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 Apr 23, 2018 5:04:58 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
kijrava huffs, decidedly unimpressed. “but we’ll be alive,” she grumbles, scowling. “and this unnatural forest will be dead.” technically, technically, the forest is entirely natural, as are the vines that had attacked them and the leaves quivering on the branches and the press of the foliage ahead. grown from earth and sunlight and the nutrients in the soil; natural, yes. but it feels wrong, wrong in the deepest of instincts and the prickling of fur along her spine, wrong like the mana sunk so deep into the roots that she can almost taste it in the air, wrong like the silence, the stillness, the lack of anything other than this ominous and oppressive darkness. the forest is wrong and kirjava would gladly burn it down for something more right to emerge from the ashes.
besides, occasional forest fires are quite healthy and natural to said forest.
but unfortunately, it is not to be. no doubt the pack of people her witch answers to will be rather displeased if a significant chunk of sundial outskirts went up in flames, not to mention the other familiar-witch pair is sadly unresistant to flame. an advantage in spars yes, but not so much in anything else. such a shame. perhaps they can find a way to rectify that.
now, kirjava is all in favour of silence and stealth in a hunt, or just for life in general, but somehow the unnatural stillness sets her teeth on edge enough that even she is vaguely gratified to have it broken. she stops when maddox does, eyes narrowed to golden slits as she gazes into the gloom as if she could glare it into submission. “no,” she says grumpily, levelling a fierce glare at the innocuous foliage. maybe if she tries hard enough, it would spontaneously combust. hm. possible technique there.
glaring at it for another moment longer, she finally gives in to the fact that she will not be able to detect anything with her physical senses. her instincts are screaming at her, of course, but they have been ever since they had entered this accursed place. another mental grumble to kasimir and she finally, grudgingly says, “but if you say there is, then there is. your skills are dependable.” her part ( very reluctantly ) said, the ocelot promptly proceeds to pretend that maddox does not exist, and neither does her witch’s mental spluttering; she bares her teeth at the path ahead and says to absolutely no one, “can i burn it down now?”
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Apr 23, 2018 5:40:22 GMT
the more and more he thinks about it, the less and less he likes forests. to be fair, there are a few he likes -- there used to be a small copse of trees behind the first house he remembers living in, where he would hide for hours upon hours and feed the squirrels in the trees, climbing up beyond sight and driving aeris mad with worry. but forests, true forests, bigger, darker, their shadows deep and uncertain, hold more secrets than he would care to pry into.
then there is the matter of this particular forest, which he is certain would be a lovely place in theory, but is currently too quiet and too still to be considered any semblance of nice. there is no breeze that filters through, no birds chirping nor critters rustling through the undergrowth. there is nothing, save for him and his familiar, a pyromaniac ocelot, and his mission partner-slash-friend-slash-someone-he-runs-into-a-lot flying high above.
he takes the comment with a surprised pause and wide-eyed blink. "dependable, huh." it's a nice word. it's a nice concept, even though he's not sure it ought to apply to him.
moosely takes a few cautionary steps back at kirjava's suggestion. maddox squints into the darkness. "as long as you don't burn the whole forest down," he begins to say, wondering what he is detecting, when the forest ( panagos' forest ) takes matters into its own hands and answers his questions rather abruptly.
a rustle -- innocuous at first -- then a single leaf, falling, drifts slow across his vision. he raises a hand to bat it away, and as soon as he does so, recoils with a hiss of pain; the leaf draws a crimson line across the palm of his hand, its edges knife-sharp. he catches his magic at the edges of his mind and a gale whips up from the ground-up, redirecting whatever projectile leaves he can as the attack rains down from the trees above. "ah, shit."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Apr 23, 2018 6:52:39 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
“don’t think too much of it,” kirjava snaps at maddox, scowl deepening along the patterns of black and golden-brown along her muzzle. “just the parts panagos has infected, then,” she says viciously. her eyes light up with inner fire, mana welling up under her skin ready to be unleashed in a torrent of flame and fury. but not yet. she huffs again, eyes moosely, takes a single, daring - almost challenging ( who is she fooling, it is entirely challenging ) - step towards the gloom-
and stops dead in her tracks when the soft rustle of leaves meets her ears.
