Goldeagle1221

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

HMMM

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

The Great Hall of Chief Aleksiej -- Last holdout of the Čeleviak tribes

Tables were toppled, chairs were split, wooden bowls and bone carved cups were strewn about. The walls were spattered with a mixed mess of a now unidentifiable concoction, and the great door that led into this pine log hall was crushed into the floor, a single metal hinge squeaking against a growing wind outside. By the foot of the Chieftain Aleksiej’s wooden throne was the Chieftain himself, eyes open wide in terror and a gaping cut nearly cleaving his head from his neck. Under him laid his wife, her eyes closed as if she resigned peacefully when her chest was split open. Jjonveyo, the man who sat on the throne, knew that wasn’t true.

A bloodied axe lay across his crimson died pants, one calloused finger tapping against its ivory pommel. Specks of blood flaked in Jjonveyo’s deep black beard and moustache and his dark eyes stared thoughtfully at his slaughtered nephews and nieces. Their bodies littered around his brother Aleksiej’s, bloody and broken. A dense circlet weighed more on his head than his thoughts, though - he felt no remorse in the massacre.

“Is it done?” A voice called from the fallen door, the long grey beard of a man named Piotr poking in. Jjonveyo simply looked up from his deeds and narrowed his eyes. Piotr gulped and took a step in, but as his first footfall hit the wooden floors, Jjonveyo’s voice rumbled from his gruff throat.

“They dwell in the caves of Thaa, now, as cowards.” It was a decree as much as a statement, and one that Piotr didn’t dare question. His old eyes looked as if they desired to ask a question, but instead his lips waited. Jjonveyo waved a hand and Piotr tilted his head.

“You are Tsar.” Piotr announced.

“I am,” Jjonveyo’s voice was certain and without any doubt in the fact, “Čeleviak united...” There was a dense pause, and Jjonveyo stood up a whole head taller than Piotr. He looked down at his loyal retainer, “What of Wojeck, has he returned from Ha-Dûna?”

“No,” Piotr said, following the Tsar who was now on his way out of the hall. Silence overtook the pair again as they crossed the threshold to the outside, where Jjonveyo’s warriors were still picking loot from the dead warriors and people who lived under his brother Aleksiej. Jjonveyo’s glare seemed to follow the scene and a low rumble hummed in his throat as he thought.

“Leave your trinkets!” He suddenly barked, his words freezing the scene, “We will not take from Čeleviaks, they now know who is their Tsar -- leave their wealth so they can multiply it for the tithe.” The warriors blinked at Jjonveyo, but quickly began to drop whatever they had looted to the floor -- survivors huddled in the shadows of broken yurts and a-frame homes watching on desperately. “We already have so little,” Jjonveyo confided in Piotr, voice a low grumble.

“You’re a generous leader,” Piotr remarked, mouth hanging open as if wanting to say more. Jjonveyo frowned.

“But no word from Wojeck?”

“No.” Piotr reminded.

“Then we must wait longer to see if the people of Ha-Dûna will find the caves of Thaa in death, or the mountainside above.” Jjonveyo rolled his jaw in thought, eyes glued to the dark grey banner hanging from the ruined great hall -- the image of a devouring snake upon it. Flicking his eyes back to Piotr he spoke, “Collect my warriors.”

Ha-Dûna

The autumn harvest was approaching its end, and sleds, carts and farmers with baskets and haystacks on their backs filled the mud-path streets to the brim, flowing in and out of the city gates like the tide. Druids patrolled every resthouse, silo and storehouse, scraping down the amounts on oak and birch tablets. Overseeing the peace were leather-armoured constables armed with whips, ready to punish any who dared short their taxes or sneak handfuls of grain and vegetables. Children zoomed between the legs of adults and animals, playing with sticks. By the largest resthouse, the South Gate Hall, théin Aifric rubbed her groggy eyes, hardly paying attention anymore to the masses of ethnicities from the southern farmlands that came with all kinds of taxable and untaxable goods. She had to kick herself awake several times - it may have been the last day, but she had beheld this very sight for weeks now. The responsibilities of a théin weren’t always as exciting.

“Théin Aifric?” asked the druid tallying the goods. Aifric instinctively took the whip off her belt and slowly rolled it out.

“Alright… How many?”

The druid blinked and shook her head. “No, no, no - it’s not a criminal this time.” Aifric frowned in surprise and looked up to see the line of farmers and herders shiver as one at the sight of the whip. At the head of the line, though, stood a man. He was dressed in thick woolen clothes hardened with a leather chap. A great serpent was stitched into the chest of his coat, mouth agape and eyes clearly gouged out. The man himself looked rather young, but held experience in his sharp dark eyes. He was flanked by two similar looking men of varying ages. They all wore the same dark beard and moustache.

“You are an official?” The middle man’s voice was thick and groggy with an accent that could only be described as Čeleviak. It was as if speaking Dûnan words made his tongue swollen and slow. The théin blinked.

“I am,” she replied curtly. “What’s this? Uh… Chelivyak, right - there’s no mistaking that accent. You are very far from home, man. You’ve got goods to tax?”

“No,” The man, Wojeck, said sternly, “I have come for tithe to the Tsar.” He pulled a wooden circle out of his coat and pushed it into Aifric’s hands. On its sanded surface were surprisingly well written Dûnan characters and numerals. It almost looked like one of the inventory reports for the post-tax season, but the way it was written and the context made it clear that it was a list of demands. The théin hardened her eyes skeptically.

