Blackfridayrule

Into the Dark

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Rohaan most certainly was not. For one thing, he had not been to his homeland since he’d left it as a child. But truthfully, he didn’t actually know with any certainty exactly where he was from. He had an idea, a region at least, but he’d never found it on a map or any sea charts he’d ever seen. He and Berlin once spent hours sorting out where he’d come from, and the only thing they’d settled on was that Rohaan was from an island somewhere off the southern coast. But was that south directly? Southwest? Southeast? There was a lot of coasatline down there. And he’d never tried to scope it out.

Rohaan let a slow smile spread on his lips. “No lad, I’m not. Not remotely. I can guarantee you ain’t never heard of the place I come from. Ain’t important. But for the record? South. Really south. But like you said, don’t matter. Lemmy hear this plan of yours.” As he spoke and without looking behind him, he reached up a hand and dropped his very very bare apple core onto a plate held by the resident serving lass as she passed.

Rohaan watched the boy as he explained he was going to the Capital and why. At the mention of Orthreloth he just sort of laughed as if remembering something fondly, but that mirth sort of melted off his face as Xander went on. He squinted at the parchment he was handed, slowly making out the words. Many were unfamiliar to him, and though he did learn his letters, he was never very quick with them. Rohaan handed it back when he was finished, then leaned back in his chair and gazed at the fire for a moment as if thinking. He was silent for a long time.

It was a bad idea. Rohaan was full of those, so that didn’t necessarily stop him. But it was something to consider. This lad was probably some upstanding type, liked well enough back home. And all he wanted was to save his sister. Rohaan, on the other hand, was not the sort of man one wanted to be seen with. He was not a ‘good’ man exactly, though he wasn’t the monster most made him out to be. Life had cornered him and he chose to fight—that was all.

Rohaan knew what it was to be alone. He knew what it was to be desperate. And he wondered if this kid from some little hamlet would make it alone. Judging by the fear in his eyes, he probably wouldnt. And the shifter remembered clearly being half starved, severely injured, and hiding out in an overturned barrel in a filthy shit-strewn alley. He remembered a bear of a man wearing sailor’s clothing coming towards him with an offering of bread, hard cheese, and an orange. Berlin had saved his life in more ways than one. It was time Rohaan returned the favor.

All of the casual mirth seemed to have left him as he turned his chair around to face the lad directly. He was very serious as he leaned forward and said, “I have been to Orthreloth. Now, provided you can actually survive the trip there, they won’t just let you walk into the Athenaeum—-“ he said this a little bit slower, it was a somewhat unfamiliar word to him, though he’d heard it before “—-just because you ask nice. As far as they know, you’re a dirty rotten thief. Now, I don’t think you are. But they don’t know that.”

Rohaan spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “But I am. The dirtiest and the rottenest. In fact, I have a bit of a warrant out for my arrest in Orthreloth, actually. The city guard and I go back a ways.” He chuckled a bit. “The Cloaks too. That’s a story for another time. My point is, I can get you there, and I can get you in, and back out again. No one better. But before you gimme some sad story about how you ain’t got much coin, or worse, before you start throwing it at me, I don’t want it. Money ain’t worth much to a man like me. No, what I want from you is merely an answer. It has to be honest! And you have to promise to keep things quiet.”

Rohaan glanced around for a second, then very carefully pulled up his hood—just a little. The firelight finally reached his full face, and even in the orangey firelight the chilling too-blue color of his black-ringed irises was sharp and distinct. Even if Xander had heard nothing of shifters and their infamous eyes, it was obvious the blonde stranger was not exactly human.

“Just how far are you willing to go to save your sister, Xander?”

Into the Dark

On Shapeshifters:

They are an ancient race and are found throuought Errandil in small tribes across the land. These tribal settlements are often found in areas away from other settlements and are therefore quite isolated. Deep woods, remote islands, and mountain peaks are all places one might find a shifter tribe—-the more inaccessible by humans or other races, the better. They have tight-knit communities and prefer to keep to themselves, though sometimes if two tribes are within reasonable traveling distance (for a shifter), they might have a sort of relationship with another tribe.

Each locale has their own specific customs and even a variation on the language, though both are derived from a common source that none recall now. It is often believed that there was once only one tribe, a nomadic one that as they traveled, people splintered off in groups to live in the places they loved best. None actually know anymore for sure.

