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","dawnscroll"]the sky lightens, and the earth takes a breath. a breeze flows past, with lingering touches of petrichor, bonfire, and magic. the golden light spreads soft and the fire crackles, gentle at first but growing stronger each second, heralding the arrival of saturnalia.[break][break]
feel the clouds break — feel the sun warm your skin. breathe in, and watch the people burn away their sorrows in the fire-flicker pyre. [break][break]
he stands by the side, the bonfire’s warmth chasing away the chill of an early morning. it is a moment of calm, and for the first time in a long time, his eyes are gentle ; he looks not at the flames but at the sky, coaxing the wind into but a whisper at the fringes of the gathering. [break][break]
there are memoirs of people long gone carved into his memory and tucked under his tongue, a folded token tucked into his jacket pocket. remembrance, to the rothscuses, comes as ravenously as wintertime, but for now, he basks in the warmth of a new dawn, and skies are calm.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 15, 2019 8:19:39 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
softly, the dawn arrives, on satin-clad feet, with misty hair and day-seeking eyes and a splay of skirts in every shade of orange-pink man can imagine. she steps forth to salt and sea-wind and a city painted in crimson and gold, to winding streets and slumbering houses, to the wild tangle of forests down south and the rolling verdant hills westwards facing. she is glorious but quiet, a little-appreciated artist painting the skies in the liminal space between night and day-bright; but today, today she is greeted with laughter and cheers, hundreds of people gathered to watch her rise in all her splendour.
see now, to anyone to claims there is no hope left for this world and its people: there is this. there is the dawn, and a bonfire, and broken ends being burned away for a new beginning.
there is no such hope for himself, of course - it is far too late for that - but it is nice, nonetheless, to drift the celebratory streets and borrow the feeling of revelry and joy just for this day. in his pockets, there are trinkets and paper slips, ready to burn, but... they regrets, foolish hopes and dreams that could never be realised. they can wait for after this rare light mood of his - happiness is a commodity to be treasured.
a large group of people bustle by, colourful and exuberant and loud as a parade. it is an infectious cheer, one he cannot help but smile at even as he steps back, ducks around towards the quieter fringes. a quick step to the side and it is his turn now to bump into someone; "my apologies," he says, turning around- and the rest of his words die in his throat.
[attr="class","dawnscroll"]his heart is light beneath his sternum, and the winds are feather-light on his skin. they are ushering out history to make room for possibility ; they are new gods at the dawning of a universe, the fates at their fingertips. the sky takes a breath, and maddox raises an arm to arc the wind far and wide above, letting the bonfire blossom untouched. [break][break]
he lowers his arm, and his elbow bumps into a body previously not there. [break][break]
“my apologies,” says a familiar voice.
[break] maddox turns around. [break][break]
the firelight flickers. between the soft dawn lights and the bonfire’s shifting shadows, there is a curious softness to his features. he searches himself for something — anger, or even fear — but he does not find it.[break][break]
( deeper in, there is a protest swelling in ethamie’s throat ; then, he recedes, and says nothing. )[break][break]
he looks at kasimir, head held at the slightest of tilts, and says, “what for? you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 15, 2019 8:48:20 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
everything of the soft, light warmth in his chest vanishes as mist to day, something ice-cold and heavy settling into his bones in its place. it takes him a few heartbeats to recognise the feeling as fear.
fire-cast shadows dance across that too-familiar face, an expression there between the flickering filaments of light that he does not recognise. strangely, it is not the anger nor the hatred that he expects to see - those emotions he would recognise even blinded and deaf - and neither is there what he himself is terrified of most: fear. instead, maddox looks... soft? something less of the blade-sharp edges and roiling storm and lightning-static of the witch he has come to know. by the firelight, he looks all too dizzyingly real, tangible in flesh and warm skin and blood.
( in contrast, kasimir feels pale, all angles and bones and chill seeped beneath his skin. like something brittle, that a single rough touch could destroy, something flimsy and light that the wind could sweep up and away. )
he swallows the fragments of phrases that spring to tongue - i'm sorry and forgive me and how could i repent - cuts his tongue on their broken edges and forces them back down his throat; you didn’t do anything wrong, maddox says, and he cannot stop his eyes from darting to the other witch's mechanical arm. a counterargument in a glance - didn't i?, he does not say, and he does not say it very loudly indeed. guilt is a living tension beneath his ribs, cloying and breathless, a monster gorged on a feast of self-shame.
