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 evanora galestorm on May 20, 2017 10:15:34 GMT
ashes to ashes.
It is late evening when Evanora strolls through Sundial, idle steps slowly making its way through the town. With the sunset stained skies and a crisp Summer breeze, it feels as if she could walk forever. She passes by empty alleyways without a care in the world. Hands clasp behind her, and she pays no mind to the people that she passes. It's nearly perfect.
Nearly.
Her eyes alight on the establishment known as the Pink Cauldron, an ever trendy restaurant settled right in the middle of Sundial. Evanora tends to visit during the weekdays, when it's less crowded, and when she's craving for a drink. She swings the door open, walking in through the impeccably kept bar, dim and moody.
It's then that she sees them. Bright streaks in black hair, wild eyes--not only does she see Rhea again, out of all the people, but she also sees the blanched white hair, framing a face she'd never forget.
Victora.
After all, how could she forget the person who'd put her in the infirmary?
It's not clear what they're doing at first, but as she keeps watching it's obvious...They're flirting. Soft smiles, expressions a little more than friendly. She could recognize such emotions easily. Evanora covers her mouth with her hand, her other arm reaching to grab hold of the chair next to her, too upset to notice that there's someone sitting in it. She feels like she's going to throw up, her vision tunnels, and yet she can't tear her eyes away from such a sight.
[attr="class","diag"]It was finally happening. Rhea had, despite everything, agreed to meet with an unaware Nike at this very cute, very hip bar she'd found. The Pink Cauldron hadn't been around during Eleanor's own partying days, but it was mentioned multiple times in Witch Weekly, and a short visit earlier in the week had confirmed its adequacy for her little lovebirds' first official date.
Of course, Eleanor had to be there to oversee the rendezvous.
Glee doesn't take time to make its way to her face in the form of a bright, proud smile. Nike wasn't exactly a child when she came into Eleanor's life, but she had grown in those few years. She may still be as grumpy as ever, but she was at last giving herself a chance for happiness. Far from that Luke boy that she never did like very much.
Everything was roses and happiness, until Eleanor turned her gaze away for a second, and noticed someone other than her staring rather intensely at the couple. Oh, dear. Did the blondie know the girls? Did she have a past with either of them? Not Nike, she was sure; the silver-haired witch surely would have told her. That left Rhea, and knowing Rhea...
An ex girlfriend, her familiar, Darling, chips in, abandoning her usual semblance of quiet in favor of sharing her baffling realization. A bitter ex girlfriend, Eleanor corrects, her train of thought aligning with the sparrow's.
She's making her way to the blonde girl, taking a seat next to her, stepping back when she sees the grimace she's got on her face. "Are you feeling unwell?" she asks, and waits a full three seconds to see if she isn't really going to vomit. Her words seem to catch the attention of a young man, who then takes his drink and steers away from the scene.
This would have been quite the comical situation, she supposes, if she were looking at it as a mere spectator. As it happens, though, there is only one thought plaguing her mind: Eleanor has to secure the smooth passing of Nike and Rhea's date.
"Do you need some water? Don't worry. Don't panic. Hold on to that chair," she tells the girl. If this doesn't help calm her down, Eleanor figures it will at least distract her from the Leviathan couple. She addresses the bartender with a resolute "You, boy. Be a dear and bring her a glass of water," before returning her attention to her, closing the remaining distance between them, and placing a supportive hand on her shoulder.
"You shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach."
It was but a wild guess, one probably far from the truth judging from the girl's actions during the past minutes, but it's a logical conclusion to arrive at. A conclusion that wouldn't make her suspect that the older woman was keeping an eye on her for reasons beyond her apparent sickness.
Post by evanora galestorm on May 27, 2017 4:44:52 GMT
ashes to ashes.
She clutches at her chest and tries desperately to ignore the pain. No...this can't be. She knows that Rhea has her own life; she's well aware that they've already moved on, but it feels like an old wound ripped open again. And with the most recent encounter, it feels like an insult to injury.
Evanora barely registers the voice behind her, and she takes a moment before tearing her eyes away, coming face to face with a new, gentle face. "...Yeah. E-everything's fine." She stutters, fully aware of how unbelievable she sounds. She licks her chapped lips, squeezes the back of the chair, and straightens herself.
"Thanks..." Evanora says, mind latching on to her voice. She's keenly aware of the hand on her shoulder, warm and gentle. This stranger's so kind, and Evanora's grateful for her presence.