“First of all, it’s ‘fithe’. Second of all, we have no such law. What even is a saar, anyway?” She turned the plate around in her hand before giving it back. “If you’ve had your fun, stop wasting my time, son.”

The plate was shoved back at Aifric, narrow black eyes glaring from Wojeck. “Jjonveyo the Great demands his tithe under threat of annihilation. Your law is now under his, your time is now under his. Jjonveyo the Great is a man of mercy, and wishes a simple transition of the tithe.” The two other men grunted in agreement. The théin snarled and shoved him back forcefully.

“Back off! I don’t know what you’ve eaten today, but you are far out of line. Go home to your saar or whatever he is and tell him to send a better joker next time.” She flexed her hand around her whip. “Do not make me repeat myself again.”

The three men looked between themselves. Wojeck slowly grinned menacingly, “What is your name, that you speak so cocky against Jjonveyo?”

“What is my--” The woman looked to not know whether to laugh or snarl, standing dumbfounded before the men. The tax line had at this point stopped, and the druid and the constables were paying close attention. Aifric uncoiled her whip. “I wouldn’t give a damn about this Joanveyoh even if I had a damn to give. You can go right home and tell whoever that even is that Aifric, théin of Ha-Dûna and daughter of Clan Sûr-le-Mont, sent his loon of a messenger back home with those words - and if you even open your mouth right now, I will give you as many lashes as it takes to get you to leave. You are wasting my and everybody else here’s time with your games.”

A roar of laughter erupted from Wojeck, and he turned to one of the other bearded men -- explaining something in Čeleviak. The other man started to laugh with Wojeck, the latter following last. All at once they turned to Aifric, Wojeck pointing a finger, "I had no idea I was speaking to an ignorant, indeed I have wasted time. Pray tell, where may I find an official?" He quickly added, "Capable of diplomacy."

That was the last drop, and the théin lifted her whip, cracking it furiously at the three men. More constables hurried over to help, taking out their own whips. “Go! Get out of here, you slobs! Back to your dirty caves!”

The whip lashed across Wojeck's chest, but his ears perked at the mention of caves - pushing him through the pain. He gritted his teeth and barked something in Čeleviak. The other men narrowed their eyes. Wojeck and one of the others whipped out daggers from their coats, murder in their eyes.

"Stop!" The oldest of the three suddenly shouted, voice dripping with a foreign accent thicker than Wojeck's. Wojeck and the other man hesitated.

“He’s pulled a blade!” shouted one of the constables. The crowd of people who had come to pay taxes screamed and scattered, and the théin and her warriors pulled their own weapons, most of them axes, but Aifric’s, a long dagger. They then jabbed and lunged the Čeleviak, trying to get a good stab in, the first stab puncturing the hesitating Wojeck. The blade sunk deep into the base of his neck, a rough gurgle spattering out.

The old man's eyes widened with fear and in a moment, he had his own blade drawn and deep in the leg of Aifric. He pulled it out in time to dodge an axe swing from a constable - the same constable shrieking in pain as the last Čeleviak stabbed his blade into their heart.

An axe came crashing down into the man's back, and before the older man could retaliate and avenge - an axe slammed into his own. He fell to the ground, bone crunching against the axe blade. The constables stood panting over the corpses until one of them turned to the théin, shouting, “The théin! She’s wounded! Kaer Samwyn, do something!” The druid, shocked by what had just transpired, hastened to action with healing Aifric’s leg. One of the constables took the head of the one whose heart had been stabbed and lifted his torso onto her lap, tears filling her face.

“Ron… No… Oh gods, not Ron…” She looked pleadingly over at the druid, who looked back and shook her head slowly.

“There’s nothing I can do for him… I’m sorry. He’s in the afterlife now, being welcomed by his mothers and fathers of yore.”

The constable broke down sobbing.

---

MP Summary

Thaa Start: 4 MP, 3 DP
-2 MP, 3 DP Consecrate Hero
End: 2 MP 0 DP

Jjonveyo

MP 2, DP 3, 2 Free Titles

MP

Regeneration II: Jjonveyo can regenerate from most of any normal wound within minutes.

DP and 2 Free titles due to Undying port

Undying V: Jjonveyo can survive wounds and even can slowly heal that which should have killed an ordinary man. They won't go into shock or otherwise be debilitated beyond the physical debasement, an arm cut off means that they can't use that arm, not that they have been declawed. Their soul is tied to their body by bonds stronger than that life ordinarily permits, as such even when they should be dead, they remain tied to their body as it tries to heal to whatever extent it can.

Summary

We open with Jjonveyo sitting on the throne of his brother Aleksiej, who he had just killed along with the entire family. Jjonveyo is one of six Chieftains of the Čeleviak ethnicity that lives in the harshest mountains by Ha-Duna. With the murder of his brother, Jjonveyo had now successfully killed the other five Chieftains of the Čeleviaks over the course of a year. Being the sole ruler of the Čeleviaks, he is named Tsar and begins to amass an amazing army.

Back at Ha-Duna, Jjonveyo’s nephew -- Wojeck -- arrives to demand “tithe” for the great Tsar. He is continuously mocked by the Thein receiving him, Aifric. Wojeck returns the mockery and then suggests talking to a more diplomatic official, but is met with whips. Insulted, Wojeck and one of his lackeys pulls blades to kill Aifric but are stopped by a third Čeleviak emissary. Unfortunately Aifric and the other constables are already descending on them and Aifric kills Wojeck. The other two Čeleviak are quickly dispatched, with only one constable dying and Aifric suffering a minor wound. It is assumed that without Wojeck’s word ever reaching back to Jjonveyo, that Ha-Duna has chosen war.