The Vokurians, as they call themselves, have the unique ability to change their shape into almost any other, with some exceptions. They can alter their humanoid shapes into anything—-younger, older, taller, light or dark skinned, male, female, or even an identical copy of another person. They can also turn into most animals, however, the animal in question must have reasonable capability for sentience and must have blood (unlike a jellyfish, which has neither). Some forms are easier to do and to maintain than others—-humanoid forms are easiest, and the closer said form is to the shifter’s natural one, the easier it is. Animals are more difficult to hold in general, depending on size or type. For example, a dog would be fairly easy, while something like an elephant would be attainable but would take immense energy and concentration.

Each shifter has one animal form that is nearly effortless for them to change into an hold. What this is exactly differs from person to person. The vokurians call this an ilun-tai, or ‘true alternate’. It is the form that suits them best. Some tribes believe this is something predetermined by personality or perhaps passed down from parent to child. Others maintain it is more of a learned behavior.

There are two things the shifters cannot change, however: Eye color, and the color of their blood. Both of these are common details in folklore about them and are widely known as sure-fire identifiers of a shifter. Their eyes are an intense, too-blue cobalt ringed by a dark gray-black circle around the iris. Their blood is a nearly metallic looking graphite color. It is primarily because of this that shifters are widely associated with the Darkness and firmly shunned across Errandil.

On Folklore:

Humans especially, (though other races participate in this as well) have long feared shifters and their powerful abilities. Considered to be evil beasts of the Darkness, demons, or at best, untrustworthy, they have been exiled from society at large and this is a big part of why the tribes stay so secluded. Some extremists go by the ideology of ‘the only good shifter is a dead one’ while others simply don’t want to do business with them, will chase them out of shops, or try to force them out of town. Common slurs are also used, typically variations of ‘grayblood’, ‘nightblood’, ‘blackblood’ or sometimes just plain ‘demon’.

Most people have never actually met a shifter, however. They are increasingly rare in non-shifter settlements, so this has opened doors for many a tall tale about their wretched, depraved deeds. Some count them as mere myths, like werewolves, ghosts, or mermaids. Others acknowledge their very real existence but little truth is known about them. So naturally, people make things up. Children are told to stay out of the woods at night lest Dark beasts and shifters come to eat them. Tales are told of shifters taking the shape of a groom so that he might rape the bride. Some say that shifters have taken the shape of lords and commanders and captains and sewn chaos and depravity by giving wicked orders.

There is no love between shifters and other peoples. Some folk have throuought history attempted to capture and enslave shifters for their own purposes. It’s an extremely difficult thing to do and rarely is profitable, but it is possible. A shifter can be bound to their natural form in two notable ways: the first being bodily weakness due to starvation, sickness, or severe injury. The second being an enchantment put on iron or steel that forcibly blinds a shifter to their natural shape through arcane power. Some particularly pious individuals believe deeply that they are creatures of the Darkness and that if they are slain as sacrifices to Yggdrasil, they can gain blessings or protection.

On names:

The vokurians hold names very dear. Children are not officially named until they are a little older than infants. Some as young as toddlers, others as late as the age of six or seven. Names are given thoughtfully and with meaning and are reserved until parents feel they have a grasp on the child’s personality. In addition to their family name, they are given three. Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja’aisen, for example:

Rheoaan: The third and longest of the names is reserved for immediate family and for one’s spouse. It is the only name of the three that has meaning.

Rohaan: The second name is a shorter one derived from the third. Two children with the same third name would not likely have the same second and first names. Rheoaan, for example, might shorten to Roedan, Riahin, or Roaehi. It is given to friends or distant relatives.

Rio: The first and shortest of the names, it is the one given to strangers, enemies, or fresh aquaintanences. The use of the second name must be earned, and only the owner of said name can decide when someone may use it.

Into the Dark

Rohaan expected some kind of roundabout answer, or maybe the answer he might have given at that age, which would have gone something like an insult and a suggestion to stick to one’s own business. He would have also expected a shy answer too, but what he got was something else entirely. He got a good look at the boy, a real good one, and noticed he was clenched tighter than a crusty old clam. He was sweating and Rohaan could just see the rate at which his chest was rising and falling. Did he have something to hide...? Maybe he’d had some bad water on the road and was feeling the consequences now, and his tension was just from trying to keep it together. Maybe he—

The lad actually spoke, more like spewed words out like they had a mind of their own. Cure the darkness? Asinine! Rohaan couldn’t help it, he thought it was a good joke so he laughed out loud, heartily. He nudged the boy’s shoulder with one hand playfully as he tried to catch his breath. “Good one lad! Maybe you’ll...” And then in realization, the smile melted off the man’s face. “Oh, stars above, you’re serious...”

