Expendable

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Ilyana the Half-Human

---

As the water wagon attendant jotted down in his log of the four gallons of water issued to Illyana, there came a heavy sigh from underneath the wagon, and a small figure crawled out from underneath - Thistrideth Dragongrog, the beardless night baker. Many a dwarf gave the redhead a double-take when they saw her naked chin, the blood-red lipstick or the blush on her bare cheeks. While many a dwarf made noise of disgust, sometimes one of them would hang back, and ask her in a trembling voice where they could get that makeup, too?

Athulwin most likely had caught wind of her makeup parties with the interested female dwarves, but he wasn't invited. And makeup was a lot more comfortable than that itchy false-beard that her mother made Thistrideth wear.

However, she wasn't wearing her signature makeup at the moment. She looked annoyed, unhappy about crawling out from under the best cool spot in the desert. Her studded sleeping mask had been shoved up like some weird headband.

"Hey," Thistrideth called out to the wagon attendant, shaking her head to clear it, then staring at the receding back of Illyana as she made her way towards her cart, "Was that Hyrilea with that boy?"
"Uh, yeah."

"Not again," Thistrideth grumbles, then sighs as she pulls herself upright. "Don't let anyone take my spot."

As she entered the commissary tent, Thistrideth could see the centaur with the other servers, helping to lay out carpets on the sands.

"Hyrilea!" the lowland dwarf bellowed angrily, making every head in the tent jerk in her direction. The centaur frowned, but cantered over.
"Thist,..."
"What the hell were you doing with that boy?"
"Boy? Oh, nothing. He didn't know where the water wagons were...."
"And so you offered to show him," the baker said scornfully. "And you then offered to show them around town, too. What's the matter? Kostantinos' eyes wandering around those new fillies?"
"I... I don't know what...!"
"Save it, honey. The last thing we need is a jealous guard attacking a half-grown half-elf. Do you want to see him in a slave collar here because he killed that boy? Maybe you as well? Do you know where you might wind up if you get collared?
"He's not a boy, he's a sailor off of a navy ship! He's got all those battle scars...!"
"He's not even forty!" Thistrideth retorted. "Hell, I don't know his have dropped, yet."

Blushes burned on a few cheeks behind Hyrilea.

"Boy's got no family name, he's been disowned," the baker went on. "What was Athulwin gonna do? Leave the lad behind, like his crew did? The kid's got a good head on his shoulders, I don't need you messin' with it because you're angry at Kostantinos and tryin' ta make him jealous!"

The centaur ducks her head, her right hand wraps around her left elbow.

"I... I'm sorry, Thist...."
"Yer sorry," the dwarf says scornfully. "They tell me dat lump on your shoulders is a head, you best start usin' it. If yer angry at Kostantinos, take it out on him. Kick him in da shins, give him a nip - he's a big boy, he can take it. Don't go draggin' others into your mess, and I won't have to find someone else to pull the spice wagon."

---

Granny Siri

"Hey, you!" Siri called out, spying Illyana. "I need some help with this tent, think when you're done with yer water, you could come back here? There's coin in it for you!"

"Coin?" the half-human said, blinking at the Wanderer cleric. "Sure, I'll be right over."

Siri frowned as Illyana trudged away.

"Did he look okay to you?" she asked Pilot.
The construct shrugs, turning back to tugging at the canvas, trying to spread it out.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>

Absolutely! There's infinite room. The Caravan is bigger on the inside, I swear

@Tortoise

People have gotten lost. Remember to bring string and tie it well at the entrance. There will be stairs.

Into the Land of Twilight --- A story-focused fantasy adventure RP

I'm tempted to bring in a character. Do goblins exist in this world?

Are they in conflict with the elves? Or do the elves just ignore them?

The Guardians of Dara

I'm great at playing multiple characters, they just sorta spawn.

I've in mind a captain. Some might call them a pirate. Others a thief, a beggar, a storyteller, or an out and out liar. What really urks them though is that some of their stories have gotten confused with another captain/theif/beggar/storyteller/liar, and everyone accuses them of taking their tales.

It's a hard life.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

J'eon the Blacksmith

---

An arrow burst into flame midair as the blacksmoth glanced up at it.

“What’s this? What’s this?” he bellows, glancing towards the archers as another fireball began forming over his palm. “How do you like mine?”

The fireball darted towards the assassins, the tops of weeds suddenly bursting alight in its wake.

---

Jack Mallory

---

The creatures were reeling from the counter-attacks, probably not expecting the fight they got. Mallory fired two shots at a mimic who turned towards him and the Glen he rode, darting past without seeing what happened.