Prestige

Jjonveyo 0+5=5

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Juniper and Shae

The sun only just started to rise. Its murky golden rays cut over the red roofs of the surrounding buildings and spilled into the half open window of Juniper Twiceseven’s room. She laid on her back, big brown eyes wide open as they sucked in the new light. There was a dryness on her face, having been awake for at least an hour. Her breathing didn’t change much with the realization that it was now properly morning - just a small knit in her brow recognizing that this was starting to become a habit.

Reluctantly she kicked the wide bed’s covers away from her body, revealing an acorn laying ontop of her chest, a cheap silver wire tying it to a thin silver lace about her neck. Her fingers were already toying with it, as they had been since she woke up. Tucking a slant into her cheek she looked down at it and slipped it under her collar. Rising, much as one would imagine a creaky corpse might rise from a coffin, she sat up -- fluffing a hand through her messy nest of soot black hair.

Rolling the rest of the way out, she looked at the clothes folded on a chair in the corner of her room. Quickly she started to count her fingers, sure she didn’t see more than three people she knew yesterday. She raised her chin and looked to the ceiling as a thought started to form -- no it was four.

“Still in the clear,” She said without much enthusiasm and snagged them from their resting spot.

The process was quick and punctuated with an angry brush cleaving through her hair up until she gave up on it. Tying it up, she walked into the only other room her little home had -- the kitchen. There she stared at a bowl of oats and a cold hearth. She tucked another slant in her cheek.

“Later,” She promised, “I’ll eat twice what I missed.”

With her oath settled, she slipped on some beat up boots and threw her trusty grey and white checkered cloak over her trusty burgundy tunic. Snapping a smile on her face, she made another oath, “Today will be a good day. Tomorrow even better, and the day after that...” She fell into her mantra as she slammed her front door behind her.

It was a cold Macsalsday morning - as all Dûnan mornings were - and the first thlénn had not set in yet. These summer days were long, but if one wanted to be up with the sun - as Juniper did - then you just had to sleep less. People were already stirring, and the odd, “mornin’ ta yeh, Jun,” piped out. The particularly energetic Kala was already making her Macsalday pie, and she popped her head out of the window and called her to join them.

“You look like you’ve had nothing but oats again,” the motherly woman said with a smile. “Come on in now, the college can wait.”

Juniper scrunched her right eye at the sun, the left peering at Kala. A thought buzzed just for a moment -- more of a mental wince -- regarding Kala’s observation. But with a brilliant smile, Juniper managed to ward off the rest of the thought. “Sure,” She replied, mustering what morning social energy she could find.

The little woman hummed to herself as she let Juniper in, pulling up a chair for her. “And how are things going at the college? Learned any good morning ditties yet?” She asked as she placed a slice of pear and apple pie before her. A pair of feet could be heard scrambling about, and a little brown-haired boy came dashing from the only other room the little home had, making himself comfortable in one of the seats. A grumble followed, and a big bearded man came lumbering in after him.

“Gods, where do you find the energy so early,” he half-growled, walking up to the pie.

“No! No, sit down Feidlir,” Kala rushed over and just about caught the bear’s hand, pulling him away.
He sat down and looked tiredly at Juniper, muttering a low, “g’mornin’.” Calloused hands tapped at the wooden table and he stared out of the open window for a few seconds. “Can ye shut the damn thing, it’s freezin’.” Kala drew it shut and stoked returned to stoking the fire.

“Well you better start seeing to our wood stores, you’re burning through it and it’s not even winter yet.” The woman gave a frustrated glance, and he growled something incomprehensible in response. Soon enough she sat herself down and they all tucked into the pie.

“Akh, it’s bitter as dog shite.” He muttered, but Kala just sighed and smiled at Juniper.

“What was I saying? Oh, yes, the college.”

With one finger poking into her slice of pie, Juniper finally looked up. She blinked twice before slippering her arm back under her cloak, “Oh right.” Her thoughts returned to the conversation at hand, “Well you know how it is -- I go in, I recite old stories, the kids recite them back” Sucking in a breath she recalled the most recent, “Lately it’s been mostly histories regarding the local area.”

“Well, your job is even more important now. Everyone has been terrible worried about Macsal’s cursesong - if you don’t teach ‘em well and make good art who knows what’ll happen. And all this business of war, I’ve never understood it. Anyhow, are you going to come by again afterwards? I’ve been dying for you to finish off the story of how you got away from those Sigerans. And I know my little Callfir has too.” The brown-haired boy looked up from his pie. “I think he has the makings of a bard, if you ask me.”

"Maybe I will," Juniper lied with a flash of guilt, knowing all too well she'd likely be isolating herself in her room later. Turning her attention to Callfir she smiled, eyes squinting as they do, "I can see it. He has the energy." Poking a chin at Feidlir, she continued, "Don't let the hairy one take that away, even if he groans."

“Oh, you know I never,” Kala laughed, then she leaned in and put a hand on Juniper’s forearm. “Oh, and just so you know, Herla is back from the north and hasn’t stopped gabbering about what she saw out there. She’ll be here tonight, so you be sure to come by now.”

