's a slight tremor that startles the calm in his frame; he can't quite keep it contained. The growl from Miss Fei's familiar had startled him more intensely than he, himself, had expected. Being out in the open and away from the comfort of his shop wasn't doing him any good whatsoever. There's a sense of desperation as he beckons for his familiar, wanting her by his side. 'Sigrún...please. I need...'
[break][break]Her warmth is there in an instant and she concedes to his desire, a touch of maternal protectiveness encasing him in case he shatters before Miss Fei. Sigrún materialises within seconds, her large form brushing against his calves, expression serene and focused upon the owl, daring the avian to make another sound. Immediately his hand rests on the fur on the back of her neck, gripping her gently and he feels infinitely relaxed.
[break][break]Avoiding the look of the owl, he does his best to focus on Miss Fei herself. Uttering softly, his voice as gentle as a summer's breeze and completely placid, "I am well, Mi-A-Aisling." It is strange to address her by her first name; he has always maintained a professional distance between himself and his customers. However, he admits that they'd known each other since they were children, due to their upbringing in the upper echelons of society. Such history has faded into his memory, the sensation of her name upon his lips is no longer familiar. Perhaps he'd locked it away like he did with everything else. Sucking his lips in to wet them, he continues politely, "And you?"
[break][break] tag:Aisling Fei [break]ooc: eep i did a bit of assuming here
[attr="class","alive_mucha"]
[attr="class","alive_much2"]-- Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
[attr="class","shockwave-lyrics"]and i'm waving through a window
[attr="id","shockwave-textbox"]
She feels it the moment something changes; the air shifts, tremors like ripples in spacetime detectable only through an intangible intuition of the ethereal- Lyze tenses, wings tucked tightly to his side to still the instinct that screams at him to flare them so. 'He called out his familiar,' the owl informs Aisling, displeasure writ in every syllable of his projected voice. Outwardly, he does nothing more than tighten his grip on his witch's shoulder and narrow his amber eyes. [break][break]
'Oh,' she thinks, containing her reaction to a slow blink ( absolutely pointless as it is ). A brief moment of poignant, lingering regret that she cannot see the lynx her familiar has previously grudgingly described as beautiful, will not ever be able to see her- [break][break]
But no, now is not the time to wander down the well-trod lanes of regret and wistful disappointment - she should know better. Aisling returns her focus to Laurent and to the conversation that lies between them, steeped in sepia strains of shared history and half-forgotten memories, so many words not daring to be spoken lingering behind her teeth in stuttered esterifications of clauses and commas and breathless broken lexemes. [break][break]
A surface placid like a stillwater pond, like the gentle chords to a simple melody in a major key, Laurent speaks. But, but- She has not survived for so long playing heiress and holding her head high against the expectations of the nobility without picking up on how to read people's voices where their expressions might otherwise speak, how to decipher the cadence of speech where the eyes might otherwise reveal. The traces of nervousness, well-hidden and fading; the way her name sounds, foreign and unfamiliar, on his tongue; politeness to fill the cracks of unspoken change that has occurred since they had last met.[break][break]
She smiles at him, careful to keep her posture perfect, her expression gentle and warm. Practiced, but so natural after performing as such for so many years. "I am well also, thank you for inquiring," she replies, before inclining her head in the general direction of Laurent's familiar. "And greetings to you, Sigrún, as well."
due to circumstances concerning activity of the staff and members, this event could not reach completion. thank you all for taking part and to apologize for the event's premature and unsatisfactory ending, we offer you compensation in the form of techniques which may be taken on a one per character basis. no post count is required. [break][break]
[attr="class","stafftempstore"]
[attr="class","stafftempitem"]TECHNIQUE: STORM OF SWALLOWS The user launches a swarm of ice-needles in the shape of tiny swallows. The amount of needles created and the force at which they are launched depend on the skill and experience of the user; experienced users can also control and change the direction of the needles in mid-air. Masters of this technique may also be able to create and simultaneously control multiple swarms of needles.
[attr="class","stafftempitem"] TECHNIQUE: BLADE OF WIND A blade is created from pure wind, making it effortlessly sharp and almost invisible to the eye - when created right. In the hands of an experienced witch, there are very few materials that this blade cannot slice through, however as wind is a notoriously difficult element to master, amateur witches often struggle to even manifest a tangible blade for long, their attempts oft flickering away into puffs of air at the very first blow.
[attr="class","stafftempitem"]TECHNIQUE: SHADOW TENDRILS This technique allows the witch to split their shadow into tendrils that can act like tentacles to wrap around things and bring them to or away from the witch. The number of tendrils created and are able to be independently manipulated depends on the skill of the witch as well as the amount of shadows present. Experienced witches may even be able to use their tentacles to bat away projectiles launched at them, though how effective such a defence may be depends on the force of the projectiles and the skill of the witch.
[attr="class","stafftempitem"] TECHNIQUE: PRISMAWIRE This technique allows the witch to form wires made of light. Controlled by the hands, the more experienced a witch is the more dexterous and lethal this technique can become. A beginner might only be able to partially bind or trip an opponent, but an experienced witch would be able to create more wires, manipulate them, throw them, control their momentum, etc. This technique receives its name from the brilliant flashes of colour and light the wires radiate.
[attr="class","stafftempitem"] TECHNIQUE: FIRE WHIP The user creates a whip of fire that can be wielded as a weapon and burns that which it touches. Fledgling witches will have to practice to solidify and manipulate the fire, whereas experienced witches can create and manipulate multiple fire whips that burn bright and intense.
[attr="class","stafftempitem"] TECHNIQUE: WATER DRAGON BULLET A dragon is created from water and subsequently launched at a target at high speeds. The size of the dragon and the speed at which it travels is determined by a user's experience and rank. Skilled practitioners will be able to control the movement of the dragon even after it has been launched. This technique is much less effective where water is scarce, but when used in the presence of an abundant water source it can be devastating in size and power.
[attr="class","stafftempitem"] TECHNIQUE: SPEARS The witch manipulates the rock underneath the target and pulls from it stone spears, skewering the target and effectively holding them still for a time. Less experienced witches can't create many spears or even detach them from the main stone body, but highly skilled witches can create multiple spears, detach them, refine them, and even chase the target with them.