“We need to make a safe passage for the others!” Mallory yelled in the Glen’s ear, narrowly avoiding their antlers.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Ilyana the Half-Human

---

The girls in their blue aprons and scarves were toiling with beating the rugs before they would be laid down for the brightly colored commissary tent. A fair-haired orc girl, pausing to wipe her brow, caught sight of Ilyana heading towards the gates.

“It’s the sailor!” she blurted, nodding towards the half-human. The others pause, marveling at the scars they could see.
“Where do you think he’s been?”
“Where is he going with that?” the red-headed centaur asks, pointing at the buckets.
“He doesn’t know where the water wagon is!” the orc girl squeals, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Oh, I’ll go tell him,” the centaur smirks, darting towards Ilyana while the other serving girls began complaining.

“Hey! Hey, elf!”
Ilyana stops, glancing around wildly until she caught sight of the centaur.
“Uh, me?” she asks, confused.
“Yeah, you!” the centaur laughs. “I’m Hyrilea, what’s your name?”
“Ilyana.”
“Ilyana, that’s a nice name.”
“Is it?” the half-human blinks, confused. “Uh, thanks?”
“You’re welcome! Are you looking for the water wagons?”
“Uh, have they been filled?”
“Oh, yes,” the centaur sighs. “Athulwin had it done, first thing. He doesn’t want any hold-ups should we have to leave suddenly. They’re behind the commissary tent. C’mon, I’ll show you!”

Hyrilea wheels around to face towards the tent, while at the same time giving the other girls a big thumbs up and watching them react.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Ilyana answers, confused, turning to follow the girl. “So uh, did they had to leave suddenly before?”
“So I’ve heard. One of the cooks said that a Dinnin and his two guards started making a fuss when they found that the Wanderer priest was holding services on a Starday. But before it went too far, the cook said the three of them suddenly turned into frogs.”
“Frogs...?”
“Very ugly frogs, he said.”
“Ah, so...?”
“And so they packed up and left before anyone figured out what happened.”
“....Right. Uh, are you sure the cook wasn’t making it up?”

“Make it up?” Hyrilea drawls, flicking her tail suggestively as they walked around the back of the big tent and could see the water and supply wagons.
“Yeah, trying to impress you?”
“Maybe, I dunno. Here we are!” she beams, waving her arms at the nearest water wagon.
“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Ilyana replies, sagging with relief.

“So... do you want to check out the town, later? With me?” Hyrilea asks, ducking her head. Her left leg began pawing at the sand, digging a small divot nervously.

Ilyana frowns, glancing back. Was she flirting with her? No, that couldn’t be it, they weren’t even the same species or sex. There were other centaurs, of course, but most of them looked to be paired up. Hyrilea was probably just bored, not that she blamed her for that. Had to be hard trying to set up a tent when they'd been so long on the road with a town just over there.

“Uh, sure. When do you get off?”
Hyrilea blushes furiously as she glances up at Ilyana, but she was already walking towards the water wagon’s attendant.
“I’m off in an hour, I can meet you at your cart!”
“An hour,” Ilyana nods, waving her left hand and not seeing the centaur dash off.

---

Granny Siri

---

“Better hire some help,” Granny Siri sighs, watching as Pilot the construct struggled with spreading out the canvas. “We don’t need any more frogs.”

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Ilyana the Half-Human

---

"Water," Ilyana mutters, slipping the yoke with the two wooden buckets hanging from it on her shoulders. With a groan as she stands up, the cords just the right length for her to grasp the rope bails. She then turned and began trudging towards the nearest gate.

What was with this heat? And why was there no water out here among the other tents and wagons? Those huge things with the tusks must need a lot of water just to keep cool.

She hoped they weren't going to make her take off her cutlass or her knife once she reached the gate. Somehow she didn't think Athulwin would take it too kindly if she killed the guards.

The sailor paused as a floating head raced past her to catch up with the group in front and suddenly vanishes. She rubs her eyes for a moment, then when the mirage didn't reappear, Ilyana starts trudging again towards the city gate.

"Must be the heat."

---

Granny Siri

Pilot the construct was busy putting out the tent and poles from the dromedary box underneath the wagon, while Siri supervised - or rather, she read from one of the many journals of previous Wanderer clerics while it worked.

"Pilot, listen to this one!" the retired apothecary cackled. "This one is from Faust while he was in that underground bazaar. He's got bars listed here!"

The scarecrow turned, its glowing red eyes blinking for a moment as it listened.

"'The Dead Necromancer's Tavern. This quiet tavern located just off Temple Street in Undertaker's Alley is notorious for the nightlife, people are dyin' to get in. 'Raise Your Spirits' nights on Celesdays offer half-off drinks for terminal illness sufferers.' He's got one star written here."