"I'll do my best," Juniper offered, following the weak tone with a strong smile. Standing from her chair she held onto the smile, "Thank you for inviting me to breakfast, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry I don't have much to say this morning but hey I'll try and stop by later." She eyed the door, "But work awaits."

The Bard College was in every way a magnificent structure. It’s smooth brown walls rose like cliff faces into the skies of Ha-Dûna, the many red roofs juxtaposing beautifully against the brown beneath. Perhaps in days past the mere sight of it would have been enough to whittle away at any doubts and fill her with energy, these days it did not quite cut it.

Moving over a great stone bridge, through a gateway, and into the main courtyard, Juniper allowed herself to pause a moment before the great statue to Eoghan that commanded the centre of the plaza.

As if talking to the frozen face, Juniper whispered under her breath, "What?" She waited long enough for a response that wouldn't come. She exhaled through her nostrils, "Figures."

“I’ve seen plenty of people talking to those old rocks up in the circle, but no one’s been talking to this one.” Came a euphonious voice, and from behind the statue came a woman, her cheeks flushing in the cold morning air. “Which is really quite a shame, because this old hunk has a lot to say.” She flashed her a small smile, more alluring than nature allowed.

At first the words entered Juniper's ears holding a familiar feeling that caused the woman's chest to tighten and face to heat with emotion. There was an itch behind her eyes that's swelling only stopped upon recognition of the speaker. "About twenty-nine years of stories, even," Juniper managed with a sputter, her surprise splashing over her face. Shaking the slouch off her shoulders, Juniper forced a smile through her sudden conflict of emotion. Her eyes cringed as they met the Song's, seeing a certain beauty she wasn't hoping to see, "I'm sorry, you reminded me of someone else for a moment." She paused, "but it's Shae, right?"

“If you like,” the song intoned, trailing a finger across the base of the statue. “I was told you like to be here early - ‘if you’re after good stories, it’s the Twiceseven’s daughter yer after’. Complain enough about the stories going round any resthouse and that’s what you’re bound to hear eventually.” She glanced at the other woman, “but you probably already know that.” She reached into the folds of her clothes and emerged with an apple hued with pinks and yellows and reds and greens. In her hands it seemed quite unlike any apple that grew from a tree. “An apple for a story, if you like? Tell me who you saw in my eyes.”

"That story doesn't have an end," Juniper shook her head, "But really, I have any other story you could like - oh!" Juniper's smile forced her to squint, "That actually reminds me of a story regarding a young druid that went out into the mountains in search of something precious." Juniper paused, "Have you heard that one?"

Shae looked across the courtyard to the great gates of the college, the smallest knot in her brows. “I know of a certain druid who seems to be looking for something, but I don’t think this is the same one.” She stepped away from the statue, drawing her tartan cloak about her, and sat back on one of the benches. “Go on, I’m all ears.”

"Likely not," Juniper pressed on, putting herself before the sitting Shae as if she were on a stage. "You see this druid's name isn't as important as his story. It's simple enough though, you see he took it upon himself to travel high into a far away mountain range in search of something precious. He toiled and traveled and walked and grew weak. For days he did this, rising with the sun and settling with the stars, until he lost count of how many days and nights passed on his journey." Juniper shook her head as if dismissing her own tale, "But you see, one day this druid came across an insurmountable obstacle, his goal just on the other side."

There was a pause.

"So what he did was he took his knapsack and threw it over to his goal." She tucked a slant into her cheek, "And now he knew he was going to reach his goal, this way or that, the obstacle would be surmounted or circumvented and he would be reunited with what was precious." Shae fiddled with the apple, her thoughtful eyes on Juniper. She rose and handed her the apple.

“Mysterious, I can just about make out a homiletic pinch to it.” She leaned in and looked Juniper in the eye with a curious smile. “Only question is, which bit did you make up?”

Juniper rolled the apple in her hands and shrugged, "None of it, it's an old story belonging to... Well everyone. It's like the story of change: how the only thing that never changes is change and that with time, even the face of a mountain can change." She put the apple on the armbar of the bench, "Could even turn an obstacle into something else if not nothing."

“Now that’s wisdom right there. But what use is a story if it needs explaining?” She let the tune hang in the air then reached into her clothes and emerged with another apple, biting into it.

"It incites thought." Juniper defended and took a seat, "Not everything needs to be understood right away." She pointed a finger as if scolding a child, "As they say to the students: there is a difference between telling a story and sharing one."

“That a story should incite thought and provide insights is a noble goal, no doubt - but if that is all it does then it’s not a story at all, just a lesson.” Shae countered with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Shouldn’t a story teach you while you are unaware of that fact? Shouldn’t those thoughts and insights emerge unconsciously as you go on living your life?” She cocked her head and took another bite from the apple.

"Speaking of the two," Juniper snapped a finger, "Didn't you ask me for a story and now you're giving me a lesson?" She drummed her fingers on her lap, "Not to sound rude, of course. Why don't you try telling me a story instead? I promise I'll steal it." Shae chortled melodiously.

“Hey, don’t blame me if all your thought inciting worked!” She glanced at the other woman, then scratched her nose with a finger. “Ah, a story. I don’t think I could do one as thoughtful as you.”

"Then don't," Juniper offered her untouched apple back to Shae, "Who says there needs to be thought, reason, or rhyme?" The song looked up to the sky for a few moments, then rose and took a small breath, loosening her tartan cloak and standing before her in the cold. She swayed from side to side, humming to herself with eyes closed. And then her crooning voice came like a gentle wave, a wave that slowly but surely rose with the tide until it became a cascading deluge of sound and harmony.