rustling leaves are normally good. natural. quintessentially forest-y sounds that should always be there, yes. always, that is, except in situations where the forest has been entirely silent up until now and there is a swell of mana in the air and rustling leaves are now omens of doom.
she looks up. there is a quiet, soft curse from behind her. kirjava forgoes the cursing entirely for a rumbling growl that rips through her chest and contains everything she means to say about this situation - which is, suffice to say, not very pleased indeed. she lets loose her mana, flaring it out in a pair of beautiful, burning wings that trail embers far above their heads; any leaves that touch it are immediately reduced to ash.
perhaps she takes just a little too much bloodthirsty satisfaction in spitting balls of fire and flaring her wings out and finally being able to light up some of the unnatural forest, but anyone who would like to scold her can take it up with her claws. she does, however, spare a moment to glance at moosely and maddox - they seem to have things under control, but kirjava directs some fire to the attacking leaves their way regardless. though, mention it to her and they can eat her claws too. her witch’s clone uses the chaos and ash-filled air to hide the fact that none of its ‘attacks’ are doing anything.
‘we can take this. do not come down,' kirjava orders kasimir while she whirls around and takes out another bunch of leaves ( and a tree with it too ). reluctantly, he concedes, instead taking the opportunity to skim the treetops scanning for any anomaly.
and it is probably a good thing he does, because he spots a ripple of trees in the distance approaching steadily their way. he narrows his eyes, blinks, stares. ‘ents,’ he tells kirjava, stunned. ‘she has summoned an army of ents. they will be arriving in ten minutes at most.'
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Apr 23, 2018 7:13:45 GMT
he can sense the ocelot's bloodthirsty satisfaction as fire blazes to life in the corners of his vision -- though, admittedly, it does not take a genius to figure that out at this point. he focuses instead on the redirecting of leaf-blades, carefully dancing out of the way of some supporting flames that dart his way. the leaves turn to dust where kirjava's fires scorch them; they crumple and fold uselessly under the pressure of being tossed and turned by miniature tornadoes.
it is, like the vines before, a situation he deems manageable, and leaves a feeling that these are simply precursors to something far, far more. panagos has already shown her skill and prowess at evasion, and now her command of the forest; the possibilities seem endless now. it is in an instance such as these where something bitter and panicked rises in his chest, a panicked wild creature trying to be free of the branches that loom overhead like great oak bars of a cage. ( he cannot see the sky, he cannot see the sky. )
'fuck you, focus,' moosely snarls into his mind and maddox snaps back immediately, just as the flurry of leaves slows and he bats a few more out of the way with the flat of his axe. and he does focus; he calls back the detection spell. there is a realisation, swift and sudden: preoccupied by the brief struggles they have had with their very path into the forest thus far, they have let something far larger and far stronger approach, slowly but steadily. it looms over them now as a presence in his mind, louder and larger with each breath he draws.
there is magic at work, old, powerful, awakened by the hand of a murderer with a green thumb. he turns to kirjava, "what does he see?"
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Apr 23, 2018 7:29:27 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
kirjava growls loud and long, fangs bright white and itching to sink into a certain criminal’s legs; but there is a small, small part of her that lights up in bloodthirsty anticipation at the thought of testing her skill and fire against a legion of ents. actually, now that she thinks about it, perhaps she does not mind this new development as much. just a little.
fire arcs through the air and shreds through more razor-edged leaves, though kirjava does not think it is merely her imagination that the onslaught is slowing down. considering the amount of mana needed to summon and sustain an army of ents, however, she is hardly surprised. speaking of which. “ents,” she replies, executing a flying leap to burn some foliage beneath her claws. it is monumentally more satisfying clawing them to ash personally. “an army of them, headed our way.” and she smiles, with too many teeth and gold eyes burning like stars and something fundamentally non-human in their gleam.
a pause. “kasimir asks if he should call down a firestorm as an early attack.” another pause. another smile that could not be less reassuring if it tried. “or a whirlwind. we can always set fire to the whirlwind too.”