"'The Common Prayer. On the corner of Temple Street and Dawn Avenue, this humble tavern offers an assortment of gruel, pottage, sour rye bread, and the house ale. Every night is Sermon Night, where you get a lecture while you're eatin' following the cancelation of Exorcism Lundays due to licensin' issues?' They had icensin' issues for exorcisms? Well, this one has two stars! Guess it's a better atmosphere than the Necromancers?"

Pilot shrugs its shoulders.

"'The Vile Elixir Alehouse on Lighthouse Road opposite the Secret Asylum of Time and next door to the Cloister of Doom, favored by wizards, witches and warlocks. Closed Lundays. High marks for the Shepherd's Pie, pulled pork, and their Baked Apple, as well as a fine assortment of cheeses. Specialty drinks, although the Hangman's Doom should be avoided.' My, that sounds interestin'. Got four stars, guess he liked the place."

Siri paused, reading intently, then let out an explosive whoop.

"'The Immoral Demon Bar is a lively place on Phoenix Row where they say you can make a deal for just about anythin'. Notorious for their cursed magical weapons decor and their Dancing Hands review, a spectacular animated display of former customers hands who made the mistake of touching one of the weapons without permission. Remember, you can look,'" she chuckles, "'just don't touch.' Five stars. Must have really liked the hands dancin'!"

Siri glances up and the smile slips from her face. Someone had somehow pinned a small blade to Pilot's chest with a bit of parchment wrapped around the hilt while the scarecrow's eyes blinked rapidly.

"Who did that do you?" Siri demands, glancing around using the magic eyes all around the wagon and her hat band. A bunch including the giant and the bat-boy was heading towards the gates, and she could see that half-elf boy following after them with a pair of buckets on a yoke. Of the messenger, there was no sign.

Slipping warily down from the wagon seat, she crosses over to the scarecrow and pulls the thin throwing blade from its chest, an assassin's throwing blade to be sure, despite the lack of poison. Pity that, some of them gave the most wonderful tingles.

Untying the string, she uncurled the parchment and began reading.

"Greetin's and salutations, Mistress Siri," she scowls. "The Assassin's Guild is in urgent need of your assistance when you arrive in Midnight City. A Sobieck."

She studies the crest for a moment, the hilt of a blade sticking out of a bleeding human skull, then shakes her head.

"What, they couldn't just walk up and hand this to me? What's with all the cloak and dagger?" Siri asks, then winces. "Sorry about that."

Leaning forward, Siri muttering a mending spell as she ran her finger over the slit in Pilot's shirt, the fibers drawing together as if they'd never been cut. "Did you see where they went?"

The construct shook its head silently.

"And just how did they manage that trick?" she scowls, glancing around once more.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

"Get me out of here...!" Mallory yelled, slinging himself up onto the Glen's back. With luck, the server aboard ship was getting all this footage he was streaming, because nobody would believe it if he just told them. Assuming the server was powered up.

This wasn't a random beast attack - this was an intentional attack on Silbermine with the humans caught in the middle.

...Or was it on them? To separate them from their ship, because who would want to go back through that? Your basic divide and conquer.

"EVA! Warn the ship!" he yelled as he clung on for dear life. "Priority Alpha Override! Imminent attack expected! Someone's after the Jo, probably after the Captain's team, too!"

Hopefully the override would flag the AI - assuming it was up.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Nemeia & Ilyana

---

"Wait!" Nemeia said, fresh concern echoing in her voice. She had fought battles before. Wounds were nothing new. She had seen injuries turn suddenly fatal. She could recognize the signs. Pain was written across the other woman's face. Her movements were slow and labored. There was no time to wait. And no purpose in delaying.

"You are wounded, let me help," shed added gently, her hands held open as she drew closer to Ilyana.

Ilyana frowns, turning towards Nemeia, "Oh, you're a chirurgeon? Got a needle on you to stitch me up? I better ask you your rates first, I'm not carrying much with me."

"I hope you don't mind if we do this outside and in the light?"

"Priestess," Nemeia said with a soft smile, "And I've no need or desire for payment, I simply wish to help."

She held out a hand, "Outside would be nice, I would welcome the sunshine, provided your wound does not worsen before then."

No desire for payment, Ilyana winces, as she walks. Those are usually the most expensive. Not that I have much choice, at the moment.

"I'll walk out of here," she replies. "I've been in Sick Bay too many times among the dead and dying, I welcome open air. But if I fall, see if you can get one of the others to help me out."

Ilyana sighs, side-glancing at Nemeia's curves. Prison and ship food must have stunted her growth, Ilyana had no hips or chest to speak of, it's no wonder everyone thought she was a boy. Men's glances just slid past her to someone else like Nemeia. And no amount of magic was going to fix that.

"I'm sure Galaxor can manage," Nemeia offered, attempting her best to lighten the mood.

