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 Nov 20, 2019 2:39:08 GMT
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in the instant following the spell, kasimir darts forwards. a flash of steel gleaming silver with mana, two slashes, and the witch falls, crying out with a strangled gasp as his legs go abruptly numb, paralysed from thigh down. maddox's opponent fairs similarly — that is to say: not well at all.[break][break]
he stands slightly to the side as his partner and moosely threaten the two criminals, looming over them an ominous glint in their eyes that do not bode well, the air suddenly heavy as lead in their lungs. kasimir lets his aura fade a little — not completely, still enough to cling to his shoulders like a silver-soft veil — but it is a subtler thing now, like a morning mist. his wings he banishes, his sword he keeps, along with a steady, unwavering gaze at the witch that lies at his feet. [break][break]
to be quite frank, were kasimir in the position of lying prone with moosely glaring at him, hoof rested on his chest — well. there are things that are worth resisting for, but loyalty towards a criminal boss intent on poisoning sundial citizens is not one of them. evidently, the alchemist wholeheartedly agrees. "l-look, i'll tell you what you want! just- just don't let him stomp on me, please!"[break][break]
"shut up, you traitor—!" his sword finds a resting point at the illusionist's throat, and then man finds his words cut off abruptly as he eyes the blade's edge warily. not that he could have done much with his legs still not working. [break][break]
"where is silva's hideout?" he asks softly, cutting straight to the most important question with no room for denials. kirjava pads to his side, eyes gleaming but silent. "who else is working with you?"
[attr="class","ashni-tags"] @ maddox rothscus ✨[break] # scrolls used: wings of an angel, aura of the king, the merciful sword
[attr="class","junescroll"] the way he stands there, weight resting on one leg, fingers curled lazily around the spell --- it doesn't look like an interrogation, until one steps back to take in the whole picture. then, and only then, might one realise the risks of being faced with these two acolytes. two witches who, in the instant, hold their power with the casualness that only comes with having an abundance of it. that is to say: comfortably, like an extension of themselves. that is to say: dangerously. [break][break]
one of the perpetrators, at least, has the sense to note that. perhaps it has to do with the moose's hoof placed delicately over their sternum. moosely tends to have that effect. perhaps it has to the gleaming eyes of the ocelot next to them, because the deadliest knives are the silent ones.[break][break]
"it- it's a warehouse, not too far from here-" and out comes the confession, stumbling over their tongue in the hurry to escape. maddox loosens the hold on the spell, rolling his shoulders back in a stretch as he lets the air flood back into their lungs. moosely lifts his hoof ; wisely, the witch does not dare to move yet, save for gulping in fresh air with a desperation like a man drowning.[break][break]
"you should follow your friend's example more often," he says to the man at the end of kasimir's blade, and his tone is utterly conversational, like he's offering sage counsel over lunch. he has never once taken a word of his own advice, but it has never stopped him from tossing it at others. "it's wise to know when you are beaten."[break][break]
he turns to his mission partner, one eyebrow arched above the other. the posturing drops abruptly, here, and the confusion written on his features turns him sheepish and boyish, a face at odds with the image of a lightning-wielding mercenary. "we've got our info, so uh, what were we supposed to do with these guys, again? should i just- is moosely on babysitting duty? while we-" he gestures with a hand, jerking his thumb out to a side, "-skedaddle and go after silva?"