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Apr 23, 2018 7:58:32 GMT
"you are enjoying this too much," is all maddox grumbles to kirjava, raising the axe to once again bat away the last of the leaves. he understands her desire to fight, he really does. but his distaste for forests such as this far outweighs the normal battle-lust that governs his fighting, at least for now. or perhaps these scuffles simply have not been enough to justify such. moosely, for one, does not think stray leaves or wandering vines worthy opponents.
moosely tramples a few more leaves underfoot for good measure. maddox does not try to stop him. there are two possible plans: the cautious one, utilizing sirius' position as a scout to lay down an ambush and take them by surprise. then there is a head-on assault, to meet this wood-carved army in its charge and defeat them where they stand.
admittedly, his mind is made up from the get-go. "where are they coming from? he can certainly lay down the initial fire, and i'll back him up with something. make sure the fire doesn't spread too far too, i guess."
he is already nudging moosely forward, the familiar trumpeting out a battlecry at the prospect of a battle ahead, then something clicks belatedly in his mind and he swivels around to stare at the ocelot, eyes narrowing. "wait- kasimir?"
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Apr 25, 2018 13:20:54 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
she does not realise her mistake immediately. neither does kasimir. for a moment, it is almost as if the universe has for once granted them mercy, granted them clemency, granted them absolution; kirjava's words fade from the immediate present in favour of the far more pressing issue at hand. her blood burns bright, burns fierce, while plans flicker through kasimir's thoughts in snatches of what-ifs and whirring golden cogs and the thrum of mana beneath his skin. neither of them are truly surprised at the decision maddox makes - or surprised at all, really - and despite the assassin within him that grumbles about stealth and subtlety, there is undeniably a part of him born and forged in fire that revels in this opportunity to let loose.
also unsurprisingly, kirjava approves wholeheartedly. "west," she replies, eyes gleaming wild and bloodthirsty amber. "up ahead." and she smiles, wide, toothy. "you'll be able to see them soon."
kasimir positions himself above the roiling mass of the army of trees, wings flared, hair like a crimson banner of war and victory fluttering in the breeze; a pause, and he lets his mana flare and ignite and roar itself into an inferno, avenging angel ready to bring cataclysm unto earth-
he freezes. the fire just beginning to blaze around his hands splutter and die. down on the ground ready to charge into battle by maddox and moosely's side, kirjava freezes too. the world is silent.
there is an odd ringing in kasimir's ears. he forgets how to blink. forgets how to think. forgets how to breathe. lungs seize up and hands tremble and irrational, blinding, all-consuming terror devours his mind. no.
no.
of all the things
of all the ways-
kirjava's mind is a rapid litany of savage curses and apologies and heavy, cloying guilt, a wave crashing over his head and heart and pulling him in, down, down- her claws dig into the earth and her spine is ramrod straight and she stares at maddox with eyes of scorching gold. fear burns in them, fear and fury and desperation and guilt.
sometimes, the end comes not with a bang, but with a whisper.
'it's okay,' kasimir sends, finally pulling himself together in some sort of coherent thought and pulsing shaky waves of reassurance across their familiar bond even though they both know how terror coils in his stomach cold and hard, even though they can both see the way this one good thing in their lives breaking before their eyes. 'it's okay. we'll- we'll get through this. together.' they have survived homelessness on the unforgiving streets and the cruel mechanisms of a mafia boss and torture that has carved scars into their mind and body, they have survived betrayal and upheaval and love, have survived losing parents and a sibling and a home - they will survive this. and of course, kasimir forgives kirjava in the very same breath they realise what she has done, how could he not.
it does not stop the fear, the rapidly settling resignation, the sense of loss. but they will survive.