When hale Caden to Naya wed
The gods from far all came
And meats were lined and all were sat
And all their furies tamed
And all was joyness for a while
There at the godly feast
And all hostil'ty was forgot
As palms became full greased
For food and joy is, as oft said,
The path to any heart
So eat ye gods and drink full draughts
Forget the deadly dart!
Rose Boris, stone full-flushed with drink
And raised the hearty horn
'To ye, my friends an famalam
'To wee gods yet unborn!
'To yer endless beauty, Naya,'
Then, 'wat'ry Clar!' he said:
'To yer ugly gob, ye fat mutt!
'I wish that ye were dead!'
Well then the feast became a fray
The guests raised spears and bows
A furious moon rose bright and cold
Beneath it battle rows
And all on earth below them cried
And like took up to war
The gnashing rat struck here, and there
Trolls, men, cut deep and tore
And on the mount and on the shore
And 'neath the darkest wave
The clash of gods quicked mortal hearts
All got as good they gave
And when the feuding gods all stopped
And put aside their jibes
Hale Caden paused and looked on down
At all the warring tribes
'Why do you fight, you down below?'
Said he with growing frown
And all of them looked up in thought
As all the gods looked down
'We fight down here, you gloried one
'As you must surely know
'As up above among the gods
'So too it is below!'
'Not so! Not so!' Cried Reiya's light
'Not while yet here I shine
'The gods may fight their endless wars
'Their blood the sea of brine
'And yet below let peace still reign
'No heart by rancour torn
'Praises to Boris, too to Clar
'Raise ye to both the horn!
'The feuds of gods are their affairs
'And not for you below
'So go off home, ye warring tribes
'And till the earth and grow!'
And there by Caden and Naya
The gods all shared a meal
And all on earth was a long peace
And wounds and hurts did heal
And though the gods still clash above
And though they fight and cry
We mortals have no need for war
'tis vain that we thus die
The fight of gods is fought by gods
The fight of men by men
And better yet fight not at all
And let peace reign again!

The song’s hums and notes continued for a time after her poetic lay was concluded, and then she stopped at last, opened her eyes, and looked at Juniper before taking up her cloak again. “By the Lady, I can never get used to this cold.” She shivered.

Juniper clapped, "And there you have a story -- which I'll keep my word about." Juniper's eyes opened wide with sudden panic, "I'm late!" She shot to her feet and turned to Shae, "I'm late!" The song looked around in confusion. Students were just about beginning to stream in and she knew that lessons were not due to begin for a while yet. She glanced back at Juniper.

“Late? Late for wh-” she stopped abruptly, her eyes wide and fixed on something behind Juniper, lips pursed. She cleared her throat and moved slightly so that the other girl was between her and whatever had caught her eye. “Actually, I think I should get out of here too.” She whispered.

Juniper's panicked face raised a suspicious brow, "Story?"

Shae grinned and took her by the hand. “If you like.” And with that she hurried to the side of the plaza, disappearing between the pillars and the growing tide of students. “Is there a back exit or something?” She glanced at the main gate, where a number of bald druids were staring intently in their general direction. “I’d prefer not to go that way.”

Juniper frowned, "I don't think so-" She made a sudden face, as if resigning to a dumb idea. Gripping Shae's arm, Juniper yanked her into the closest building. They flowed with the influx of students until Juniper tugged Shae once again, the pair slipping through a thick oaken door.

Inside, the office they snuck into a room reeked of mould often associated with scholars, plus the stench of pipeweed and other smokables. The entire place was otherwise immaculate, with everything neatly coordinated and labeled. "Cleanliness is unique among bards, I know," Juniper cracked as she yanked on Shae's arm once again - pulling her over to a shuttered window that stood about shoulder height on the wall. "I boost you up, then you me?" She said, nervously looking at the door to the room. Shae nodded, glancing out of the open windows to see if there was anyone waiting there. Assured that there was nothing beyond the odd student or passerby, she raised her leg gracefully and lithely lifted off Juniper’s readied hands.

Finding her balance quickly, she held onto the side of the window and extended a hand to Juniper. “How did you ever last in this smelly old place?”

"By being smelly." Juniper grabbed Shae's hand and began to yank herself up to the window. At that moment, the door began to open -- a wispy haired old man tottering in. He gasped at the sudden sight. Before he could grumble a word beyond a scoff, Juniper pushed Shae out the window, toppling after her and straight into a generous bush.

They were in the shrubs outside the college walls, nicked and stuffed with leaves. A big adrenaline smile was on Juniper's face, fading quick into worry. "Before he looks out the window!" She hissed, jolting back up to her feet.

Red-faced, grinning, and leaking ink where the small twigs had penetrated her thin skin, Shae leapt spryly from the bush and went flowing after Juniper. They were soon safe between the houses and Shae slowed to a dignified walk as people bowed and generally showed their deference for the helgen. She soaked in the attention and weaved her way through them with relative ease. “Know anywhere we can sit away from all…” she glanced around at the hustle and bustle, “this?”

"Yeah," Juniper nodded and tilted her head in the direction of the farms, "I know a lonely white pine surrounded by brush." Shae glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a thinking spot," Juniper shot a defense.

“Must make for some very happy thoughts,” Shae chortled. “Show me to it, my lady.” She half bowed and gestured for her to lead the way. Juniper shook her head but walked on regardless.

