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.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 13:06:19 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
gold steals across his vision leaving brilliant, perfect conviction in its wake - a focus blade-sharp and intense as the midday sun. maddox is a blur in the peripheries of his vision wreathed in the fury of storm winds with a ferocity to match; kirjava burns in the back of his mind as a creature of flame and lethality. fire rains from the sky as his familiar darts between the dragon's blind, agonised, furious flailing and calls upon a storm of incandescence to aid her quest of destruction; another lunge, another deep gash reducing its right wing to tatters.
and kasimir joins the fray. upon wings of light and fire he descends, steel burning blue as he slashes his sword across the dragon's eyes. he misses the first time around - the monster turns into a creature of writhing and mad fury as it flares its damaged wings, swings its tail, and lashes out in an attempt to strike at its unseen attackers. in the air, it is easy to avoid the worst of the flailing limbs; on the ground, kirjava uses the full extent of her agility to dodge.
the whip of a spiked tail catches her with a glancing blow and she retreats for an instant, nursing her wound; up in the sky, such is his focus that the pain does not register at all.
his second attempt at blinding the dragon is much more successful: kasimir sinks the length of his blade into its giant eye, fire flaring in a pillar of blue-green-white- and loses his grip as it proceeds to scream in agony and rage, shattering the ground as it writhes and lashes out.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 13:37:49 GMT
the world is a simple thing when fighting. it becomes even simpler in a fight where he can more or less completely disregard his affinities. he alternates between axe and gale, the blade carving great arcs wherever he can land a blow. swing, hit; follow-through; pivots and lets the momentum of the axe carry him through, even relinquishing his hold on the weapon to fire off a miniature squall, the winds screaming.
he gets careless, though, because despite it all he is still flightless and at the mercy of gravity. the rocks underfoot loosen with the dragon’s reckless movements, and for a moment, the ground gives way and he slips. again.
the dragon lashes out again, shrieking once more as sirius plunges a column of searing fire into its eye. it lashes out, enraged and blind, and its claw finds purchase in maddox’s shoulder. no time to complain; he greets the pain with nothing more than a hiss and feels himself lifted mid-fall. ( at least he doesn’t fall off the top of the mines. it’s fortunate that maddox is very stubborn, and especially so in the heat of battle. )
the proximity is a chance he refuses to waste. he twists, hacks away at the claw until he can untangle himself from it ( feels the blood trickle down his arm, warm and unwelcome ). and then he goes up, the wind at his back and a greataxe for climbing pick, eyes glinting silver as they fix on the dragon’s wing muscles. thoughts frayed from pain coalesce into a single goal: if he cuts that, then there is no way it can fly.
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[attr="class","itemssprite"] the operationalization of magic, volume 1
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 14:04:35 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
kasimir stumbles, falls from atop the dragon's head as it thrashes in the grip of agony, but his wings catch the air and he arcs away to avoid the flailing head. from there, he aims continuous balls of fire at its remaining eye, headless of the mana expenditure. that his sword is lost to him is an annoyance; a thought occurs, edged in the cold clarity of inhuman logic: perhaps if he were to retrieve the blade and plunge it deeper until it reaches the brain, perhaps then that will kill the beast.
( in the peripheries of thought on the other side of the golden veil, he is aware of kirjava blazing back in to claw the tendons and ligaments of wing muscles to shreds; he is aware of maddox carving through scales with an axe of wind, aware of maddox surrounded by a nebula of wind, is aware of maddox taking a claw to the shoulder-
suddenly, focus shifts:
prevent the dragon from injuring maddox further. )
a brief thought sends kirjava darting out of claw and tail range to rain fire upon the creature at a safe distance. kasimir himself loses himself in the sungold conviction of something far bigger, far more incandescent than a mere mortal being, and throws himself at the dragon's face wreathed in the blue light of sacred fire. if that does not provide an adequate distraction, he knows not what will.