"later," she says finally, jaw clenched with a world of turbulent emotion embedded in that single word. she holds his gaze, then looks away. "we can talk later." and then she tears herself away and launches herself into the forest ahead not fleeing, definitely not fleeing. kasimir swallows the cold lump in his throat, ignores the ice settled in his chest, grasps for a mask of stone to slip over his face, and calls fire back into his hands. he lets it spill, lets it rain from the heavens and pour upon the marching trees, lets the forest burn trying to scorch all other thoughts from his mind.
later will come, but they have still have a job to do now.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Apr 26, 2018 10:04:52 GMT
moosely hears the enemy first, the slow cracking of twigs and dry leaves underfoot amid a silence almost deafening, the whisper of winds through branches in a breezeless forest. his attention is completely captured thus, eyes intent on the forest beyond and senses poised electric. he pauses only because maddox freezes too, because for a moment, the thrill of battle falls flat and gives way to-
maddox isn’t sure, really. confusion is probably the closest word he can think of. concern is a close second. but it isn’t quite confusion, because it makes sense for someone of sirius’ ( kasimir’s? ) profession to stay shielded behind aliases and false identities. it makes sense, he understands that much, but what puzzles him is kirjava’s reaction.
one moment, the ocelot is wild and warrior incarnate, fire made flesh. the next moment, only but a breath apart, she is frozen to the spot with claws speared into the earth and an expression in amber eyes that makes him instinctively stiffen his spine and shift his weight backwards, startled -- moosely, on cue, caught off-kilter, takes a step back as well. was it something he said? ( the name, the name. ) the way he said it? ( there are secrets in a name that he ought not to pry into. )
“later, then,” he finds himself agreeing, voice mild, already turning his thoughts towards the battle ahead. he already feels like he has strayed into territory not meant for him, or overheard something he was not supposed to hear; if his mission partner decides to tell him anything else, then he will listen. should he tell maddox to simply forget it all, he would try his best -- maddox’s mind is made up nonetheless.
a name is but a name; through their haphazard meetings and work-centric shenanigans, he has known the assassin enough to figure that whatever may come, he would probably not like the other any less.
but for now, he lets moosely charge forward, toward battle and crimson flames. he calls up the winds, feels the gale whip through his hair and hurtle, screaming, towards the animated trees; builds invisible walls to keep it from spreading all while feeding the fire until orange reflects in storm-grey eyes like smoke over a burning city.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on May 26, 2018 14:51:37 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
fear is not a rational creature. it cares not for logic, nor rationalisation, nor anything beyond this mindless loop of thoughts and tangled emotion that charts an exponential growth and breeds ice in his stomach. fear breathes in frost, thrives in fury, twists and howls still even dancing between the roar of flames resplendent as they descend unto earth. kasimir can forge himself into a weapon of fire and single-minded purpose all he wants, fear cares not for his wants or mortal desires.
'later', such a fragile concept. elusive. later, as in immediately after battle later? or later, stretched out in days and weeks and futile hopes that it may be forgotten later? he does not think he wants either option. he does not think he will ever he ready for later.
but for now, he can afford to pretend that the leaden weight coiling beneath his ribcage does not exist. for now, he can afford to throw himself into the scream of an inferno and torrents of blazing heat and pretend that this avenging angel of purpose and judgement is all who he is. kasimir descends with a lethal bladedance and ents afire in his wake, kirjava a warrior of crimson and gold thrumming in the back of his mind and maddox crashing into the fray like a god of storms.
the army of trees burn. the army of trees burn, and it is strange to see such a threat be reduced to this mere pas de deux between fire and wind, decimation like the apocalypse descendent upon an unrepentant earth. kasimir leaps through the treetops and the dancing flames, wings of starfire white trailing behind him as he searches for their target - where is inesa panagos?