Rohaan shifted in his seat so that he could face the lad a little better. The man’s eyes were not visible, not so clearly in the shadows cast by the firelight, but it was clear he was looking the lad up and down. “Atr...atre..San....atrestia—blast, you’re looking for what now?” He attempted to speak the word; the attempt was slow, sticky and awkward as though he had never heard or spoken those syllables together in his life. But he seemed to have a familiarity with the practice of sounding out new words. He spoke two languages and had to painstakingly learn one of them.

“Pyre, eh? Can’t say I ever heard of it...” He took out his worn cloth map and squinted at it. “Ah! I see. Small place, innit? Huh.” He paused for a moment, obviously thinking, then added, “Well met, Xander. Rio Ja’aisen,” he said with a nod. “For starters, why don’t you keep drinkin’ that brew you got there? ‘Dras knows you need it, you’re wound up tighter than an old lord’s asshole!” He took another drink from his own mug, as if mentioning Xander’s made him thirsty.

“So uh...lemme guess, you left home specifically for this quest of yours? To uh,” he tried not to choke, “cure the darkness? I mean...don’t get me wrong kid, I admire your spirit. But you got a plan? And what’s this other stuff for? This Abyssal Shade and this...” he waved a hand, “other thing? Astre—-A-tres-tri-a-na? Right?” Rohaan had a little bit of a beard starting and he scratched it thoughtfully.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Perfectly fine! Real life always comes first! Take care of yourself mate! Looking forward to continuing to write with you :)

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

So I thought we'd get to some action. Ridahne is feeling some bad people, all of them Eluri. Same kind of vibe as Mark and his gang--bad bad bad.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne grinned. "Oh we have our fair share of gossip as well. And in case you want to know someday, a classic way to insult someone back home is to question the precision of the artwork in their ink." She laughed. "We spent a lot of time as kids whispering about others' ojih. "Did you see Teluun has a new mark? I heard his brother did it for him while drunk.." That sort of thing." She laughed again. "Silly really. And petty. Perfect for children but some adults find it just as upsetting. But there's also lots of talk about the marks themselves. Especially when someone goes away, perhaps to the capital, and comes back with a marriage mark. Oh my do people talk!" And with slightly less mirth but not quite so much pain as before she added, "they will speak of me that way. Word has already spread, and there will be more to tell when we show ourselves, even if they don't know who you are." Ridahne shrugged. She had done the crime, after all. No one knew the circumstances, but the mark was not false.

Ridahne yawned, looking around to gain her bearings a bit before answering, "I think there's a town sort of close. It's not a short distance exactly, but we could make it if we push. Never been to it, but by the map it seems sort of mid sized. I'm sure they'll have plenty of good food and real beds we could rent out."

They rode on for a few more hours, and as they did, the forest deepened. Darkness deepened too, though whether that was solely because of the approach of evening, or because the foliage was much denser as they went on, was up for debate. Perhaps both. Mitaja, who had been happily trotting off into the brush for hours had come back to them, though instead of padding ahead or looming some distance behind like a benevolent shadow, she stuck close to the two riders. Ridahne didn't notice this at first--she was accustomed to having Mitja around her all the time. But an uncomfortable feeling in her chest made her suddenly pay attention to things that might seem off, and this was the first thing she noticed. Mitaja was too close. The cat liked to range and then to snuggle up close at night. It was uncommon for her to be nearly under Tsura's feet.

She didn't want to say anything at first. It was probably nothing and she didn't want to spook her companion for no good reason. Besides, they hadn't come across anything that would give her worry. No signs of bandits, no suspiciously hewn trees across the road or overturned carts, no sets of glowing eyes in the growing gloom or any sign of other creatures, or--

"Wait." All day, her tone of voice had been amicable, casual, friendly and relaxed, if not a bit tired. But though this was spoken softly, it was a command. She halted Tsura and Mitaja stopped as well, all perfectly still. Ridahne listened but she heard nothing and yet...that was the problem. She heard nothing. No rustle of leaf, no chirp of insect and no twitter of bird. Silence. That uncomfortable feeling inside her seemed to be rioting. "Something's wrong. Do you feel it?" And as she said this, her hand reached back and checked the movement of her sword in its leather sheath. As always it came easily to her call, but she did not draw it yet. Not yet.

Into the Dark

The food was wonderful. It was hot, it was hearty, and it was good solid stuff, nothing too uppish or fancy, but the sort of thing one wants to eat at the end of a long day. Warm bread, generous pads of butter with a drizzle of honey, a hearty stew that undoubtedly had been made with a bit of ale and good tender beef, and a little sliver of cheese. Sheep cheese, if Rohaan had to guess. Goat, maybe? More than anything, it was hot, and for a man who traveled as light as he did (which was very light, and somewhat peculiarly so when one stopped to think about it) hot food was a sheer delight. And the ale! Rohaan had tasted many a draft from the larders of many lords, ladies, and other sorts with too much money for their own good. And frankly, none of it compared to a nice solid variety like this at the end of a long hard road. Not to mention, the vanilla was a nice touch. How long had it been since he'd had vanilla...?