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 15, 2020 23:50:58 GMT
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it is a little sad, really, the scene that frames the four of them now. he honestly feels a smidge of pity for the two witches sprawled on the ground before he and maddox — knowing they are far outclassed yet defiance wants to straighten their spines and sharpen their teeth, but unable to do so much as even that for the magic and fear that presses against their chests. he has been in such a position before, far too many times to not feel sympathy; and yet. the pity dies as he recalls the plot these minions are involved in.[break][break]
a warehouse. an imprecise direction to say the least, but it is something. it is enough to work with, for he and maddox; they have made do with less. [break][break]
still. he manages an entirely unimpressed expression directed at both alchemists, and a sharper one still as the one facing his blade attempts to inch away. he wilts in tandem to maddox's words, and stops — perhaps one of the only smart decisions made this day. although, in all fairness, kasimir cannot say he himself has always heeded the wisdom of such advice, and he very much doubts maddox can claim differently either. they are a foolish pair, the two of them; but at least they have the strength to back their foolishness ( mostly ). [break][break]
he barely resists the urge to smile ( entirely inappropriately ) as his partner turns to him, expression suddenly boyish and far too charming as compared to the fierce and terrifying warrior from a few seconds previous. ( he suspects his face goes a little soft, for all his efforts to the contrary. ) "no need to torment moosely like that," he says, eyes bright with amusement. catching the gaze of a silvertongue apprentice lingering a safe distance away, he gestures for her to come forth, along with several other witches from their coven. "please arrest and contain these witches. take them to the city cells under guard," he instructs them. "alchemists, both. that one is an atheneum, and that one an illusionist. they have conspired to poison the saturnalian feast."[break][break]
as his fellow silvertongue witches hurry forwards to bind the two now-subdued criminals, kasimir wanders over to maddox's side, sword dissolving into nothingness as he dismisses it from existence. "the warehouse mentioned. i have an idea of where that may be," he says softly.
[attr="class","ashni-tags"] @ maddox rothscus ✨[break] # scrolls used: wings of an angel, aura of the king, the merciful sword
[attr="class","junescroll"] they will say, at a later date, that power corrupts --- but they are not there yet, you see. they do not chase power for power's sake, and in that lies all the difference. still, it is difficult to tell the difference in the flickering light of the scene: the air remains heavy with ozone, and you'd swear there is something post-human lurking beneath their skin, waiting to break free. these are witches who have come to forge an understanding of the ether, who understand now that it is all about being a vessel; you only have to pray that it will not tear you apart from the inside out.[break][break]
( here is the key: turn the ends of your ribs as sharp as the mana-forged swords that you summon; let the thunder rumble wild across the landscape of your body; it is a delicate dance and you have to match the magic, step for step. )[break][break]
the evidence lingers, if one looks close enough. there, in the storm-grey gleam of his eyes as the silvertongue witches hasten to lighten them of their quarry; there, in the way the lines of his body draw taut with the promise of a further hunt.[break][break]
"let us know if they cause any more trouble," he says, and it shows in his voice too, mirth dancing across it like lightning across the skyline. he leaves the threat hanging in midair, turning to kasimir instead. the familiar melts back into non-existence, and maddox leans forward, anticipating.[break][break]
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 16, 2020 11:01:30 GMT
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everything is a performance, and the world is the stage.[break][break]
he knows not from whence that quote came from but he knows the truth of it — knows it in flicker-tongue of lightning lurking in his partner's eyes, the glow of embers glittering between his crimson hair, the hum of mana radioactive-white against his bones. he knows it as intimately as a kiss, knows it like a paper-thin skin pressed against his flesh and veins in a facsimile of a person, a witch. [break][break]
everything is a performance, the world is a stage, and he and maddox both are actors dancing the fine line between pretence and reality. and truthfully, he would have it no other way, with no other person. the purifier turns to him with a smile fey-like and wild as thunder; it is an inappropriate time to smile in return, perhaps, but he does so anyway; helplessly.[break][break]
"a hunt," kirjava says, delighted. she darts ahead, sunlight and shadows both dancing across her coat in ripples of gold, feet swift and unerring as any hunter atop the world would be. the warehouse they suspect is a big one, but derelict — the sort of setting so utterly clichéd for a criminal posse that there practically could be no other.[break][break]
and they are right, he is fairly certain. as they approach closer, his witch's intuition washes over the warehouse and he cocks his head, sensing. "around 30 to 35 witches in there, i think," he says quietly. kirjava's eyes gleam at the thought of a good fight. "fledgling or apprentice level, most of them. silva may be in there too? i cannot be certain — he seems to by cloaking himself in some way."