"To the surface, friends, we should see to the wounded of our present company and far better away from here," she added to the others, moving to keep pace with Ilyana.

Ilyana was starting to feel light-headed by the time they reached the surface.

"So, how do we do this?" she asks. Was she going to have to accept Nemeia's god to be healed?

Stepping out of the tomb, Nemeia felt a new warmth from the sunlight. The air was clean, purified of whatever evil had afflicted the forest.

She gestured towards a solid slab of carved stone that lay in the nearby grass, "With your permission, I will lay my hands on you. Over the wound. I do not need to touch your skin...but it would help. If you can, it would be most helpful if you tried to relax. A racing mind and lurching heart present their own problems."

"Please, sit or lie down, whichever you prefer," she added, gently guiding Ilyana towards the stone.

Ilyana gingerly sat down, then sighs, pulling out her knife. "I'll have to patch it anyway, but there's no point on this blade. The officers were worried the crew would rip the sails."

Or them, Ilyana shrugged. Hard to be loyal to guys who paid to have her picked up outside of the prison, then when the war was over to maroon her without warning on a deserted island.

"Just... make a... v-notch at the end," she said faintly, lying down, then blacked out. The blood-soaked bandana slipped out of her hand. Almost unnoticed, there was a faint purple line matching the sword-cut.

Nemeia gasped as Ilyana faded. She had suspected they did not have much time, but she hadn't expected her condition to be so delicate.
Wasting no time, Nemeia did as she was bade, and cut Ilyana's clothing with the blunt tipped knife so that she could see the deep gash that had been cut into her hip.

Reciting a familiar prayer, Nemeia gently placed her hands over the wound, and closed her eyes. Warmth rose from deep within in her, not the overbearing light of the sun, but the soothing radiance of the moon. A great circle of silver appeared around Nemeia as she wove her magic, small rays traveling across her person and over her hands.

Ilyana would feel a gentle warmth enveloping her as flesh and muscle mended together. Nemeia's prayer echoed quietly, a faint whisper on her lips as she exhaled deeply, beseeching Valdarun for her aid.

She did not speak of Ilyana's heroism. Her willingness to help her fellow pilgrims and the afflicted denizens of the forest. Valdarun did not care for such things, she loved all the children that danced under the moonlight.

Opening her eyes, Nemeia took clear water from her waterskin and carefully dabbed Ilyana's brow as she examined the wound. It had been a hasty operation, but it appeared successful. Given her sudden decline, Nemeia knew there had been no other choice.

"Awaken, friend, your would is healed, I have done what I could for your pain, but given the haste demanded, some might yet linger."

"Ah?" Ilyana said, her eyes fluttering as they pivoted towards Nemeia. She could feel her cheeks beginning to burn as the memories came back.

"AH!" she cried, pushing herself sitting upright on the stone. "Ah, I mean, thank you, you were very kind to do that. My clothes are ripped, i need to change....."

The half-human turned and got her feet on the ground, then pushed herself upright. "Ah, I'll need you to sign the book, later?" Ilyana said cryptically, then bolted back towards the caravan.

---

Her/Not her was adrift in inky blackness, listening to the stars singing. Like the sea, there was currents here, flowing towards and outwards from a sun. She/Not her was speeding away from the singing star towards a blue and green sphere over which two smaller silvery spheres spun around. Dimly, She realized she was staring at Luna and the Hunter, but he was not chasing her, they were dancing...?

She/Not Her reached out a hand, and she gasped, for it wasn't her hand, it was a purple translucent flipper...!

---

Ilyana jerked awake, panting as her heart raced in her chest. She was lying under the tarp on her cart, hearing the sounds of people around her, doing normal people things. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lifted her right hand - and looked.

It was her hand. A little rough, but undeniably hers.

She let it collapse onto her chest, her breath quick but she took in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Eventually her breathing became a little more even as she tried to decide if she more relieved her hand as it always was - or disappointed that it was?

"Why am I getting these weird dreams...?" she mutters. The ones around her were used to strange outbursts from her in the middle of the night, but this was daylight still.

Lifting up an edge of the tarp, Ilyana could see the light, all so brilliant over a sea of tents and strangers as the sun radiated all this dry heat down on this strange city in the middle of a desert.

Her donkey was lying partially under the cart, no doubt trying to escape the heat, she could hear it panting, the bucket next to her still had an inch of water in it.

"We need more water," Ilyana sighs, crawling out from under the canvas so as to not disturb the beast.

We Aren't The Hero's Party - Fanrasy Anime RP (Cancelled)

Six names. Hope the others give you more names soon.

Auqohan Dynasty
Drora Empire
Onosha Dynasty
Shira Kingdom
Trebothage Kingdom
Vrisloudia Empire