"sorry-" he says again. "maddox, i-" reaches out without thinking and halts himself as soon as he realises. "i'm sorry," he finally manages, looks up and looks away. "this- this was not how i intended to apologise."
[attr="class","dawnscroll"]he feels the glance more than he sees it; lets an eyebrow quirk up almost questioningly. continues to regard kasimir with an expression unreadable.[break][break]
it’s cruel, probably, to not offer anything and to let the other witch fumble like that. alas, he is uncertain about what to say, or what even to feel: he is not angry, even if an uneasy frustration churns in his familiar’s belly. he is not scared, even though he remembers vividly the terror that froze his veins to ice. he does not hurt, not really; he does not blame kasimir — he knows it was not his fault.[break][break]
perhaps he should; it had been the summoner’s hands that wielded the blade, after all. at that point, though, it becomes unfair. maddox is a purifier with eyes sharper than most; he knows that there had been some other influence in the tunnels that night. but still—[break][break]
his fingers twitch. he folds his arms, lifts his chin and looks at kasimir, firelight reflecting orange in his eyes. “things rarely go as intended,” he says.[break][break]
then lower, almost rushed, almost desperate for confirmation. he hates how he sounds. “when you— that day— did you want to do it?”
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 17, 2019 2:42:38 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
somehow, it feels all the more damning that he cannot read into maddox's expressions, knows not what to make of the single raised eyebrow that invites him to make a further mess of whatever they have- had- between them. he has known maddox as a teenager drunk on youth and impulsive decisions, someone to laugh with and love and take on his master's crime rings with, the son of mafia boss he ideologically opposes, a potential enemy; a partner, a colleague, a friend, a fierce fighter, a lover of terrible humour, an interesting person, a kind man. he has known maddox for a time and a half - albeit not necessarily under the same name or face - all of that, and yet, in this moment he feels as though he does not know maddox at all.
they have never been just acquaintances, not really; perhaps, he thinks with something hollow settled under his skin, perhaps this is what it feels like to be just another stranger, just another person, the history between them left behind in the past for a now-reality of somebody that he used to know but does not, anymore. a bonfire burning to let go of the past, perhaps it is fate, or cruel irony, that this is where they meet again.
he thinks he would prefer to be hated, over that.
maddox moves, finally ( for a moment, he thinks he will be punched, braces for it but does not move because it is deserved several times over ), he folds his arms and lifts his chin. the fire weaves orange into his hair, and the rising sun crowns him in gold; he looks like a king of old, all strong lines and impassive, ready to cast judgement.
but the words that come are hurried, almost urgent, like a need to know. kasimir recoils, shock crossing his features, unable to stop himself from reacting so strongly to the implied accusation. "what? no! never- not you—" he bites back the jumble of words that clamour to spill forth, denials he knows are true deeply and instinctively; he would never- not to maddox- not to someone he-
he takes a small step back, eyes desperately searching maddox's expression. "did you- did you really think that? that i wanted to do that to you?" it comes out all but a whisper, hurt and horror threading through the words he wishes he could take back and hide. he has forgotten what it means to be a villain, to be someone to be wary and suspicious of by people he genuinely trusts-
perhaps it is better to be a stranger, someone maddox no longer cares about, after all.
[attr="class","dawnscroll"]he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth ; guilt snakes under his skin like old rusted fishhooks and a dull sort of pain, and he fumbles for words in ways he so rarely ever does — maddox rothscus has a habit of being sure about everything, of decisions swiftly made and executed, reassuring in their certainty. now, though, that falls apart.[break][break]
“fuck— no, that’s not what i—” there is a fracture in the facade: there is relief, and tension bleeding out of his shoulders and the set of his jaw ; there is guilt, immediately, at even having considered it, flooding his lungs and leaving him short for words like a drowning man. his voice is soft. not soft in the way of sheeps’ wool or gentle touches, but light and fragile and spiked with something anxious like a sparrow’s bones, a heart laid bare. “i don’t— not really— look, i trust you— still! i really do! i just needed to hear it, i think.”[break][break]
“i didn’t know where to find you, after— i thought, maybe, just maybe, you might’ve had your fun and left, and i know that’s a stupid thought, because you’re a better person than that and i should have been worrying about your safety instead, after all that—”[break][break]
a pause ; a hint of a break in his voice ; he stops.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 24, 2019 12:07:23 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
he thinks he could be sick. that he is so cold in maddox's eyes- that maddox does not know how important he is to kasimir- the thought that maddox sincerely believed he, kasimir, could honestly mean to maim him, murder him-
( he is not a good person, he knows. he is an assassin, he has ruined lives, killed people, betrayed trust upon the orders of his masters. he served a mafia lord for nigh on a decade; he is not a good person. but for maddox, he wants to be; for maddox, he would take the punishment, take his chances, plot rebellion and anarchy should his masters ever set sight on the man )
but maddox's shoulders relax, the hard lines of his silhouette softening in the flickering firelight. something flashes in his storm-grey eyes like lightning; it looks almost like- almost like... guilt? that is not important though, that is not what catches and keeps his attention. maddox's words are bones laid bare, fragmented thoughts glimmering like shards of glass, filaments of lightning and paper-thin breaths. there is a break, something fracturing, splintering, something like fragility and vulnerability that has nothing to do with strength.