[attr="class","ashni-tags"] @ maddox rothscus ✨[break] # scrolls used: wings of an angel, aura of the king, the merciful sword
[attr="class","junescroll"] a witch alone is a soul cleft in half --- their power lies in part with their ethereal counterparts, but do not mistake it for weakness. break a blade in two and that's twice the sharp edges. careful, you'll cut yourself.[break][break]
the ocelot and her summoner dart ahead in a sunburst streak of gold, and maddox follows on their heels. lightning has left him now, its sparking arcs fading with the familiar. he is only flesh and bone now, that's what he always says, but the magic's a mundane sort now. watch close: we're talking power still, and this time it is held in the slope of his shoulders, and the unmasked thud of boots against cobblestone that speaks of that devil-may-care nerve.[break][break]
the nature of his profession dictates that a purifier governs himself with rules. here is one: you cannot be afraid of getting your hands dirty.[break][break]
"we can get these guys sorted first, then move on to silva." his gaze slides towards kirjava, the corners of his lips quirked upwards. "i'll get moosely to find where he might be. let you enjoy the fight while it lasts."[break][break]
that is all the warning he offers, before he is striding forward, the familiar appearing behind him with a crack of thunder. a heel braced against the warehouse's main door, he shoves --- the wind shrieks, wood splinters --- and the door opens.[break][break]
the moon streams in from behind them, and paints the duo in silver light, otherworldly and untouchable. his voice grounds them and renders them human, ringing out over startled faces and the beginnings of familiars materialising --- consider this: are they more dangerous, perhaps, because they can bleed?[break][break]
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 16, 2020 12:31:45 GMT
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he laughs at maddox's utter confidence, a fond sound that matches the softness of his smile. the purifier deserves it, he thinks, holds every right to wear that complete self-conviction around his shoulders like a cloak, tailored to fit the curve of his shoulders; it suits him, in the same way storm-fury suits his silver eyes. "shouldn't take too long," kirjava agrees with a matching fanged grin, eyes glittering like smokey golden lamps. her claws dig into the ground; and she is but a few seconds behind maddox as he disintegrates the poor door to splinters.[break][break]
the doorway frames them like something out of a gallery, backlit by moon and righteous wrath — a portrait of two warriors come to burn the house to ash. for a moment, the world halts; balanced on the gossamer-thin precipice of a singular point in time; the fragility of glass right before it hits the ground. and then: maddox's voice rings out; and then: the moment shatters; and then: the fight begins. [break][break]
thirty-odd voices yell out in an incoherent wash of noise, familiars of all shapes and sizes coalescing into reality. perhaps some might have actually attempted surrender, but it is impossible to tell. spells fly out, vibrionus and knockerbacker and every single element; kirjava roars and leaps into the fray, flame wrapping around her like a fiery regalia, a phoenix screaming at her side. [break][break]
kasimir, too, darts forth, luminary gleaming as a halo at his brow, merciful sword summoned to his hand. he counters fire for fire, but otherwise contents himself with the flash of steel, swift and unerring as it flashes across limbs to paralyse them. his heart beats a tattoo against his ribs, lips peel back from his teeth, fire wreathing his hair as a living nimbus of red-gold; this is battle and this is where he belongs.
[attr="class","ashni-tags"] @ maddox rothscus ✨[break] # scrolls used: wings of an angel, aura of the king, the merciful sword, luminary
[attr="class","junescroll"] one may describe the summoner as graceful. that is certainly what maddox thinks of him: there is an elegance to the destruction, this flame-clad avenger and his phoenix-fire familiar. he is the image of a king in this instant, merciful with his inferno-made-crown.[break][break]
'grace' is not a word one associates with maddox. it only takes a moment to realise this: look at the way he rushes forward, head lowered like a charging bull. look at the way he turns his body into a weapon --- no magic here, and that's the terrifying realisation --- he does not rise to meet an opponent at their level, but he digs his claws in deep and drags them down.[break][break]
see, the word you are looking for is brutal.[break][break]
one gets accustomed to magic, sometimes. they'll say it turns you lazy, when the air you breathe is so saturated with it. see, now, how difficult it is when the tools of your trade are stripped away from you, a blade turned against your own throat.[break][break]
he slips control from their grasps, turns spells against casters, and does not hold back in his swings. a crack of a knuckle against an unsuspecting jaw --- an apprentice falls with a startled shriek. they fall into a rhythm, hearts beating like battledrums against their chest. maddox scarcely notes the way moosely barges through a small crowd of other familiars, in search of silva's scent.[break][break]
it is a small voice that breaks the battle, stuttered in surprise, coloured with recognition. the witch's eyes flicker, frantic, between the two. "y-you!"[break][break]
maddox stills. note: no one dares to touch him, in this instant. [break][break]
note: the first person he looks to is kasimir, momentary confusion arcing his brows higher. [break][break]
he straightens up. without the blur of battle, his features are painted in the moonlight that filters through the rafters. the harsh line of a jaw moves as he exhales slowly. "me?" a pause. "him?"
