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.
The gentle rustling of pages and faint sound of birdsong brought her back to reality. Valencia wasn't sure how long she'd been in the library but there were various tomes piled around her with papers tucked inside of them. She settled her hands on the desk in front of her and ran her fingers along the worn wood. Her knuckles felt sore and ached from the amount of writing, but she set herself through the motions of flexing her fingers. The ache ebbed away slowly but she continued to nurse her hand against her chest while giving a cursory glance to the book titles.
A few of them were centered around histories of warfare and closely referenced different individuals known for their combat prowess. She removed a tome from one of the piles and wiped the dust away from the cover. A History of Warfare glinted at her as the sunlight hit the golden inscription. It soon dawned on her that the early morning hours quickly slipped away once she entered the library and she'd been there almost past lunchtime. Valencia set the tome aside and slowly stood to her feet, placing her hands on her hips and arching her back to loosen the tense muscles.
"I should take a break," she muttered. "The letters are practically coming off the page."
As she stroked the bridge of her nose, the sound of shuffling feet caught her attention. Her shoulders tensed and her hand slowly fell away.
Post by Rowan Ashworth on May 17, 2017 23:43:36 GMT
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Seriously, this is one of his lesser-liked subjects. He's fine with history in general, but his passion lies more in magical theory and practice. Not in combat. This section is one that seems to span over one hundred years, detailing the various wars. He sighs as he mentally lists the books he needs for this portion of the course - Salem: The Hundred-Year Wars, The Art of War, Magic in the 100, and A History of Warfare. For once, he's not too excited by the prospect of all this reading. It's just sad fact after sad fact, and he isn't one to dwell much on fighting and confrontation. But ... he needs to do well. And so, he has to study.[break][break] He navigates the library expertly, using the dewey decimal system as reference along with the signs to point him towards the correct bookshelves. His robes, slightly too long, brush against the floor. His eyes dart about, quickly finding the authors and reading the titles. Wait - he's one shelf away from the right section. With a couple quick steps, he rounds the corner, only to be stopped by a tense voice asking who is there.[break][break] He gulps, his hair falling over his eyes as he casts his gaze downward. "Um...hello," he says awkwardly. The voice is feminine, but... is he meant to reply with his name? It's not often one is greeted with the question of 'who is there'. He hesitates a second before saying his name. "I-I'm Rowan." He doesn't elaborate on his last name - purely because he doesn't want it to be a trigger. If she heard of the Ashworth name...[break][break] No, best maintain what little anonymity he has.[break][break] His eyes take in the scene - the red haired girl, the books, and then his eyes notice the title of the one on top - a tome titled 'A History of Warfare'. He points to it tentatively. "I...Are you using that book?" he asks, a slight hesitation in his voice.[break][break] The girl reminds him of someone. Slightly. He recalls the red hair and confident attitude of Cain Godfrey, a male he met not too long ago in Bell's Bar, right by the docks. They both have the same crimson colored locks, and an aura about them that tells him of a determination and confidence that he doesn't believe he'll ever match. He's envious of that forwardness - if he could do such a thing, then maybe he'd have more freedom from the Ashworths. But...no. He can't. He's to afraid to do so. Too cowardly.[break][break] Back to the task at hand, he thinks, refocusing on the golden-embossed lettering that glints at him in the sunlight. He needs the book.
Valencia's hand settled on her hip as she observed the young man rounding the corner. His eyes were downcast and he had a meekness to him which some might've found adorable or sad. She took in his robes which seemed longer than he was and caught bits of dust in the hem. Her nose scrunched in distaste as she imagined the amount of washing and hemming that'd have to be done so it would be the right size for him. A part of her wanted to say that he should lift his head whilst speaking, but she refrained. On one hand, he wasn't her responsibility and on the other, it was something her mother would've done.
He introduced himself and took interest in the book that she'd found herself occupied with a moment ago. Her gaze flicked between the book and the witch in front of her. He'd introduced himself which meant that he had some semblance of manners and hadn't tried to take the book without her permission.
You've gone and scared the boy, at least smile a little.
She would've rolled her eyes at her familiar's incessant belief in talking. But he wasn't going to be an issue from the looks of it. If anything, he looked like a scared rabbit who was too fearful to speak plainly.
Perhaps you should match him word for word.
She sighed and inclined her head towards the stacks of tomes.
"I am," she affirmed. "You are welcome to use it as long as you remain in this vicinity."
Valencia lifted her head with a raised brow.
"My name is Valencia Godfrey, pleased to meet you."