kasimir swallows, hating himself for causing this, these words, these cracks, what he has wrought. he does not know what to say, to do. "no," he says says at last, forcing the strangled syllables past his dry throat, cutting his tongue on the shape of his horror. "no- after what i did— you had every right- every reason to think that— to feel that—"
the words will not come out, not the shape he wants them to. wishes he could just sink his fingers into his chest and pull out every tangled emotion there and show it to maddox like a terrible sort of haruspicy; he closes his mouth so hard he tastes blood, digs his nails into his flesh, and tries again. "i'm sorry," he chokes out, because he is, he really is, he wants to atone so badly it aches like a rupture against his ribs. "i'm sorry, i should have- should have found you immediately after and apologised, atoned. i just— i didn't think you would—" want to see me ever again; he cuts himself off for a second time, because he does not deserve to make excuses.
third time. "anything you want," he says quietly, lifting his eyes to maddox's solemnly, seriously. it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of them, just the two of them and the firelight dancing across their faces. "anything you want from me," he repeats, the words weighted, shaped like both a promise and a plea. knows full well what he might be giving, what he might be asked for. it is worth it. for anything besides saskia's health and safety, it is worth it. "i will give to you."
[attr="class","dawnscroll"]the air between them is thick and cloying, like a dense fog rendering him blind and senseless. he has never felt so useless before now, with words stuck in his throat like barbed wire and the taste of something bitter on his tongue. his heart is going at a million miles per minute and not at the rapid wardrum battlesong that he revels in, but like a sparrow’s fluttering wings against the cage of his ribs, weak and powerless.[break][break]
then there is an offer and it catches him off-guard, mid-fall; pauses the torrent of emotion nonsensical and confusing, forces him to pause and try to gather himself — think. he takes a breath, deep and shuddering, forcing cold air into his lungs and feeling the cold sting of it at the back of his throat — focus.[break][break]
“that’s a terrible offer, you know that?” he says shakily, with a not-quite laugh. “gods— i don’t— what makes you think i know what i want?”[break][break]
( except that that’s not quite true, you know, because deep down he knows, a lingering sort of truth brewing beneath his skin. he wants simpler times, happier times, where there is naught but the thrill of the mission and the magic thrumming through the air ; he wants the aftermath of fights, when they are whittled down to being simply human of flesh and bone, not weapons of mass destruction with self-contained natural disaster lurking between their bones ; he wants to be with kasimir, plain and simple, ever since kasimir had crashed into his life so long ago and maddox had caught the faintest of smiles playing across his lips — and he had thought to himself, quietly and helplessly, oh no. )[break][break]
“how about this,” he ends up saying, slowly, not trusting his voice but speaking nonetheless. “i want you to stop blaming yourself for things beyond your control. this—” he shifts his stance, tries to straighten up once more, tries to gather himself up and pull some semblance of composure back into his spine, “and we both know this, now — this wasn’t your fault.”
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Feb 4, 2019 12:04:54 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
it feels like a small forever, waiting for maddox's response. his judgement, his decree; kasimir barely dares to look upon his fate save for the knowledge that whatever it is, he deserves, whatever it is, he will gladly pay. and so he sees the pause, the point-fractal moment blooming across maddox's face in patterns that will gather to become thoughts, words.
for some reason, he thinks of a pair of battered ships caught between the storm waves cast by the play of fire-shadows; salt-soaked wood and white tattered sails like both a surrender and a challenge. there is no end in sight, the horizon curving far beyond the dreamy mists and the post-awakening sky.