Within a short amount of time, the pair skirted a mostly empty field plus a few orchards, and found their way to -- as Juniper described it -- a very lonely white pine, the only in the surrounding area in fact. Pushing through the brush that grew in its periphery, the two were soon shaded from all.

Inside this little secret land, a good amount of old dried grass and leaves bedded up against the trunk of the tree, giving its otherwise gnarled base a sort of comfy sitting spot. Juniper motioned to the tree, a flash of sadness briefly behind her grin, "As the guest, you get sitting rights."

Shae shook of her tartan cloak, looking up into the tree’s canopy while descending to her knees. “I’d prefer to…” she lay down, her eyes fixed on the canopy, “lie down.” She paused for a few seconds. “Have you ever looked up at a branchless tree against the sky? It’s most striking at night against the moonlight and stars.”

"Is this the start of a story?" Juniper leaned a shoulder against the tree and looked down at Shae. The song glanced at her and shook her head.

“No,” she crooned, “just an odd thing I noticed. No trees where I come from, no night, no stars, moon, sun. You notice those little things.” She exhaled and was quiet for some time. “So, uh. I might know somebody who told a little lie and might be in a pinch of trouble.” She turned to her side and leaned up against her hand, looking at Juniper.

"Is it me?" Juniper asked ridiculously. The song narrowed her eyes, a smile playing around her lips.

“Now I’m suspicious.” She pursed her lips. “Let’s just say… the name isn’t important for the story.” She looked at the tree trunk, her gaze drifting upwards. “The people here are obsessed with the gods. I’m not complaining, I love the attention. ‘Macsaldatr, Macsaldatr,’ it’s great. And it’s not like I’m doing anything nefarious. But see, there’s somebody who might have told a little teeny tiny lie about one of the gods… and everyone believed it. Except a few tuneless boors who have been giving this friend of mine a hard time.” She ran her free hand through her hair.

"Uh oh, lying about the gods. I hear that makes their ears itch -- imagine the ear infection from a whole city doing it." Juniper waved a hand, grin in her face, "Go on."

The song half-grimaced at the thought, but could not contain a grin of her own. “I guess it must be a pretty bad infection - the god in question hasn’t cast his punishment down upon us all yet. But anyhow, this friend of mine - she’s getting pretty tired of these fellas following her about. I’m no expert in these things, but surely somebody who's heard it all like you knows a trick or two, right?”

"Depends," Juniper mentally catalogued a few similar stories, "Who exactly your friend is evading, which god... The goal of the protagonist." She tapped her chin, "Genre."

“I wouldn’t call my friend the protagonist as such - more like a single-purpose character. Like the old man who sits by the cross-roads and tells the protagonist which way to go. The protagonist is after the great treasure - peace - and the old man took him to the side, told him not to take either route, and pointed out the short-cut, that’s all.”

"Aw, well that isn't very fair to your friend to picture them merely as an old man at a crossroad." Juniper pointed out.

“Oh I doubt it’ll be any skin off their nose. The point of the old man is that he doesn’t get stuck in adventures - and now he’s being tracked down by angry hooligans. It’s not what he signed up for when he walked into this story, I can tell you that. Or at least, not that kind of adventure.”

"Well, what do you wa- er you're friend wants.. Does? What does your friend want." Juniper knitted her brow, "Yeah, what does your friend want?"

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shae sighed, “maybe losing the hooligans would be a good start. And if they tell everybody that the protagonist took a shortcut it would be disastrous - that hard-won peace will be shattered.” She looked at Juniper with sudden realisation. “We need to warn the protagonist.”

"You calling me an old man?" Juniper frowned, "Can't say I can't blame you... Okay sure, this is very roundabout but I'm already likely in trouble with the professor I assist under so why not pull this a little longer? Makes for a good story at least. What's the details?"

Shae sat up and tapped her fingers against one another. “Uh, I’m not sure if this is my story to tell, really. We should go to the protag- uh, Boudicca.”

"B-Boudicca?" Juniper stood up straight, "Are you sure that's even okay!?"

“I mean, unless you can think of some covert way of getting rid of this bald druid problem.”

"Other than just leaving town?" Juniper shrugged. Shae frowned at the suggestion, curiosity lining her brows. "That's what I would do- but I'm biased... Suppose you could go the pushed to the edge murderer route that favors some horror stories..." Snapping back to reality Juniper sighed, "But okay, going to the top is probably the best and most reasonable option." Stretching away from Shae, Juniper covertly gave her cloak a sniff and briefly cringed before turning back, "You know her though, right? This won't just be a surprise - 'here I am with a random college assistant'?"

“I mean, she’s been all busy recently, no time for little old me I suppose. Or maybe she’s too guilty to be in the same place as me or something. Who knows.” She forced a smile. “I guess leaving…” she pursed her lips, “ah, but I like it here. The people love me, everyone is nice - no grumpy Saluna, that’s for sure. I don’t really want to leave.” She looked at Juniper, curious once more. “Why would you want to leave?”

"If you don't want to leave, then don't - simple as that," Juniper sighed, suddenly feeling very guilty, "Sorry to project my own stress on you like that..." She paused, looking intently at Shae, "Did you ever hear the fevered stories about the land of Limbo?" Shae shook her head in response.

“Lim Bow? I’ve never heard of any such land existing on Toraan.” She paused and leaned forward. “Is that why you’d want to leave? You’re after this Lim Bow?”