With that, she took her seat and gestured to the book along with a chair across from her. Maybe this was the distraction that she needed.
Post by Rowan Ashworth on May 18, 2017 1:08:53 GMT
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Honestly, if Rowan straightens his shoulders and stops hunching, the robes would fit him perfectly. But he's spent so much of his life trying to make himself appear smaller that it's become habit. He can be quiet as a mouse if need be, and invisible as air. There's not much of him that makes much of a presence, anyway, not like the young lady before him.[break][break] He's glad she'll let him use the book, even if it's only in her presence. It's a bit controlling, reminding him of every day in the manor, but he's gotten used to that sort of atmosphere. He's become complacent. He's not exactly happy that he's not allowed his freedom, even in the library, but he's the type to never have a fight. And so he gives her a nod as he moves to sit by the book.[break][break] His bag of things is slung over his shoulder, so he arranges his robes - seriously, robes are such an inconvenience! Aren't there better things to wear? - and carefully takes out his notebook and pen. That is, until he freezes at the name of Valencia Godfrey.[break][break] It wasn't too long ago that he met Cain Godfrey. He'd been on a mission for his family - albeit an unimportant one that later frustrated him to no end - and had been waiting in Bells Bar when he struck up a conversation with the red-haired male. Or rather, the man had scolded him for taking a seat without asking, Rowan had apologized, and the swift exchange took place. But it can't be a coincidence to have met two Godfreys so soon, within the span of a week.[break][break] Are the Godfrey's watching him or something? He eyes her warily, taking in her form once again - yes, he can see the family resemblance in the arch of their brows, similar face structure, and most of all, like he'd thought before, the attitude. But he can't detect anything in her expression, nothing to indicate that she was watching him. And if anything, he was the one who intruded on her space, and not the other way around. Rowan hesitates before glancing back up at her. "Any relation to Cain Godfrey?" he asks, tone innocent. He's certain they're related, but who knows? Perhaps there's some tiny chance that she's from some other Godfrey family.
Arion's chiding wouldn't cease as her command was heeded by her new companion. Her familiar would've rather that she at least showed some sort of compassion and nicety. However, Valencia wasn't going to change herself simply because of the company that she was provided with. That wasn't the way to start a relationship and her familiar retreated back into the reaches of her heart because he knew he couldn't sway her. Valencia folded her across her chest and gave Rowan the occasional glance from the corner of her eye.
Her hand still ached from the amount of work that she put into studying and it was nice to have a little break. Even though she knew that it was wrong to hog a book to herself, many of her notes were tucked inside of it, and it would be a shame to lose them.
"I've been studying the tome for hours now," she said. "And there are many questions that I couldn't answer by myself, therefore having you to study with would be beneficial to us both."
She didn't know why she was explaining herself to him. Maybe it was because she remembered being in the same position when she was younger. Or perhaps it was because she just wanted to cheer him up a little so that it wouldn't be so tense between them. A tense atmosphere would've been hard to navigate through and she didn't want the stress if it was possible to avoid it.
However, things weren't always meant to work out.
Once Rowan spoke that name, his name, her eyes narrowed and she gave him her full attention.
Post by Rowan Ashworth on May 18, 2017 2:29:26 GMT
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Her explanation is nothing but amusing to him. It almost sounds as if she needs help, but she's not admitting it. At least, not outright. He smiles to himself, accepting her short tirade and taking it in stride as he begins jotting down his notes.[break][break] He can see the small slips of paper that are her notes, tucked neatly in the book. Careful not to misplace any and to ensure they're lodged properly inside, he takes to reading the first couple paragraphs. The slips of paper are slightly distracting, but so is her presence, staring him in the face. He doesn't look up at her, not wanting to meet her eyes.[break][break] "I...I met him several days ago," he says in response to her question. Her gaze is intense - he can feel it on him, and he knows she's latching onto every word. Red hair cascades over her shoulders, and her eyes are burning with questions. He gulps, setting down his quill. He can tell he's not giving her enough information, and he continues, "In Bell's Bar. We...we talked a little," he says, struggling to find the right words. There's not much else to say - their conversation, though memorable for Rowan, isn't exactly something he feels like sharing, even if this is Cain's sister. [break][break] He wants to ask what's wrong, but he's never been one to pry. So his mouth remains shut, his questions unanswered.[break][break] He's wary, and he watches her, wondering about her reaction.
It was a fact that Valencia took pride in while growing up but her parents wanted to hide no matter what. Cain was a blemish on their ledger and his disappearance was one of the happiest experiences they'd ever have. However, it changed something in Valencia whenever she looked to the room where her brother used to occupy. She changed it into a study in the years to come in an attempt to find meaning in the loss of his presence. In truth, she wouldn't allow her parents to change it into something for their own uses. The person to occupy that room should've been someone that loved Cain.