he does not expect the sheer hurt that lances through him at maddox's rejection, fracture lines webbing through the ivory framework that holds his paper skin and bones together. for one shaky moment, he wonders if this is their end, if maddox does not want what pathetic little he can scrape from his cobbled-together life, built atop blood and bones and lies. what more can he offer to give? he would give it so, were he to know.
a terrible offer, he thinks, and knows it is not meant the way he feels it quake in his heart, but he cannot seem to clear his veins of the despair that fills his lungs in ichor and bitter ink. "i don't know what else i can offer," he whispers, and hears himself at as if from a distance, numb and faint. "i don't know what else i can give you."
despite the bonfire wrapping him in golden warmth, despite the sunlight seeping into the morning air, he feels cold, like the fires smouldering within his bones have been doused. "how about this," maddox says, and it is with some effort that he forces himself to listen. strangely, maddox's voice sounds a little like how kasimir feels, glass-thin and translucent and almost fragile.
he stills. trust maddox to ask for something that does not make sense, that he cannot give because he cannot understand. "how is it not?" he says bleakly, gaze drawn to the mechanical arm like something magnetised - the guilty drawn to the scene of his crime. he runs a hand roughly through his hair, beyond caring for how he appears, what emotions he is displaying oh so clearly like vulnerabilities painted in scarlet. "i don't understand. i can't give it to you— i don't understand."
[attr="class","dawnscroll"]the words flow freely now, like bones unlocking under the gossamer of his skin which now feels all too thin. there are thoughts clashing and fragments of sentences that could-have-been crashing. if there had been something broken before, now is when one realises it had only been as fractured as the shell of the earth, tectonic plates rattling his bones ; there is a self-contained hurricane lurking beneath his ribcage, running silver through his veins.[break][break]
“it’s not your fault,” he says, and it is in earnest now, his voice stronger and more insistent, wishing he could in some way tear kasimir’s gaze from the prosthetic. it is simply the aftermath of a stroke of bad luck, a bad roll on a pair of dice somewhere far off in the cosmos, a cruel joke played by laughing gods ; it is not his fault, and maddox can only hope that if he says it enough, kasimir will start believing it. [break][break]
he spreads his fingers, palms up, placating. “listen, then,” he says. pleads. begs. “you didn’t want to do it — it’s not your fault. it is not your fault.”[break][break]
how do you make someone understand? there is only so much he can do with words. how do you rip out your still-beating heart and present it to them on a silver platter and say, look, this is what i mean. say : trust me, like the ancients trusted the prophets to deliver them the words of gods ; and here i’m not saying i’m a god, i don’t know everything, but i am trying, and isn’t that the best we can do right now?[break][break]
“you asked me what i wanted,” he whispers now, softer, as though you can hear the truth clearer in the quiet. “and i mean what i say.”
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Nov 2, 2019 21:39:38 GMT
[nospaces]
[attr="class","ashni-frame"]
[attr="class","ashni-stars"] ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
[attr="class","ashni-textbox"]there is an odd sort of despair in hearing words spoken yet understanding nothing; he wants so desperately to listen, to obey, to give maddox all that he is asking for with such earnestness in his voice. but there is a plea there he cannot decipher, emotions he cannot processes; like the magnetising gravity of a radiant sun, his gaze is drawn away from the damning arm and to the heart spilling out of storm-grey eyes. [break][break]
it arrests him, the look in maddox's eyes. it roots him in place. awakens a creature in his chest. there is so much writhing beneath his breastbone that he cannot breathe; it overflows into his lungs as a torrent, a cataclysm, a frenzy of atoms and stardust and embers so bright he feels sick down to his bones. he has burned in the middle of firestorm and felt less than this. [break][break]
he does not know what expression his face is making. he imagines it it something like a wild thing, desperation spilling from each crevice.[break][break]
but this is not about him; this is so far beyond what is about him that he almost wants to stab himself, to stop thinking. maddox could have asked for his service, his submission, for murder or mayhem or to never see him again; for kirjava's True Name and he would have given it without hesitation — what is a little self-forgiveness to that?[break][break]
and yet
[break] "i want to give it to you," he says, and oh, he sounds about a match to how he feels. every muscle within him is corded tight with tension, every bone smouldering. his heart shatters his ribcage with each beat, frantic as it fights his own body. "i would- i hear what you say- for you-"[break][break]
but- but. butbutbutbutbut— ! [break][break]
he makes a noise and it sounds like dying, it sounds like drowning, it sounds like something broken and splintered and a little bit of everything screaming within him.