Rohaan finished his meal with gusto, and the first mug of ale likewise. Eventually he flagged down the barkeep and asked after an apple and another mug of ale that he sipped rather than inhaled. One to wash down the food, another to enjoy. It was quite nice, not some watered-down swill that some places passed off as beer. With his stomach full, he felt he could breathe again, and he felt his muscles beginning to relax. So he munched on the apple, nursed his drink, and listened to the talk of the room. At one point a song did break out amid one table, but seeing as how the whole tavern didn't feel inclined to join in, neither did he. Or at least not at any great volume. He sang along in a soft voice one would have to be very close to hear; he did not feel like drawing too much attention to himself. Not tonight.

Except it seemed he'd done a poor job of that already. For one thing, the tavern's resident mouser-cat, a little white and black thing with yellow-green eyes, would occasionally flick its tail at him and hiss in his direction. Rohaan wasn't surprised. He learned early on that wherever he went, most animals wanted nothing to do with him. Cats would hiss and slink away, dogs would bay and howl but would not approach, and horses would all but panic. All shifters had that problem, and people said it was because they had too much of the Darkness in them, that animals knew. Fools. The animals could sense something in them, yes, but it was not the Darkness, for Rohaan had none. They sensed what his people called an ilun-tai, or in the common speech, 'true alternate'. Every shifter had their natural form, and though they had a repertoire of others at their command, each had one in particular that they felt the most comfortable in, the easiest to hold, the most like them. Animals sensed that in him.

There was another thing thing that bothered him. More than the cat, he could feel eyes on him. He couldn't explain it, but he'd gotten good over the years at honing this pseudo-sense. He had to in order to survive, so maybe that was it. Maybe he was just more perceptive than some. But he could feel without a doubt that someone was watching him. So slowly he glanced around from underneath his hood, just waiting to see some overzealous sellsword or local guardsman staring him down. But there wasn't. There was just a lad.

Rohaan hadn't really noticed him before now. He'd been quiet and kept to his own affairs, and so had Rohaan. But he'd unmistakably been looking at him, really looking. Normally this would get the shifter on edge, and perhaps prompt him to slip away. But a kid? What would he want with him? And come to think of it, he was awfully young to be traveling by himself. Especially in these parts. Curious. Rohaan knew firsthand that all kinds of scenarios threw young sprouts into the wide, cold world before they were ready. What was this one doing at a place like this?

He could almost hear Berlin's booming voice in his head. Leave it, Rheoaan. Ain't worth trouble. But then he thought, what if it was? Besides, if this kid wanted to keep to himself, he wouldn't likely be keen on grilling Rohaan for personal information. Ah, what the hell. Rohaan got up and bringing his mug and half-eaten apple, he plunked down hard in a chair beside the lad. His hood was still over his face, but his demeanor was casual as he settled into the chair and looked mostly at the fire. But he spoke eventually.

"Nice night, innit? Even nicer with a fire going." Rohaan had a slight accent but it was impossible to determine where from. Through a mouthful of apple he asked, "Where ya comin' from?" The question was asked without any real weight--he was not so much after the answer as he was after conversation. And anyway, he didn't want to grill the kid.

Into the Dark

Summer was well on its way in this part of the world, and spring was beginning to gracefully step aside. Rohaan couldn't wait. He spent the majority of his life outside and he was never born to live too far north, for it was much too cold for his tastes. He could wether cold on the road better than most, but he'd just...rather not. Spring was nice, but it brought a lot of rain and no traveler wanted to spend a night outdoors in the rain. So he welcomed the slow arrival of summer with wide open arms. The night was pleasant and already there were crickets beginning to sing their high songs and fireflies were lumbering around and setting the forest ablaze with their light. But Rohaan ached for a bed. A real, soft, actual bed. More than that though, he wanted a mug or two of good ale. Scratch that, even half decent would do.

Rohaan was a thief, and most things in life that he needed or wanted, he just took. That was how he survived as a kid, and the teachings of pirate captain Berlin only solidified and refined those behaviors. But there were some things that were hard to steal, some things that were better obtained the usual way, and ale was one of them.

Rohaan pulled out his map. It was an old, beat up thing made of waxed canvas, and squinted at it. According to the thin scrawls, there was a little roadside tavern not far away, and good sense be damned, he was going. He chose the form of an eagle and gained altitude, eventually spotting the wisp of smoke in the distance from its chimney. He flew most of the way, but somewhere just outside the town he landed in a secluded area and shifted back to his true form, then followed the road the rest of the way.