"No," Juniper let out a single laugh, "it isn't real -- it's a way of feeling metamorphed into this fictional land... For example," Juniper cleared her throat, "Limbo is a strange land with no ground and no sky, no front and no back -- it's just you floating in a meaningless existence doing tasks that neither progress you or give you substance or meaning. There, your only company is the shadows of what was. It's said the dead can't learn anything new, so I guess it's a lot like being dead, but still alive enough to hate it." Juniper tapped the ground with her foot, "I hate it here, and I want to leave."

“And what lies out there, which is not here, that will give you this substance and meaning?” Shae asked with what appeared to be genuine curiosity.

"I don't know yet," Juniper answered, voice devoid of it's previous wit and silly humor. "I'm sorry, what are we discussing again?"

“A bigger adventure than mine, it seems.” Shae murmured, rising to her feet. “So, shall we go pay old Boudicca a visit?"

"Yeah," Juniper nodded slowly, "yeah, and maybe she could write me a note or otherwise I'm not sure work will believe this.”

“Or maybe it’s best she not.” Shae countered with knotted brows as they emerged from the underbush. She pinned her cloak back into place then wrapped an arm around Juniper’s shoulder as she emerged, bringing her head in close. “Maybe this is the excuse you needed to escape the land of Lim Bow. Or that smelly old place, at least.” She whispered, then released her and walked on ahead.

"Could be..." Juniper seemed skeptical, "But let's give it a go."

Shae cast a grin over her shoulder, “heh. Sure, if you like.”

Summary

We meet Juniper Twiceseven, and her very lackluster morning routine. She is then pulled into breakfast with old family friends, they discuss the Bard College where Juniper works as an assistant. Later she gets into a storytelling fit with Shae, then the two end up escaping some druids and fix to see Boudicca.

[/hider]

Just a test

Due to the incredible tenacity and pure metal of the real title, we instead present to you...

The Beefiest Roleplay that the Guild has Ever...

SEEN

If you’re here it is because you’ve had it with the flood of grimdarkness, the scourge of deep thinking and the frilly so-called-edge of the newest spawn of fantasy. Instead you want the beef and pure brawn of the classic fantasies often screamed about in the ballads of power metal; you wan’t the barbarians, you want the brutality, you want the corded muscle straining in your faceness of the epics of the late 20th century -- and you want them in a loin cloth and holding an axe. Korgoth, He-Man, Golden Axe, Conan, and so many others had that hard ripping funk -- the real beef, and we are bringing it back with this simple roleplay.

You’re a champion of the Mountain King, a stone cold elder of throbbing mass and wise hard hitting words. Your loyalty to the King is what netted you this most sacred of missions -- to retrieve the vial of the Rainbow Warrior from his eternal crypt so that you may save the Mountain King himself as he lays on his stone cold bed of throbbing headaches, dying of a mysterious illness.

This macguffin won’t be so easy -- if it were, why send a beefy champion such as yourself? NO! You will have to cross the crawling deserts, cut through scrawny wizards, climb the tallest peaks, find your way through the kingdom in the clouds, find the land of light, and best the grave protections of the Rainbow Warrior’s crypt -- and then do it all again on your way back. Are you up to the challenge?

The Missing Goddess - A Hero's Journey

Yeah uh, same here.

The Missing Goddess - A Hero's Journey

@MagratheanWhaleYou still doin this, bud?

The Protectorate: A Legal Interest Check

@Starboard Watch Why ya thinking 19th and 20th?

The Protectorate: A Legal Interest Check

@Opposition welcome tentatively aboard.

@Andreyich I don't see why not!

The Protectorate: A Legal Interest Check

The Protectorate: The Legal Interest Check

The Premise: You are all citizens of a recently liberated country. This liberation was done at the hands of your own rebel forces along with the drastic help of a rather faraway empire. The empire had decided to give the budding nation the right to rule themselves locally so long as they answer the calls and concerns of a local Imperial governor who sits watch over your newly formed council. OH RIGHT, so each of you are actually not only citizens but members of this council. The first meeting will define what position you actually have on the council, be it a minister of defense for your military prowess during the liberation, or a minister of treasuries, or perhaps a Bishop? The point is you are in charge of governing this new government alongside your fellows (be they nemesis or allies) and as problems arise, you will meet in council to deal with them... but nothing is stopping you from scandals, backroom deals, and general politics between hearings. There is nothing stopping you all from pasting your agenda across this government’s visage... be it puppet kings, removing the Imperial presence, building a theocracy, or maybe a dictatorship? The choice is yours... though it won’t be easy and not everyone will agree on all fronts.

The choices of the council as well as the actions of the ministers will affect the entire region relative to the drastic nature of the action. Every choice will have a consequence.

An example scandel: Buying off a regiment of soldiers from an enemy nation to foil the solution proposed by your biggest opponent, ruining their credibility. I bet you guys could get more creative than myself so I’ll stop there. There will be plenty of third parties to work with: assassins, companies, charities, thieves, stocks!