[attr="class","junescroll"] he draws a breath, and it is an awful, shuddering thing that stampedes across the landscape of him. and he thinks, what a sight they must make in the eyes of the unforgiving gods that watch from above, the same gods that have watched ruination a thousand times over and scarcely blinked an eye. what a sight, these poor unfortunate souls, trying to reassemble their jagged edges into a coherent whole, trying to tuck broken shards of bone back behind their skeleton like everything is alright.[break][break]
there is something that flutters in his chest, something that roils between tender and sharp and vulnerable and he is afraid, suddenly, because he has become aware that kasimir in this instant holds his heart between his teeth. it is not that he does not trust him —— it is that suddenly there is an apology that lurches forward in his throat despite it all, because he is suddenly sorry —— sorry that it is him, and that he has never known how to ease the pain, only dig his fingers in and press harder into the bruise until it is maddeningly all-consuming.[break][break]
that is to say: forgiveness is a tricky thing, because he thinks it is the right thing to do, but he cannot help but think that he is somehow hurting kasimir more with every word. is it truly impossible, what he asks for? it would have been easier to stay angry.[break][break]
"okay— okay——" he is drawing his shoulders back, recollecting the best he can, because there is nothing he can do about anything if he is choking on this unholy sincerity. he thinks he must be going mad. he doesn't recognise his voice. "this— ha ha ! gods—— this is a lot." [break][break]
he urges himself to remember that perhaps, for once in his life, repetition is not key; that he can repeat the phrase over and over and over and they can stand here on this godforsaken ground for eternity and nothing will happen if he is simply saying things. there are things that need to be done. things that cannot happen overnight. "look—— that's all i need to hear." he remembers how to breathe. "it doesn't have to be now, but until you understand ——— i'm patient."[break][break]
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Nov 9, 2019 15:38:19 GMT
[nospaces]
[attr="class","ashni-frame"]
[attr="class","ashni-stars"] ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
[attr="class","ashni-textbox"]this is wrong. it is all wrong- all wrong— this, an apology disjointed and fragmented and stitched together in all the wrong orders, edges that should not fit seamed together with firelight, words and syllables ink-stained against his tongue tasting of thunder and thorns. this, what ruination he has caused. what wreckage, what wounds.[break][break]
maddox looks like someone had set an explosion in his chest and cracked his ribs apart to tear a handful of emotions out like innards — raw ; bloodstained ; messy. he looks like someone has set him alight and forgot to tell him how to burn. he looks like how kasimir feels. something with too many sharp edges and too many dimensions and far, far too wild to be contained within a fragile bone-and-flesh body, sealed within tissue-paper skin.[break][break]
i'm sorry, kasimir says, yet what a story his actions tell of. he would be better off gone.[break][break]
he cannot bring himself to leave. not again; maybe not ever. [break][break]
( 'i don't mind waiting for you' maddox says. does he understand the magnitude of what he is offering? what he is giving? to kasimir, of all people? )
[break]
he presses a hand to his eyes, completely devoid of any mask despite covering his face. it is— so much. too much. the eye of a hurricane is supposed to be peaceful. perhaps they are caught in the eye wall instead. [break][break]
"maddox," he says- whispers; his voice is thick. there may be tears— he cannot tell anymore. he does not care anymore. he removes his hand. looks at the man - really looks - and it is like looking at a star; or a supernova shattering the spacetime continuum. "i— you—"[break][break]
the words do not come. he makes a noise, somewhere between frustrated and agonised. "i'm so- i'm sorry," and it is not about the arm. step closer, hesitantly, almost reluctantly, like an asteroid caught by the gravitational pull of the sun. [break][break]
( 'i don't mind waiting for you.' it echoes, like a promise. )
[break]
when had this stopped being an apology and become a confession instead? [break][break]
kirjava is a star-spark burning in his chest. watching through his eyes, feeling the quasar collision beneath his ribs, the kugelblitz in his heart. 'say it!' she urges. 'stop apologising, say something! say it!'[break][break]
( 'i don't mind waiting for you.' )
[break]
"one day," he says, and it is like a rush, a tide released. "if- if you'll have me. if you want me. i can. i can come back- keep coming back. to you. i won't run, and. and. one day."[break][break]
he looks away. the bonfire burns. he looks back. his eyes are burning. [break][break]
"i won't make you wait too long. i promise."
[attr="class","ashni-tags"] @ maddox rothscus ✨[break] # what a mess