Even if he easily left a space in her chest that no one could fill.
Valencia's eyes slipped closed as she tried to calm the flame kindling inside of her. It was growing and growing. Threatening to spill over and fill her entire body.
"I hope that he didn't scare you," she said. "My brother has a very intense aura about him."
Her posture slackened and she crossed her arms. An old habit arose as she curled her fingers around her forearm to give it a light squeeze.
Post by Rowan Ashworth on May 18, 2017 18:51:56 GMT
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He's my brother[break][break] Rowan takes the phrase with surprising ease. After all, he suspected this was the case, and it turns out, it's true. But he can't shake off that uneasy feeling that the Godfrey family is following him. It's too large of a coincidence for it to be a coincidence - right? He tries to wrap his mind around that strange paradox but brushes aside the unneeded thought.[break][break] He gives a small, if slightly nervous chuckle at her statement. Though it's nice that she's apologizing on her brother's behalf, it brings back the memory of when he met Cain Godfrey, and how the male had scared him right there as he sat down on the barstool. All because Rowan had been too nervous and had forgotten to ask if he could take the seat across. The smile that forms on his face is a strange one, mixed with reminiscence and contentness and a slight tinge of fear. "He...he did a bit," he admits. "And he is indeed quite a character." He remembers how the man seemed to command the room atmosphere with his own - first anger, then very suddenly, a more light, teasing tone. Rowan admires Cain for that. From what he could tell, his sister is probably the same. [break][break] He watches as she crosses her arms, squeezing her forearm with her fingers. It's a strange thing to watch, as it's something he does himself, a nervous habit whenever he's anxious. He wonders if she feels that anxiety now - she's worried, and Rowan wonders what went on in the Godfrey household. "He's in good shape," he says, though there's that underlying tone that says he's not quite in good health - the man is drinking and smoking, and both can't be good for his health. But he knows what she means, and his statement is completely truthful.[break][break] "He seems to be doing quite well - I didn't inquire much on his business, but he seemed content." He hesitates as he searches for other things to say, more information to give, but he doesn't have much. Not unless Valencia decides she wants to go into the specifics and start asking what he was wearing or what he was drinking. And even then, Rowan's not sure he'll be able to respond.[break][break] His gaze flits back to the book and to his notes, then back to Valencia. He's not sure if this marks the end of the conversation on Cain, or whether it's the start of him going back to his notes and possibly helping her with the questions she'd been unable to fulfill. He hesitates, waiting for her to make her move.
There wasn't any reason that she should've held the lack of concrete information against Rowan. Valencia continued to tell herself that as she mulled over the bits and pieces that he'd given her thus far. It was true that she'd been looking for Cain for quite some time but there'd been so much heresay going about in Sundial that it made it hard to decipher what was him and what wasn't. To know that someone else met him and that they'd spoken to him was reassuring but also worrying. A "what if" arose in her mind and was quickly stamped out as soon as it could rear its ugly head.
She couldn't think about "what if"s. Instead, she could only hope that Cain was alright and for once put blind faith in the information coming from another person.
Once she consoled herself, the grip on her arm loosened up and a sigh escaped her. At least she could put one theory to rest now that she knew someone else communicated with him. Whether or not he was in good health when she found him was her top priority. Worrying about it now would only complicate things in the future and spoil the good company that she'd found. Her gaze met Rowan's and she couldn't help but be impressed by his mannerisms.
He sat eagerly and awaiting to see if she had anything else to say. That was good especially if she had a negative reaction to the information he relinquished thus far.
"The strong will continue to fight their wars with vigor and valor," she recited. "But it will be the meek who inherit the Magus' gift and shape the world in their image."
She gestured to the tome sitting in front of him.
"If you're interested in the nature of A History of War, it would be important to recognize the ideals of the Magus."
The Magus was something that she'd been researching for quite some time now and it may have been easier with another person's opinion to guide her research.
