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3 yrs ago
Current Wheremst
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3 yrs ago
What if *I* was the small creature all along?
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3 yrs ago
O . O staring
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4 yrs ago
OooooooOooOOOOooooooOOOOOooOoooooooOOooOOOOoooOo
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5 yrs ago
V.1.26 (House of Caecilius Iucundus); 4091: Whoever loves, let him flourish. Let him perish who knows not love. Let him perish twice over whoever forbids love.
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Name: Sigrid Geirdóttir (Sibley of the River)
Gender: Female
Age: 15
Rank: Ceorl (Freeman)

Appearance: Sigrid liked to keep herself clean, for a repulsive merchant tended to be a less successful merchant. She kept herself tidy at all times, bathing frequently and untangling her hair in the mornings. She is a light blonde, but would occasionally add some earth into her hair until it became dirty to the point of being almost brown, to make herself look more Anglo-Saxon. She is also freckled and fresh-faced, with a wide grin, and that, combined with her tendency to ramble or tell stories, makes her look for all the world like a little girl playing at her father's craft. Do not be fooled.

Personality: Sigrid, since her youth, was a lover of collecting things. She liked to play along the shores of her home in Jutland, picking up seashells or flotsam and keeping it with her. As her grandfather's finances began to dwindle, she began to trade her collections for money. This stirred something in her, and soon she was gripped with an ever-aching desire to trade. She loved the feel of coins changing hands, and the sound of their clinking. What's more, she is proud of her ancestry, and likes to brag about her father, calling him either "First to Meet Jesus" or "Slayer of Cross-Men", depending on who she was telling the story to. Her love of the shores and her greater love of opportunity brought her to the Angle's Land, and she does not intend to return home without a fortune.

History: Sigrid's father was a berserker, a man who left her before she ever knew him to seek gold across the sea. When he died, he left his ship to his father, to later sell and support the wife and daughter he left behind. Her mother wanted nothing to do with the child, she reminding the now-ailing woman too much of her dead husband. Sigrid, then, grew up under the watchful eye of her old grandfather, a man strict in his opinions but too weak to enforce them. Because of that, she was largely free to wander the shores of Jutland. Her grandfather was wealthy in his youth, but that wealth had been spent away over the years, and soon, his role as caretaker and his granddaughter's role as dependent were reversed. Before he died, he told her one of his regrets, that he had saved her father's karve out of sentimental value. When she saw the boat, she saw opportunity. Sigrid, a fortnight following her grandfather's death, took out the karve and set out across open water with everything she could technically claim was hers by inheritance and a few things she couldn't, seeking the river of coin that flowed through the Heptarchy. Since then, she has sailed along the River Thames as "Sibley of the River", a merchant from far away.

Loyalties: The Vikings and money. Mostly money.
The whole council was reaching its end. The magisters say their goodbyes to each other, and preparations for the great portal are being completed, which theoretically should take everybody to their respective homes. Sure, a few mages always slip through and end up in the wrong place, but that's how magic is. Kutur stares guiltily up at the black mark he left when he drank the potion. That moment, that feeling, was etched permanently into his mind. The feeling of flying and power, of being for just one moment a dragon. Still, though, someone will have to clean the mark, and possibly repaint. Probably an apprentice or small village's mage. It won't be easy, that's for sure. Poor lad.

He closed his eyes and stepped through the portal. The brilliant purple enveloped him, then faded, leaving him in the hall of Xigyll. Rughoi stared at him like he just appeared out of thin air, which to be fair, he had.

"Your Might, Your Mercy, I sincerely apologize for my absence. I know that I have a duty to the peoples of Xigyll, and resolve to carry out that duty. Tomorrow. Good day," Kutur said, before either Rughoi or Ardasa could act. Then, he simply turned and walked out of the hall, through the front door, and made a beeline for his hut away from the city. Right now, he needed to be alone.
I do vaguely recall something like that. Something about a city in the sky, right?