( and quietly, there is a promise: if maddox should falter, if maddox should fall, if he should so come in danger of gaining more injuries than the crimson already staining his shirt, then. perhaps mortals are not meant to battle dragons. )
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 14:24:31 GMT
his vision dances blue and gold, violet nebulae and a thousand suns in dark-dyed nighttime vision; the corners of his world are ever-moving, and he is hyper aware of the dragon thrashing and screaming, of the strain in his arm as he hauls himself up, and up, and up. he dares not risk using a double jump lest he lose his grip, and even that is becoming increasingly precarious, his grip slick with blood and sweat alike. but he keeps going nonetheless, because he has never felt smaller in his life.
( and perhaps in part with the knowledge that the sun that burns within his partner could set kingdoms ablaze, and he cannot face that flame without having tried his best as well. )
a flash of cobalt in the periphery of his vision and the dragon’s attentions turn north, to the fire-wreathed figure hurtling at its head. maddox’s breath catches in his throat for a moment, its cause neither pain nor exhaustion but fear for sirius’ well-being, plain and simple. but the fire burns on. and, he too reaches his destination.
the axe flashes moonlit silver as it comes down, the near invisible blade now a work in shades of crimson; he carves muscle and flesh alike, rending vicious and furious; doesn’t stop until the wing goes limp and useless by the dragon’s side. at its feet, moosely bellows triumphantly, braces against a glancing blow as the dragon flails, and continues his own reckless assault against the dragon’s softer underbelly, antlers gouging dark trails along its scales.
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[attr="class","itemssprite"] the operationalization of magic, volume 1
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 14:45:44 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
power. speed. strength. kasimir utilises every inch of the supernova blessing in his veins to set ablaze the dragon's head, to draw its attention away from anything else but himself. the serrated edges of headspines tear a jagged arc of crimson through his flesh, but pain is a mere mortal limitation and the blow affords him enough time to reach the hilt of his sword.
( down below, maddox sinks his axe into the joints and muscles and ligaments of a tattered wing; kasimir shatters a fireball upon the monster's head to keep its attention )
fire flickers again; this time, he bothers not with heavenly fire, bothers not with calling fury from the sky, and instead simply rams the blade deeper into the dragon's eye, his blade incandescent. it screams and roars and wails and bellows, thrashing its head in a wild side-to-side motion as it loses any trace of coherence; he is thrown, battered, sliced by the scales and spines crowning its head until his shirt is as red as his hair - but he does not let go.
( there is a brief hope that maddox and moosely had gotten clear of the flailing limbs, but the thought is swiftly lost to the starspun focus of angelic grace )
he drives the sword deeper, deeper, and urges the flames to burn brighter, hotter; the world narrows down to the dragon's screaming, the azure of fire, and the absolute, calm resolve to hold on to the blade. and it screams one more time;
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 15:10:36 GMT
moosely, below, persists with dogged determination; dances to the edge of the beast’s foothold and crashes repeatedly against its side, each blow unsettling its balance further and further.
the dragon’s death throes near send maddox flying -- he spins, buries the axe deep in the crook of its shoulder and neck and holds as tightly as his grip permits; loses a hold on the axe’s hilt at some point and settles for grasping at its scales instead. spares a thought momentarily for the mess that is his hands, and disregards it immediately as another wild swing of the dragon’s head sends him crashing against its scales at the momentum. it is screaming, screeching in the way only dying creatures do, a desperate edge to the beast’s voice akin to nails against chalkboards, the blood roars too loudly in his ears to make room for anything like pity.
the fear for sirius’ safety yet remains, and it is easy to disregard the tear in his shoulder and the sting of his palms when he sees the flame burning ever brighter, from azure flaring white-hot until it is painful to look at.
he pushes backwards before the dragon falls; lets himself once more fall freely towards the ground. he searches -- time slows in midair -- finds sirius scarlet-stained and incandescent. he twists, calls the winds to his command-
( the dragon thuds lifeless to the ground )
don’t let him fall don’t let him fall don’t let him fall-
logically, he knows that sirius has wings. if anyone can land properly and safely, it’s probably the summoner. but he catches sirius anyway. it’s probably clumsy, probably oddly-timed, and maddox scrapes his knees on the rocks as he skids to a halt, but he does it anyway.