Post by Rowan Ashworth on May 19, 2017 5:21:36 GMT
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Rowan blinks, momentarily confused when Valencia suddenly recites a phrase. It's a quote, he quickly realizes, and it's a famous one too, one he's heard many a time. Though not in his manor - no, in his manor, everything is about strength. Power. Prestige. And he's the odd one out, the one who believes in peace and listening to others. He's always liked this quote - he knows he's a shy one, and this quote makes him believe that he's chosen the right path, even if it's one that brings him ridicule from his family.[break][break] Her question is one that gives him pause as he tries to think of a good answer. He enjoys pondering over things like this, but when it comes to actually solidifying the idea and saying out loud, he's a mess. He can't say exactly what he means, or at least, what he means doesn't come out the way he imagines. His mouth works for a second before he says the best answer he can come up with.[break][break] "I think it's an interesting one," he starts slowly, his fingers tugging nervously at the sleeves of his robes. "For myself, at least, I think it means to think of others - to hear them out, accept them, and band together. Not to force your opinions and ideals around like a flag to band under." He glances back up at Valencia's crimson eyes with his own violet ones, locking his gaze for a second before looking away. "I've always thought it as a way of encouragement for myself," he says, a small laugh tumbling from his lips in a soft chuckle. There's a hint of embarrassment in it, as if he's unused to admitting what he says next: "I'm not exactly strong, as you can obviously see. I don't think I'm quite following the ideals of the Magus, however."[break][break] He takes a moment to breathe. He's not said such a very large amount in quite a while. He's always stuck to the shortest answer possible, only elaborating when needed. And for his own opinions - well, he's never had much of a chance to speak them out loud in the Ashworth house, only because he'd be shouted down by his grandmother or stepfather. He wets his lips. "And your own opinion?" he reciprocates.
The issue with sharing one's ideology was that it was always open to repercussions. Valencia knew firsthand what could come from clashing ideologies and it wasn't always very pretty. However, when she listened to what Rowan said, she felt a familiar surge of energy from her youth. It was one that came from when she found someone of a like mind. Or at least someone that could give her an intelligent conversation without walking away from it with hurt feelings. But when he asked her about her opinion, she couldn't stop the upward quirk of her lips. A genuine smile found its way on her face and she had to say that she was pleased with everything that he'd done thus far.
"I'm sure that you realize that different ideologies exist because people think in different ways," she explained. "No one person is correct but if a certain amount of people think the same way, it is deemed as 'correct'."
Against her better wishes, she remembered a time in the Godfrey household when Cain spoke up about how he felt about the way their family operated. She remembered the way that her parents looked at him or how her older brother averted his eyes. At the time, she didn't realize that she had a voice and could speak up just like Cain had. At that time, she felt like she was powerless because she remained quiet.
"And in this case, seeing as there are only two of us, I believe that your ideology is correct."
She looked up to meet his gaze just as he looked away from her.
"I believe that the weak and the strong are concepts created by society to give a sense of purpose to those who don't feel unless they are able to stand above others. If you're able to find sense of purpose in destroying the image of another person, then in some cases, you're considered to be 'strong'. And if you find peace in helping others even though it may not further your status, you're 'weak'."
She chuckled and shook her head with a raise of her shoulders and hefty sigh.
"The Magus and their Apostates are a wonder to which I've never been able to fully determine a cause for, and I feel that it is where many of our ideologies have come from."
Post by Rowan Ashworth on May 19, 2017 19:17:41 GMT
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Rowan nods his head in agreement to Valencia's explanation. He was fine with differing opinions, and if anything, he thought that sometimes, differing opinions could make a conversation just that much more interesting. But he hated it when people forced their opinions around - like his grandmother and stepfather. His mother wasn't so bad, being probably one of the only people whom he loved in that household - his sister being the other - but he couldn't trust his grandmother nor his stepfather to do what was really in his best interests.[break][break] He is, however, slightly surprised when she says that she agrees. From her previous thoughts, it almost felt as if she was going to contradict him and give her own theory. He's glad someone understands him, however, and he feels that perhaps the two of them can connect over this. Because, despite her confidence, determination, and general forwardness, he can at least have someone else understand him.[break][break] "I think society views those who are strong as those who fight," he says. "Whether it's fighting against other people, fighting what is deemed as evil, fighting for ambition's sake - if you're at the top, like you said, then you're strong." He tucks a stray strand of black hair behind his ear as he continues, feeling a little more prone to saying his mind, now that he's found someone of a like opinion. "The weak are those who don't fight for seemingly anything - the ones that hang back, the ones without opinion, the 'followers'."[break][break] He knows he's the type society deems 'weak'. He's heard it countless times from his family. His grandmother, especially. He does categorize her as strong, because she's strong in her opinions, strong in how she rules her household, and strong in battle. He picks at his robe sleeve, trying to pick off a loose thread. "But - I've always felt that, perhaps, there's a strength in not fighting that can be far better than in creating conflict for the sake of conflict."[break][break] At her chuckle, he waits until she says what's on her mind before he gives a small one of his own. "I can agree with that entirely," he says, relaxing. He hasn't realized just how taut his muscles were - that he'd been constantly on guard and tense. He's always had that demeanor, as if he's expecting someone to jump out at him and nag him. It's a habit built from decades in the Ashworth House, and he's gotten no better at hiding it.[break][break] Rowan takes a second to mull over that question. "Mmm, no," he says finally. "No, I'm not." He glances back at Valencia. "Are you?"