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on May 26, 2018 15:27:41 GMT
there is a simplicity to his thoughts, compartmentalization neat and rapid, tidbits of information stored away for later discussion and reference. now is not the time for confusion, nor is it the time for questions. he shrugs off confusion and doubt and worry with every thunderous beat of moosely's hooves on the forest ground, replaces it instead with a blind and trust in his mission partner that he will not get burned too badly even as he charges in.
all things considered, it is a terrible decision. he does it anyway.
he hears nothing but the roar of the fire and his heartbeat thudding high between his ears; the winds are howling like the dogs of war unleashed, snarling selfish blood-hungry creatures who chase and feed the crimson flames. they have called down the apocalypse on a thursday afternoon, and the trees burn.
there is a simplicity to his thoughts, as there is to a hunt, and it follows as thus: if you cannot see the forest for the trees, then burn the forest down.
he dances the edges of the destruction, palm pressed up against an invisible wall as he works and then reworks the magic of the inferno at its fringes. all that being said, maddox would still like to minimise the damage if he can help it. it is not the fault of the forest itself that a witch turns it to her will. he folds and unfolds the frayed edges of mana, concentration whittled to the fine edge of a knife, and waits for the fire-wreathed hunter to point out their quarry.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on May 27, 2018 4:03:01 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
she pulls the flames away from moosely and maddox and sends them spiralling up to devour more foliage. more leaves, more trees, more of the incoming army consumed by the insatiable greed of fire; she bares her teeth in a savage grin at the thought that this upstart plantshaper might be able to take on her. her, a creature of flame and fury and ferocity through and through; her, a creature of steel and bloodbright intent and magic running through her veins. she fights and slashes and dances and lives, and for that moment, for this single moment suspended in time, nothing else exists.
kasimir, meanwhile, hunts the trees for a glimpse of their elusive target, drifts through fire and smoke and this burning inferno as if it did not exist at all. the ents reach for him, grasp at him with claw-like hands and gnarled faces twisted in pain and rage, lashes out with leaves and branches and thorned vines trying to serve their master's purpose even while they die, but he is swift and lethal with a blade afire and so there is little to impede his search.
a flicker of movement far ahead, jet black hair streaming like a tattered banner behind a fleeing figure; his eyes narrow.
"this way," kirjava says, ears perked up and smile a tad too bloodthirsty as she finds her direction and runs. his clone, forgotten in the chaos of embers and ash and burning, screaming, dying trees, follows too, blade in hand and wrapped in a haze of illusionary fire.
kasimir darts after panagos, the advantage of flight granting him a speed to rapidly close the distance. he closes his hand, opens, and a spark of mana crafts itself into a phoenix that roars and bears down on the criminal. he sees her look up, look back, and the panic that crosses her face is soon matched by steelborn determination; her familiar materialises with a snarl and pulls a wall from the ground right in the phoenix's way; so he sends another one curving over the fortress to pursue the witch.
even if it does not hit, his goal is achieved. panagos has slowed down, stalled enough for kirjava and maddox and moosely ( and his forgotten clone ) to catch up.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on May 27, 2018 7:49:26 GMT
the fires blaze high and furious with supernova intensity; it hurts his eyes to look at them. he does not look away.
he keeps his eyes trained on the darting form of the ocelot, barely discernible from the flames themselves. the ents blacken and burn, smoke billows out in grand grey towers. he inhales, sharp, fights the urge to cough up a lung and wipes the sweat off his brow instead. he ought to be more careful, ought to stay his distance from the fire for unlike the other two, he is not immune.
the air is hot and acrid and he feels his eyes begin to water slightly. he does not move away. he only urges the tempest onward, reckless and wild and for just a moment, he stands at a precipice like a moth to the flame.
then kirjava calls out, sharp teeth bared in a smile, a spotted silhouette outlined in flame. she runs, and maddox follows, bursting through a column of smoke with laugh breathless caught in his chest. he stretches out a hand and the air coalesces into an axe, a blade of whirling smoke and flickering flames caught within. moosely leaps over a still-smouldering log, head raised as he trumpets a warhorn cry.