I have an idea for a character. A shrewd, hard-bargaining Viking merchant who sails the eastern coast to trade. I got the idea based on a few things I researched while looking at this RP. Is that acceptable?
Hi, I read the introductory post on page 2 and think this RP is incredibly interesting. Is there still space left for one more?
Ardasa made her way into the main hall of the palace, to find a familiar sight. Rughoi was pacing nervously around the room, especially around the throne. As usual, he never sat in it. She had never seen him sit on his throne since he had it raised up, and suspected that it only existed so he had a focus to refer to his control over Xigyll.

"Is something the matter?" Ardasa said, almost sighing when Rughoi jolted and hastily turned. He was so consumed by his thoughts some days, he could be snuck up on without any difficulty at all.

"No," he said firmly, but Ardasa knew better. She tilted her head and mock-glared at him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she saw through his lie. "Yes . . . " he said, caving. "Something is always the matter. That is how thrones work."

"I'm well aware," Ardasa said. "You have to remember, it's not your empire anymore. It's ours. These people followed the two of us to freedom, not just you or I. So, how about we not keep so many things close to vest, eh?"

"I suppose . . . " Rughoi said. He was not as firm as he usually is, she noted. Either Kali is a diplomatic genius who's little tactics were nigh upon mind control, or something must really be eating at his mind. "It's Hekaga. They want to negotiate a more secure deal with us, one that involves the presence of what they deem 'of esteemed birth'." He waved the letter in his hand as he quoted it, which Rebat himself had written in quotation runes. "Apparently, Rebat is not close enough. They want to speak to me, it seems. I can't leave Xigyll! There's so much to handle! Especially not for . . . months? Years?"

"Or me," Ardasa blurted, before she could think. Rughoi's eyes lit up, and Ardasa began to have second thoughts. Had she just signed herself up to a diplomatic mission? For months, or even years? Rughoi's last sentence rang in her head, repeating itself like a horrific repressed memory resurfacing.

"Yes . . . yes! You could go!" he said. "We're a team now, right? Like you said?" Urgh, Hetuis take her poor wording! She gave a crooked half-smile.

"Yeah . . . " she said, weakly. "A team . . . that's what I said . . . " Pressure was her enemy, now and forever more. It had seemed so easy going over it with Kali, too.
"Yes, I'd agree," Ardasa said, standing up and taking one last look at the statue of Arda. "There is such a thing as too much piety, after all." She laughed a little at her own joke, then realized that perhaps that was not the best thing to say to a priest of the faith. "Erm . . . I mean . . . there are plenty of other matters to attend to."
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Rughoi sighed in relief, reading the last parts of the letter over and over again to reaffirm that it was real. Rebat was fine. The legion was fine. Rebat had written back regarding the status of the treaty being kept in Hekaga. He writes in glowing terms, not hiding in any way his admiration for the old city of dracons. At the bottom, he had signed with a Bythesea rune, as was the growing fashion among both dracon and kobold alike. Still, though, a part of the message worried him. It seems the Hekaga nobility are interested in furthering the alliance between the two nations, and wish to meet with him in person, or at least a close representative. Rughoi was not looking forward to that.
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That's odd. Kutur didn't know how exactly one votes for the next archmage, but he was pretty sure it wasn't this. He felt like he was floating, as if in water. It was dark all around him, cool as well, yet he felt at peace. He enjoyed this feeling of serenity, letting the not-quite-water flow around his scales and into his snout when he breathed. Then, a flicker of light shone out from far away. In front of it stood a figure, kobold by the looks of it. Suddenly, that feeling of water was gone. He was standing on solid ground, in thin air.

"Hey!" he called out, to the figure. It didn't respond. "Hey!" he shouted again. This time, he did, and Kutur now wished he hadn't. The kobold was dead, by the looks of it. His scales hung off his skin, and his head was tilted in a way that suggested there was no muscle holding it up. His fear grew ever more when it opened its mouth and spoke.

"Who am I?" it whispered, in a voice so strong that Kutur trembled. "Where is my throne?"

"Where is your throne?" Kutur said, unable to keep his voice from quavering.