She turns her head away, her hands clenched at her side, and refuses to look at them any longer. The stranger's concern is valid, but unfortunately, Evanora hadn't been drinking. She laughs, empty of emotion, and attempts at a half-hearted smile.
[attr="class","diag"]No matter how much she insisted that she was okay, Eleanor could not believe her. Not when she was stuttering, and her face was red, and Nike and Rhea lingered somewhere behind her back. Because the dark-skinned woman was certain by now that her fit had been caused not by alcohol intoxication, but by the sight of the flirting couple. A sickness of the heart was just as lethal, if not more so, than a physical one. Eleanor knows this all too well. During her short time as a medic, she could transfigure witches' various ailments better, but psychological trauma was another matter entirely to tackle.
At least it doesn't look like she's going to fall anytime now. That in itself is good enough news. "Don't mention it," she says, and she means it. Really. Eleanor was acting more for her friend's sake than for this girl's. Her hand's still on her shoulder, supportive, a calm wave in the middle of a storm. Once she's settled on her chair and Eleanor can be sure she has no way of losing her footing, the hand retreats.
It's even more of a relief to see her finally face the opposite direction.
Eleanor raises her eyebrows. "You sure aren't without something of consistency in your system." Perhaps it was how the girl looked rather thin, or maybe how she still looked somewhat weak. It makes Eleanor worry. She takes the seat next to her, the one that will force her attention away from her protégées, and motions to the glass of water that's finally arriving at the long table. "Drink that down first, and then we'll see."
While the dark-skinned woman pointedly looks at Blondie, she asks the same bartender for snacks. There are chicken wings and cheese sticks and onion rings, which admittedly weren't the healthiest of choices, but they were still better than nothing. She orders a plate of each, and asks for a generous serving of mayonnaise and avocado dip.
"Name's Eleanor, by the way. And you're not a university student skipping meals just to get through lectures and end up here at night, I hope?"
Post by evanora galestorm on Jun 11, 2017 1:18:41 GMT
ashes to ashes.
She could feel the heat on her cheeks, warm over things left unsaid, actions left undone. She looks at the table in front of her and swallows. For something that happened so long ago, she had never expected to be so shaken up. They'd cut themselves out so long ago, and yet Evanora couldn't severe the cord completely, no matter how much she had thought different.
She licks her chapped licks and grounds herself through the hand on her shoulder, weighty and calm. Evanora sits herself in the chair and clasps her hands, clenching them tightly underneath the table. She hears the chair next to her scrape loudly as the woman sits herself in the seat.
Eleanor, as kind as ever, orders a plates of food, and Evanora finds herself too tight throated to protest. "Thank you again..." She murmurs, and makes a note to pay her back after all of this. For both the food and the attempt to deal with a stranger's personal problems.
She blinks before shaking her head. "Ah, not at all." Evanora murmurs. She's far from old, but she hasn't been to university in years. Too much effort, too little money. She could never dream to afford such an education--besides, she's a coven member. She can make a decent enough living by herself already. Decent being the keyword.
"My name's Evanora." She says, growing calmer. Her heart still beats, and she's alive. But she's never wanted so much to run away. She licks her lips again, pausing to think about her words. What could she possibly talk about in a situation like this?
[attr="class","diag"]"What brings you here, Eleanor?"
That's a trick question, and Eleanor's not sure if she should laugh or cry, everything considered. She does neither. Chances are Evanora's question is no more than a very ironic coincidence, rather than the twisted hands of fate doing as they pleased with their lives. Besides, thus far, Evanora seemed like quite the sweet, mild-mannered young woman. There was no way of telling how much that would change when reminded of Rhea, but she's willing to give her the benefit of doubt.
"Oh, the usual," she answers nonchalantly, going over every possible excuse she could think of in her mind, before settling on one. "Stressful days all ought to end in bars like this, am I right?" She offers the blonde a pained smile, corresponding with her words, but doesn't elaborate. Let her make out what she wants of her confession, or ask if she felt compelled to.
In a way, Eleanor supposes it's actually true enough: being a mom was certainly a very stressful job all day and all night 'round, even if getting drunk was the last thing she'd do because of her daughter. If anything, she truly wishes she could be home with her family and cuddle and read her baby girl bedtime stories.
Nike and Rhea, though. She was here for Nike and Rhea, and their happiness.
"And you?" Eleanor found comfort in learning that Evanora wasn't a university girl wasting her nights away drinking, but she hadn't gotten around to saying why exactly she was here, or otherwise what she did for a living.