Religion wasn't one of the topics that was free to discuss in the Godfrey household. She wasn't sure why but it was something that her parents tended to steer away from if they could. During those days, the only stimulation that she could receive in philosophical discussion were with her own instructors and books. But religion and the teachings of the Magus were distant ideologies that she could only explore away from the watchful eye of her parents and elder brother.
Glancing up at Rowan, she couldn't help but notice the way that he was sitting. It was as if every muscle in his body was at the ready to spring forward in case something should happen. May it have been out of defending his own ideals or a self-defense mechanism to some sort of negative response, she wasn't sure. However, if she was going to put it simply, she'd believe that sharing ideas in a free space was something they weren't accustomed to.
"I'm not," she said. "But I am the type of person who takes pride and interest in philosophical discussions."
She settled her hands on her lap and mulled over the explanation that he'd given thus far. It seemed to be in order and if she had to be honest with herself, she didn't fit on the spectrum of "strong" or "weak" in societal terms. An anomaly, someone that didn't quite fit in and thus had to be categorized depending on whomever was looking in her direction. In those cases, Valencia felt as if she was a mirror to which others would inflict their own descriptions to satisfy their needs for labels.
"I believe you're right and there is a time where fighting isn't needed for a show of strength," she continued. "Sometimes, talking and compromising with your enemy is the easiest way to avoid bloodshed and burning bridges that will never be reformed."
Once those words left her mouth, she remembered a game that she used to play with the other children her age. The game was rock, paper, scissors and whenever she played it -- the child who lost grieved and the one who won cheered. However, when neither did, it was amicable and no one seemed to walk away with hurt feelings.
Post by Rowan Ashworth on May 23, 2017 16:55:55 GMT
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He nods in agreement with Valencia - he too, enjoys a philosophical discussion now and then. He doesn't get to do so very often at all. With his sister being far more focused in combat and the rest of his family wanting him to be 'strong and not some weak-willed bastard', he had few opportunities to discuss such matters.[break][break] He knows he's labelled as weak, but Valencia - to him, at least, he's pretty sure she fits in the category of the strong. Though she seems to be the type that also respects those who don't have as much power. He admires her for it, and frankly, he's a little astonished. Why couldn't his grandmother be this way? It would've saved him decades of pain and misery.[break][break] But fate isn't exactly kind, and Rowan doesn't want to dwell on what may have been. He pauses. [break][break] "Rock, Paper, Scissors?" he asks, slightly surprised. "Yes, I do know it." It's a game most everyone knew, he assumed, and though he's played it in the past, he's not played it in years. But the concept is simple and he has no trouble remembering. He's curious as to why she's brought it up, and he waits for Valencia's answer.
Valencia leaned back in her chair and for a moment was transported back to when she was a little girl. She remembered playing the game with her mother once or twice along with other children. Her mother told her that the game was a part of her training and although she didn't understand then, the reasoning behind it was sound. Rock Paper Scissors was a game which could teach a child about the various arts of war while also providing a bit of a distraction from the world at large.
But wasn't that the same of war and the toils that most individuals had to go through on a daily basis. Well, that was a thought for another time. She looked to Rowan and found that he was still listening intently to what she had to say. That was endearing and a trait of his that she liked among others which were becoming far more evident.
"Rock Paper Scissors is a game about war," she explained. "Scissors represent actively attacking your enemy, Paper represents diplomacy and wanting to create peace through treaties, and Rock represents defensive tactics and isolation."
To accompany her explanation, she followed with showing the various symbols using her hands.
"Scissors beat Paper because actively attacking while another group wants peace is catching them off guard, however, Rock beats Scissors because a defending group has more time to prepare than one that is attacking."
She looked up to meet Rowan's eyes ever so often while she spoke.
"Paper beats Rock," she said. "Although defensive tactics are great. After some time, the people grow restless and want to have a change of peace. And if they're proposed safety and comfort under a treaty, then there is no need to run or fight."
She raised her hands with a little smile.
"Therefore, your philosophic idea over there being other ways to obtain strength is correct. There is a strength to doing nothing and not raising a hand to your fellow man."