"My throne, yes," the figure responded again. "Someone has stolen it. Someone who is neither first nor last, and not deserving of either. My throne, spilled from its perch by the blood of the tainted. Blood that has no ties to the dragons that bore the seed of the gods."

"Who are you?" Kutur asked. "I can help . . . I think. If I knew who you were, I could. I hope."

"Who am I?" The figure mimicked. His eyes, once dead and drooping towards the floor, suddenly came to life and oriented towards Kutur. They glowed and danced, as if there was a fire burning behind the iris. "I am the first, and had fate been truer, the last. Sutam is but liar, pretender, and player to what was once reality."

"Sutam was the Conquerer, was he not?" Kutur asked. "He was the famous second Son of the Dragons. There are almost as many tales of him as there were the first."

"Yet not quite as many," the figure said, pointing with a bony finger straight at Kutur's chest. "The blood given to him was from kobold, not dragon. The blood given to the liars after, all kobold, and now, not even that. I am first, and last. My throne is stolen. WHO AM I!?" he shouted, and in that moment Kutur knew.

"You are Arjun, who was the Brave," he breathed. The moment he said that, the dead figure began to change. First it was the snout, then the face, turning from gray to brown to dull red. Kutur was looking not at Arjun, but at himself.

"I am no longer. You are Arjun, who never was, yet always is. It is his blood that flows through you, and it is your throne that is stolen. Let the fire run free, my son. The Arjunids are not gone yet."

In the halls of the Constantsea university, Kutur looked up at the dome above. He was not in control of himself. He felt powerful, invincible, like he could jump and leave the sorry ground behind. Filled with that conviction, he opened his mouth to speak, but words did not leave. They had been replaced by fire, glowing white hot, erupting from his small form and scalding the dome above dark black. Then, the moment was passed, and he slumped to the ground in a dreamless sleep.
Unfortunately, I'm a little stuck in this RP for now, so the little post I made is as much as I can come up with.
"No questions," Ardasa said, nodding along. She was in a different world now. This was not a simple and rustic tribe, where everyone lived off of what they could hunt or gather. This was not having small run-ins with dracon explorers seeking to document the "barbarians" that lived in the wilds. No, this was an empire, and any run-in now could boil into a war that would become all too real. She had to stay serious about this.
"I understand. Let us begin the lesson," said Ardasa, but she didn't, not really. Her mind was swimming with questions. What sort of magic does Kali think she has, that can bend even the mule-stubborn Rughoi to her will. Would the gods even approve of such thing? Was she being mind controlled right now to say yes? Oh, gods, let Kali's words be true. The kobolds are finally at peace after the Traeton campaign, and it would kill her heart for her tribe to go to war again.
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Rughoi was worried. He had been waiting anxiously for the past who knows how long for word to return from his legions in Hekaga. He wanted to know that they were alright, and it was not a plot by those ever-scheming dracons to whittle down his armies and soften up Xigyll for yet another attack. Now, he held the letter in his hand, straight from Rebat, borne by a ragged-looking legionnaire. Did he look ragged because he had traveled quickly, or because he had fled a battle? No, best not to be weighed down by dark thoughts. The priest, what was her name, had said as much in her last ritual. The gods saw his paranoia, saw his pessimism, and would more often than not punish such by turning them to reality. He held his breath, and tore open the seal.
Riley didn't know about this plan. True, it was better than anything she can think of, but still, there were too many parts she can't account for. What if the monsters know all the other monsters, or notice that the pillows and blankets are missing? What if the pillows and blankets are there for a more sinister reason than her mind can conjure up? She rolled here eyes and stared weirdly at Arthur. She didn't know if it was his lilting American accent or what, but something told her that his idea may not be the best . . .

However, what choice did she have? And with time running out, too. Reluctantly, she ducked under the covers and nestled herself in the stuffy embrace of the pillows. "I'm not happy about this," she said. Hopefully, her voice carried to him even under all these fabrics. It was only a matter of time until the wiseness of their decision was revealed to them in the form of a hungry monster.
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