The man that entered The Thirsty Lute was an obvious traveler with a black cloak and hood, and practical, well-loved clothing that suggested he'd been around. It was hard to gauge where he might be from, as he wore no sigils, and he had no visible weapons that one might use to determine his origin. Wherever he was from, he'd clearly been on the road a long time and both his clothing and his physique showed it. And though his face was still shrouded by his deep hood, the man smiled at the barkeep. "Evenin'. Looking for a place to stay, but more importantly some food and drink." His tone was friendly, but there was something reserved about it, like he would not be the sort to say more than he meant to.
"Aye," the aging man behind the counter nodded. He saw all types in his tavern. And yet... "I got all that ifn y'got coin." The man was still studying him, trying to place the subtle itch in his mind. This man might be a little bit strange for these parts, but he couldn't figure out why he really felt it.
Rohaan's smile widened. "I do, mate. Do you frown at all your customers this way?"
The barkeep blinked suddenly and cleared his throat; he hadn't realized his brows had pinched together. "Er, no, sorry, I didn't mean to ah--"
Rohaan held up one hand and with the other, he produced a few coins. "Fetch me something to drink and a bit of whatever you've got in the pot and I'll be satisfied."
"Right, right." And the man scuttled away.

Rohaan took a seat in the corner, a lesser lit one. Still within earshot of the others in the room in case any good news came up, or someone felt like striking up a conversation. But dim lighting helped to keep the color of his eyes somewhat ambiguous. Cobalt blue with a black ring around the iris. Not a normal color for any normal human to have, but then again, he was not normal. Or human. Whenever people saw his eyes, things always went downhill. Merchants often turned him away. Women would shriek and herd their children away. Occasionally carpenters or big muscular smiths would come and threaten him with their big hammers if he didn't leave town, believing that because Rohaan was not obviously armed (he carried a concealed knife but nothing more) and because he was not some large, burly beast of a man, that they could beat him handily in a fight.

Oh, how foolish they were.

He didn't always[ want trouble, and when he did it usually wasn't with the common folk. So mostly he would leave people to their superstitions and go on his way, but that made for a lonely existence. Tonight he just wanted some grub, and if he was lucky, he'd hear someone start up a tune he knew and could join in on.

Into the Dark

Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen

The basics:

Middling height, lean, mid twenties. Blonde, wavy/curly shoulder length hair usually kept in a ponytail. Modern-day comparison would be almost a Charlie Hunnam type appearance, just with curlier hair and a little rougher around the edges, but that should give you some reference. Light olive skin tone. Wears a few small rings in his ears, generally kind of scarred up, is rarely truly clean. He packs light for a vagabond.

His eyes are important. They're blue, but a really intense telltale cobalt (think Lapis Lazuli). It's an obviously not really human color. It is unique to his kind and is widely known as a way to identify a shifter since it's one part of their appearance they cannot change. The same is true of their blood, which is distinctly a dark graphite color. This is a natural phenomenon, but people have come to believe that they are creatures of the Darkness because of this.

A note on shifters:

Sometimes called Blackbloods, Greybloods, or other variations of a similar nature, they are shunned by society and generally viewed as untrustworthy, deceitful, wicked, and undoubtedly touched by the Darkness. They are capable of changing forms--anything from tweaking their appearance or copying another person, to becoming an animal. The animal must have some level of brain or basic intelligence (so not a fruitfly), blood (so not a jellyfish or coral), and it has to be something that exists in the universe (so no Manbearpig). Some forms are easier to hold than others, all take effort. There are ways to inhibit or prevent a shifter from changing shape.

About Rohaan:

First and foremost, he has a lot of names. Rheoaan, Rohaan, Rio, and his family name is Ja'aisen. All three of his given names are his actual names--not nicknames. But which one he offers up depends on who he gives it to. The first and shortest is for strangers, the second is for friends, the third and longest is reserved for family.

Secondly, he's a thief. After winding up on the streets as a kid, he was taken in by a pirate captain and traveled with him for many years. Eventually he wandered inland to harass the coffers of the bourgeois. In some places, he is known for his lawlessness and is wanted by the law. He is rarely interested in the prize in particular and more often is in it for the pursuit of said prize.

He's easygoing, has little love for authority, and likes to stir the pot a bit. Is friendly if anyone will give him the opportunity, but he's more than willing to be violent if someone gets in his way. Survival is paramount. Tenacious, jovial, foolish.

Into the Dark

Here we go!