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[attr="class","itemssprite"] the operationalization of magic, volume 1
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 15:33:00 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
the night is thunderous with the sound of silence.
kasimir falls as the dragon falls, plummeting to the ground with the lightning-white of adrenaline still brilliant in his blood and a hand yet clenched around the hilt of a buried sword. it does not register that it is over, that the dragon is dead and there is no need to continue clinging on until he is halfway fallen with wings half furled. command from a sluggish brain: flare his wings, slow his fall - but it turns out, he need not have bothered.
maddox catches him with a cradle of wind and a solid grip.
he blinks, blinks again, blinks a third time wondering when he had let the angelic grace and sol's blessing and all his fire-woven finery fade until it is just him and his heartbeat and the ringing silence in his ears. thinking takes a worrying amount of effort. the world feels paper-thin, empty, surreal. there is something missing in his chest. pain begins to seep in.
forcing his limbs to move seems like a monumental task, but somehow he manages to drag himself into a semi-sprawled seat on the ground, somewhat dazed green eyes seeking his mission partner. "it is dead?" he asks. his mouth feels... odd. off. briefly, he forgets how to breathe.
( kirjava takes this moment to return to the inner strata, and he remembers again )
something pings in his mind, thoughts previously buried under the perfect conviction of archangelic grace resurfacing with a vengeance. "you are injured!" he exclaims, alarmed, focus returning to his eyes as he sits up and scans maddox.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 15:50:15 GMT
he thinks that maybe, he has lost his sense of hearing -- in the aftermath of the battle, the silence is stifling. he can hear his own breathing, somewhat, but even that seems to be distant, as though underwater. then it takes a moment for him to register that sirius has pulled himself into some semblance of a sitting position, and a longer moment still for him to register that a question has been asked.
a glance to the side. moosely prods the dragon’s carcass experimentally with a hoof, just in case the dragon could still move with half its skull burned away. the familiar answers in his stead, declaring, “it looks pretty dead to me.”
maddox, on the other hand, is slowly considering the notion of lying down and taking a nap right here. the idea is, as the seconds pass, increasingly tempting. it takes more willpower than expected to drag his gaze back up and focus on sirius. “no permanent damage done,” he says, uninjured shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug as he waves off the concern. “just some scratches.”
he raises a hand to gesture vaguely in sirius’ direction, and even that motion feels oddly sluggish after the entire fight. “you, though. are you okay?” the danger of mana exhaustion, and the crimson tatters of sirius’s shirt -- that remains unspoken, but his meaning is clear.
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[attr="class","itemssprite"] the operationalization of magic, volume 1
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 18, 2018 16:14:09 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
kasimir takes the confirmation of the dragon's death with no small amount of relief and a strange dose of regret. killing a dragon has never been on his list of desires, but far from the heroics depicted in legends and stories, all he feels in the aftermath is tired. hollow. and - he suppress a wince - pain.
and yes, his whole body aches with some vivid splashes of pain burning above the rest, but experience tells him that he will survive these injuries ( probably ), but he knows not of maddox's condition and it sets discordance within the beat of his heart. the deep gashes on his partner's shoulder does absolutely nothing to alleviate those concerns. nor does maddox's assurances.
"scratches," he repeats, the heavy sarcasm unhindered by his currently malfunctioning verbal filter. words refuse to coalesce in his mouth, the world still refuses to feel any more real than a flimsy paper construction, and the terrible emptiness yawning within him threatens to swallow him whole, but even now he cannot believe the irreverence with which maddox refers to his injures. "i would hate to see your definition of lethal, then."
( no, he can unfortunately very easily believe it so. that does not make him feel any ounce better. )
the question posed is answered with all the gravity and importance it deserves: "i will live," kasimir says, dismissing the concern for more important matters. he reaches out, biting back the flare of white-hot pain that lances through his side at the movement, and casts an episkey on his partner. or, he attempts to. his... mana pool does not appear to want to cooperate. nor does his brain.
kasimir blinks, and reaches out to try again. because even minor healing is better than nothing.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Feb 19, 2018 1:47:24 GMT
as moosely wanders back over to them, nursing torn antlers and a poorly stifled limp, maddox slowly takes stock of his injuries. bruises are aplenty, between moosely’s battering ram tactics and his own terrible idea of climbing onto the dragon. several negligible cuts from the dragon’s scales carve across his arms, but the worst still is the shoulder.