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 17, 2020 5:01:56 GMT
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this instant, this drumbeat — it is like starfire. dancing to the swell of mana in the air, embers glittering like incandescent diamonds against a backdrop of chaos as if the early universe were coalescing into being, arcs of crimson and amber and gold sweeping you off of your feet. his is the flash of star-metal steel, the halo of light illuminating his face in planes of white; dives through a wash of water and emerges from the other side wreathed in living flame. he burns too brightly to be mortal.[break][break]
maddox is the thunder, the battledrums, the war god of blood and bone, dissolving the very shape of spells till there is nothing but your living-flesh body left; the crack of a punch, bruises blossoming like peonies against a watercolour skin. between them, they crash against the crowd of witches as a wild thing too akin to a natural disaster to be halted; and behind them they leave dazed and scattered bodies in their wake.[break][break]
and suddenly: there is a pause, a lull. "y-you!" a voice of recognition and horror. maddox stills, and kasimir follows; and so do the rest of the warehouse. he exchanges a confused look with his partner, a shrug of shoulders to indicate that no, he does not know what is going on either. none of their opponents move, save perhaps to discretely shuffle backwards. [break][break]
"you!" the witch speaks again, sounding both disbelieving and terrified. he points a shaking finger at maddox, almost accusing. "you- you're the Tempest! you're the fucking Tempest! oh my god you can't be- you're like, twenty- ! the Tempest-!"[break][break]
ah, thinks kasimir, and valiantly fights to urge to die laughing.
[attr="class","ashni-tags"] @ maddox rothscus ✨[break] # scrolls used: wings of an angel, aura of the king, the merciful sword, luminary
[attr="class","junescroll"] he does not wear inaction well. even in the brief span of these few seconds, he grows restless; strides forward with a crack of his knuckles. see, he does not mean it as a threat, but it would not be difficult to mistake it as such. maddox stops short of the witch, gaze shifting to land on the accusing finger, confusion swiftly schooled away in favour of a single brow arched --- in the face of the stranger's disbelief, he is unimpressed.[break][break]
"i'm the-" now, he speaks, an echo at first. he's tasting the words, rolling them around on his tongue as he registers what is being said. it takes a moment, unfortunately; in the midst of a fight, the battlesong wildness is closer to the surface than he would like, and they are slow to settle. it clicks, suddenly.[break][break]
a bark of a laugh; it rings out harsh, before he speaks, indignant. "c'mon, really?" he drags a hand across the slope of his cheek, clean-shaven for now, with only a shadow of scruff. maybe he should've left it. he voices the sentiment to kasimir, momentarily thoughtful. "should i have left the..?" a vague wave of the hand in the general direction of his face.[break][break]
here's the thing: there is a weakness there, exposed. it lies in the name. maddox is quick to latch on.[break][break]
when there's blood in the water-[break][break]
he exhales, short and sharp. "right. since you know who i am," maddox begins, and he's a towering figure at this proximity, too close for comfort. "perhaps you'll want to do my friend and i a favour, hm? save your pals some broken bones? we've just gotta get to your boss, no hard feelings."[break][break]
a pause, deliberate. the sudden smile is playful, mirth curling the corners of his words. "of course, unless you fancy a proper fight? i reckon we can stop holding back if you want us to."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 18, 2020 1:36:41 GMT
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maddox looks so utterly unimpressed that it is almost physically painful not to break down and laugh. the slowly dawning horror on all their opponents' faces only adds to the hilarity. he is quite certain he caught at least a whimper or two — maddox has certainly made a reputation for himself. [break][break]
'not quite there yet,' kirjava remarks in the sanctity of their minds. she, too, sounds immensely entertained. 'no one's pissed their pants yet. seven out of ten, bonus points for the unintentional nature of it.'[break][break]
he loses his battle with composure as maddox drags an indignant hand across his face. "i believe the description is 'fresh-faced'" he says innocently, a grin tugging at his lips. "at least he did not mistake you for a teenager?" unlike himself, admittedly. kasimir has also been on the receiving end of mistaken age related assumptions. [break][break]
both he and kirjava settle back to watch their mission partner 'work the crowd', so to speak, the ocelot providing running commentary in their mind. 'using his height to tower over him, clichéd but still effective ploy' and 'rhetorical questions? nice' and 'threats could do with some work though'; subtly, he drapes soft layers of a king's aura around maddox, while his familiar increases the temperature of the room in slow but steady increments. kirjava looks rather akin to a cat who has both caught the canary and eaten it with cream.[break][break]
at the last threat, she ramps the heat up abruptly in response, to the point where it is almost suffocating. kasimir, meanwhile, wriggles his fingers in a casual wave at the thirty-odd pairs of eyes that swing his way, sizing him up as the lesser and far less frightening of two evils. he does his best to look as innocent and as unintimidating as possible. ( the witches laying on the ground with still-paralysed limbs look rather disbelieving ) "don't mind me," he says, smiling. "i'm just his support." [break][break]
"wait-" that same witch that confronted maddox now looks to kasimir, brow furrowing. "wait, aren't you-!" [break][break]
"just his support." kasimir cuts him off still smiling, reiterating his earlier words. "well?" he says to the rest of the room. "i'm sure the Tempest would appreciate a chance to let loose."