he sees panagos ahead, earth raised into a wall before her and her eyes equal parts desperation and rage, her familiar poised before her with lips drawn back into a snarl; he matches this with one of his own. a dragon of earth and stone rises up from the ground to rocket towards him ( it does not make it the whole way, crumbling to inanimate chunks of stone part-way across ). moosely doesn't even blink. the distance between them closes.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on May 27, 2018 8:13:35 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
panagos raises an earthen hand from the ground to meet the phoenix, blocking its progress as the two structures collapse into ash and rubble. but the damage is done - the air rings with the sound of moosely's battlecry as he barrels through the fire-hazed air to meet them. kirjava is but a step behind in her regalia of flame and tawny-gold, and kasimir's clone a step behind her. even from his aerial vantage point, kasimir can see the rage and desperation in panagos' eyes at the situation; recognition that she is outmatched but a ferocious desire to fight till the very end and to take them down with her.
reluctant as it is, kasimir finds kinship there, and a measure of admiration. of course, that will not influence his actions.
fire rages around them, buffeted along the swirls of wind and driving itself into a writhing wild creature desperate to devour all in its path. embers rain from atop their heads and ash thickens in the air. quickly, kasimir focuses on pulling back the flames to something smaller, something more manageable before it spirals out into a wildfire he cannot control - he has faith his companions can occupy panagos while he takes care of this.
the earth lashes out at them, rocks lifting themselves from the ground and hurtling towards the group. kasimir blinds her with a starburst illusion before throwing himself back into fighting his own fire, making sure the area is clear and safe for his mission partners to navigate. kirjava dodges the rocks to throw herself at panagos' familiar - clearly, she has some issues to work through there.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on May 27, 2018 8:37:28 GMT
to panagos' credit, she doesn't run. she is outnumbered and yet she stands her ground, ferocious snarls splitting the air just as the earth beneath their feet rolls and bucks like the back of a wild creature. it is for this stubbornness alone that maddox begrudgingly offers his respect. there is brief consideration for how well one of such spirit would benefit leviathan. then a rock narrowly misses his head and smashes into a billion smaller pieces on the tree trunk behind him, and he changes his mind.
another earth-made dragon roars its way toward him, stony maw gaping wide and dark. he doesn't divert this one, instead leaping off moosely's back and bringing the axe crashing down on its stone-scaled back. there is a shudder; then the mana bleeds from its form and it crashes motionless into the ground, maddox following suit with little more improvement, hitting the ground with a heavy thud before he rolls and stands back up.
moosely, freed from the burden of a rider, turns his attention to where kirjava engages panagos' wolverine. a rock crashes into his shoulder; he takes the hit with a snort, and then he charges.
but the forest is bent to panagos' beck and call, and it takes only a flick of her hand before the ground beneath their feet vanishes, earth collapsing to fall away into craters seven feet deep, herself raised on a plateau like a ruler on their throne. the landing below is not kind -- the plantshaper has crafted a hellscape out of simple stone, jagged spikes adorning the bottom of a grave.
for a breathless moment, maddox falls. and then he doesn't.
he smiles, crooked and vicious and sharp. "you'll have to try harder than that, you know."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on May 27, 2018 9:22:03 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
pulling back a fire that has spread itself over a mile and has plenty more fuel to devour is harder than it may seem. it fights his grasp, writhing and roiling and snarling at the end of his control in a wild attempt to tear free, to rage itself into something monstrous and towering and ravenous. kasimir can certainly see why so many scrolls caution against taking on such drastic spells without the proper precautions.
kirjava and the wolverine meet in a flurry of claws and fangs and wild eyes, fur bristling on end as they clash in a visceral physical fight. fire licks along kirjava's spine and cloaks her in a haze of crimson and amber, but panagos' familiar counters with an armour of stone. embers and dust trail in their wake; she scours a vicious hit from his shoulder to belly with claws tipped in blades of fire, but he returns the favour with a bite to her shoulder so brutal that kasimir almost falls out of the sky. of course, the living fire dancing along her fur burns his mouth and snout in retaliation; and so it continues.
"fuck you!" panagos snarls, wrathful frustration twisting her face as maddox counters her trap; a gesture and two stone atronachs spring into existence, ready to serve their master's will. before they can, however, both kasimir and his clone self intercept them; he decapitates one with a sword of starfire while his clone distracts the other.