“let’s hope you never have to see that, then,” he quips back, stubbornly clinging to whatever sense of dry humor he can muster. he tries to roll his shoulders back, testing the extent of the damage, and aborts the motion half-way through with a grimace. he can move it, so that at least is good, but it hurts more than he would like to admit.
sirius reaches out with what he can only assume to be a healing spell, only for the mana to sputter and fade out. “you don’t have to,” he protests gently, but he feels some bruises fade nonetheless, and the smaller cuts on his hands similarly recede into thin lines of scar tissue. “ah, hell. now i’ll feel like an asshole if i don’t help you too.”
he pushes himself up into a less sprawled out sitting position and reaches for his mana. it resists, but a more persistent tug and he pulls the healing spell forth, casting a similar episkey on sirius. there is little he can actually do, having little experience in both this particular scroll and the art of healing in general. there is some sort of an attempt, though.
with a little more effort, he stands, bracing against moosely as he does so. he’s likely running dangerously low on mana, having drawn primarily from his element for the entire fight, but he would also rather risk mana exhaustion than sit around being monster bait. he offers a hand to sirius once more. “we should probably get moving before something comes sniffing around.”
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[attr="class","itemssprite"] the operationalization of magic, volume 1
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 19, 2018 13:05:57 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
some of the dark smudges visible even in this dead of night fade from maddox's skin, and the vivid webwork of red shattered across his hands recede into thin, pale lines. the shoulder, though, kasimir can do nothing about; helpless worry twists his stomach and tightens the corners of his eyes. but even were he to possess a spell able to heal beyond mere cuts and bruises, his mana reserves are all but completely depleted - at the moment, even another episkey would likely be beyond him.
( still, that does not mean he is not willing to try anyway - if only his brain would pull itself out of the sluggish daze it has sunk into, if only his limbs would deign to cooperate. exhaustion seems to have made itself home inside the hollow of his bones such that only after maddox has already returned the favour of healing that it registers. )
"you should conserve mana," he protests, finally convincing his mouth to move and his tongue to curl around the quiet words. mana exhaustion is... a very very undesirable state, and not merely because of the vulnerability it represents. the healing of his surface wounds and minor injuries is not worth the cost. with great effort, kasimir pulls himself back into a semblance of order and blinks back into focus ( when had he unfocused? ), turning to his partner with a reassurance on tongue. "i will be fine."
too soon, all too soon, it is time to get up - while moving in any capacity is the exact opposite of what he would like, kasimir reluctantly recognises that sprawling on the ground exhausted and half dead next to a smouldering dragon carcass while just having had made enough noise to wake half the mountains is not an intelligent idea. a slight grimace twisting his lips, he nods and tries to stand.
his legs, unfortunately, have other plans.
there is little so disconcerting as feeling like his body belongs to a dead weight rather than to himself; for a moment, only the pain that flares to life like white lightning convinces him the numb rubbery limbs responding with jerky movements are his. kasimir staggers before he manages to catch maddox's hand, downward pull of his lips becoming more pronounced.
still. maddox and moosely are no less injured than he himself is and what kind of person would he be to take needless advantage of them? "i can walk," he says, offering an attempt at a reassuring expression as he forces himself to stand straight. eyes flicker to the side, to where the dragon lies dead. "do you think we have adequately fulfilled our mission requirements?" this time an attempt at wry humour falling rather flat as he stumbles over the syllables.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Feb 20, 2018 0:56:26 GMT
they are some distance from sundial, and to get anywhere remotely near a safe place involves traversing over considerably rough terrain. he can only hope that his legs -- nor moosely’s -- give out midway. no major injury impeding movement had been received in the course of the fights, but exhaustion is a considerable enough factor. at least he can stand easily enough; a look at his partner and his concern only grows. sirius’ movements are abrupt and graceless, a far cry from what he is used to seeing.
“nonsense. you’re not walking,” he says, waving the thought away dismissively. by his side, moosely begrudgingly relents, folding his legs neatly under him to kneel on the ground. maddox doesn’t quite have the energy to haul himself up this time, and appreciates the gesture. “might be a bumpy ride, but that’s better than walking.”