[attr="class","ashni-tags"] @ maddox rothscus ✨[break] # scrolls used: wings of an angel, aura of the king, the merciful sword, luminary
[attr="class","junescroll"] there's a snort that betrays his amusement, the crooked quirk of the lips that kasimir is inevitably and always able to instigate. "he'd better not," comes as an aside, even as he intrudes unapologetically on the witch's space. there's a magic that settles over his skin, unfamiliar in its shape but welcome in its origin --- the slightest tilt of the head allows him to observe the threads of magic that loop languidly around kasimir's fingers.[break][break]
remember, here, that he is also in the middle of an interrogation: the unfortunate witch is pinned by presence alone, but he doesn't hide the way he flexes his fingers and lets a crackle of lightning run spider-light across his knuckles. if the audible gulp is anything to judge by, it's been noticed.[break][break]
he notices, despite his current engagement, the shift of attention to his partner; watches, with undisguised mirth, the way he slides accusation off himself with a smile too sharp to be polite. "lucky me," he drawls, words curling lazy and slow, "to have someone like you as support, hm?"[break][break]
when he turns back to the witch, who still stands frozen and hesitant, it's with the type of smile you see on sharks and alligators, all prehistoric savagery; the kind of smile that has defied, time and time again, any efforts to tame it. "well?" there is a snarl that runs in the undercurrent of his voice, something that starts deep in his chest and stays there, rumbling, "i'm not a particularly patient man."[break][break]
that, it seems, is enough.[break][break]
"t-there's a room in the back-" says the witch, their expression falling into misery personified, every line of their body leaning as far away from maddox as humanly possible. "we're supposed to be guarding it, make sure no one gets through-"
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 31, 2020 13:19:35 GMT
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"well. you are giving us quite the free show," he rejoins, unable to help the banter despite the serious nature of the interrogation they ( or rather: maddox ) are conducting. "perhaps we are the lucky ones, instead."[break][break]
ah, and what a show it is. their opponents seem caught between incredulity and terror, their stark situation and the unfortunately curbstomp of a battle contrasting almost comically with the sheer lack of regard kasimir and maddox are paying them. perhaps he should not be deriving such amusement from watching the fledgelings and apprentices practically squirm away from his partner's looming intimidation, however he has rather little sympathy to spare towards these would-be poisoners. [break][break]
unsurprisingly, maddox's opponent breaks in the face of those brilliant, lightning-bright eyes.[break][break]
"kirjava and moosely can watch over them." kasimir speaks up with a nod towards their prisoners. their familiars should be more than capable of dealing with any escape attempts, and quite honestly, are rather terrifying together. glancing at the witches lying in varying states of disarray before them, he adds helpfully, "i would not try to run if i were you. my familiar's nature is fire, and her spells are rather... unforgiving." burns are no small injuries, after all; kasimir would really rather not need to come back after their boss fight and heal some charboiled fools.[break][break]
to maddox he inclines his head, eyes glowing with the primal excitement of a good fight to come. "shall we go confront silva?"
[attr="class","ashni-tags"] @ maddox rothscus ✨[break] # scrolls used: wings of an angel, aura of the king, the merciful sword, luminary