( normally, moosely shoulders the burden fairly well. the feeling is negligible on maddox’s part most of the time despite their mental link. this time, however, there’s the slightest pressure that builds on the small of his back as he takes a seat, like an ill-placed headache. )
he looks to the dragon’s carcass, a wry smile curling his lips. “if this doesn’t count as fulfilling the requirements, i don’t know what will.”
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[attr="class","itemssprite"] the operationalization of magic, volume 1
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 20, 2018 5:19:08 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
kasimir wavers on spot with a frown creasing his brow and another protest on his tongue, before a spasm through his calf muscles threatens to send him to his knees. reluctantly, he concedes defeat, concedes to the necessity of further burdening his partners; “thank you,” he murmurs, unable to meet their gaze. staggering the short distance over to moosely takes more effort than he would ever care to admit; hauling himself up onto the familiar’s back temporarily whites his vision out in pain. unfortunately, maddox is right - walking the distance to a safe location would have been a... not insignificant challenge.
“there is a mining village to the east,” he says quietly, forcing his mind to recall the general geographical layout of mount zephyr. “it is closer than sundial.” not to mention, said mining village is one of the major ones who had requested this mission in the first place, and the one to which kirjava had directed the escaped miners. hopefully, it will provide a safe place where they could recuperate.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Feb 20, 2018 6:40:18 GMT
there is no further protest from sirius, thankfully. once maddox is convinced that sirius is seated as securely as he can be in his current state, he taps moosely lightly on the neck and the moose rises slowly, unsteadily. the familiar doesn't stumble, though, and for that maddox is grateful.
“sounds good to me,” he says, staring out over the shadow-lit mountainside as though it grants him insight on where the aforementioned village might be ( it doesn't ). moosely moves anyway, confident of his skill in pathfinding. or, as far as maddox can tell, maybe moosely does know where the village is.
the ride is unsteady as expected, and despite maddox’s attempts at smoothing it out, he can only do so much without simply passing out. he toes that boundary nonetheless, using his element as far as he can until his breathing runs ragged with effort. they cover ground quickly enough, though. soon, golden dots illuminate a path before them; as they draw nearer, the shapes solidify into lamp posts lining a rough gravel path.
“the moosely express has reached its destination,” he declares, a note of triumph lightening his tone despite the fatigue. moosely slows to a steadier walk, dark eyes still glaring at any and all strangers. “no idea where the healer is, so tell me if you see anything that looks like one.”
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[attr="class","itemssprite"] large rock
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[attr="class","itemssprite"] the operationalization of magic, volume 1
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 20, 2018 14:24:53 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
the journey, this time, is far less smooth than the one previous - not that kasimir is any less appreciative of it. even with the staggered rhythm of hooves on uneven ground sending jolts up his spine, even with the constant paranoia of further monster attacks from the deep-set shadows, even with guilt and concern for maddox ( and moosely ) steadily curdling in his stomach, he still finds himself alternating between drifting into a uneasy, exhausted half-doze, and jerking awake again. the nightfallen mountains pass by in an odd suspension of time where the dark road stretches on endlessly ahead; a destination is but a dream.
if asked, he would be entirely unable to guess how long it took for them to reach the village. it is still dark though, midnight settled atop the mountains in a hushed shroud of tenebrous ink, no flush of dawn hinting at the day that lies beyond. kasimir jerks back into consciousness ( he is not quite sure when his eyes had drifted shut ) and blinks owlishly at the golden lamplight glowing softly ahead.
"ah," he says, vaguely bemused. it takes a moment for the sight to register.
"ah," he says again, this time more awake. slowly, his brain begins to stir from the haze it had wrapped itself in; kasimir drags up the dredges of his energy and slides off loosely's back - he can walk the rest of this. "thank you" - for the ride, he means, for carrying him all this way, for everything. coherent articulation of thought is a little beyond him at the moment though.
a door slams open, light spilling out onto the cobblestones to frame a broad figure. "you!" the stranger exclaims, rushing towards them. behind him several more figures emerge, all dressed somewhat similarly. kasimir belatedly recognises them as the miners kirjava had escorted out. "you're the acolytes, right? who took our mission? did you get rid of the dragon?"