How It Will Work: Each post will start mentioning what day it is from the start of the RP. Day 1, Day 2, and so on. We will do this to keep track of when the next hearing will be. Say it is Day 5 and we are meeting on Day 12, that’s a week to get people to support you... or remove any obstacles. You can post as much as you’d like on the current day and subsequent days but you can’t post on a hearing day until I start that day. Hearing day posts will be a little stricter to keep the flow going, something like -- I open the hearing with the Imperial Governor (so long as they are still relevant) and name the speakers in the order they will speak. You are allowed a single post in the order of you being named. After this initial run -- feel free to collab, play by post, and do whatever be it arguing, debating, countering until I call for a final vote, which you can simply send me a line or two in a pm and I’ll add it in my final call post to save time... unless you have something special planned but we can talk about that as it comes. (if this system sucks balls we can change it)

The vote will go into effect right after the hearing and the next day will begin, free form once more. As time goes on, I’ll update on the effects of the actions and surrounding countryside -- but you are free to go visit areas of interest on your own.

As for further mechanics... we can discuss this -- ideally this will be character driven but if we feel like we need hard numbers in things like treasury, or personal purchasing power, then we can look into it.

Setting! Up to debate, but I’m thinking mundane (no magic), 17th century-esque. The Empire will be across a body of water, historical enemies and allies nearby.

Anyways, let’s try and make this work, so send thoughts and concerns. I’m flexible to change! (Also will take ideas for worldbuilding + things to add.)

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

An Oak in the Middle of the Ocean

---

A grey wind buffeted Persius as he walked alone. The skies above were closed with pregnant clouds, and their offspring kept the grassy fields on either side of the road foggy and screened. The dirt of the road squelched under Persius’ boots, his mighty height and weight aiding in squeezing out droplets of last night's rain and soaking into his saturated boots. He could feel sores forming on the bottom of his feet, a creaking ache in his knees. The heft of his bronze hauberk and mighty sword (much too big for most) adding only to the downward pull of each labored step.

Hanging on his belt and getting caught in the wind were four scalps tied by the hair. Their edges were crisp with dried skin, any gore long knocked clean -- and as crude as they were, they served a noble purpose, at least in the service of Persius. The slap of the brutal trophies against his thighs, the reanimation of them in the wind; all things related to them gave no comfort to Persius or vindication for taking them, save for one... that noble purpose. He grunted at the recent memory of why he took them, a decision made right after the death of his horse and loss of most of his supplies -- the start of his foot sores and knee creaks. After that run in with the previous owners of the scalps, he had decided that they could serve as a ward or warning to any potential and future would-be troublemakers -- and so far there had been none. Was it justified, did it work? Persius couldn’t say, but he did call forth five prayers every time the scalps slapped his leg -- one for each bandit and one for his own soul.

The wear was not isolated on his limbs and soul, however, as with each step he loosened a pocket of hunger in his stomach -- knocking free angry bubbles and gurgles from his gut. Each snarl from his belly traveled up his spine hot and angry, giving him a strange itch in his muscles and pressuring a headache into the fore of his brain. His meaty left hand fell gingerly to his stomach, as if inspecting a wound. A deep frown formed on his bearded face -- his bronze skin wrinkling. A sixth prayer for each stomach gurgle; the walls of Ketrefa were in the distance -- along with his vindication from the journey and from hunger.

At the gates of the famed city, his fluttering white cloak marked with the golden scallop shell of his order caught more attention than the scalps on his belt. A bored captain scowled at him from behind two poor looking men armed with spears. The shuffle of everyone else not picked from the inflow of people into the city drowned out most of the unpleasant whispers, but not the captains -- he made sure Persius heard his distaste.

“Do you want to damn the city?” The captain all but shouted, his voice bouncing between the stone pillars and impressive arches that held the walls of Ketrefa’s gatehouse together. The thickness of the defenses meant that where Persius was standing was cooled by perpetual shade, the soil freezing his soaked feet -- the only thing that kept him warm was his mutual hatred of the captain and subsequent prayer for humility. Persius swallowed his pride and hung his head.

“Please sir, I require entry.” Persius’ own voice was dusty and deep. It was the voice of a man who could likely pluck the captain from his spot and pop his head open with only a thumb and index finger. The captain, however, held his scowl.

“Your kind are no good. You can’t come in here.”

“Please, sir.”

“Let’s dispose of the ‘sir,' ' The captain narrowed his eyes, a wicked smile forming, “Let’s not pretend that we are even close to being on the same hierarchy. “You’re a beast, I’m a man.”

Persius kept his gaze down, and his prayers humming in his head -- quelling a rising flame. The captain’s smile grew, “Say beast? You want in, right?” Silence. “Wear your cloak inside out.”

The giant knight looked at the captain quizzical for a moment, bringing his fingers to loosen the toggle of his cloak, “If that is what-”

“And give me your sword.”

Persius froze, “But sir-”

“What did I say!?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you my weapon,” Persius let his fingers fall from his toggle, one brushing the belt that strapped his mighty blade to his back (for ease of travel).

“And I can’t let you in.”

That fire was rising again. Persius shook his head, “I’ll reverse my cloak, duck my head, not speak a word -- I just need to get in.”

“Not good enough.” The captain quickly spat, “I can’t let a beast run around with a weapon such as that.” Each word seemed to drip with poison, and each word set off a gong in Persius’ starving, exhausted, tired chest. His prayers began to slip into unintelligible fuzz. He gaped wordlessly, letting out little puffs of air as he tried to find reason.

The captain sucked in a mocking breath, “What’s the matter beast-”

KA-RACK! Persius’ right came swinging down like a hammer, knocking the captain so cleanly off his feet, his body froze rigid before he even hit the ground -- eyes rolled in the back of his head. The other two guards jumped at the strike, a hot breath steaming from Persius’ nostrils. “Entry.” The other two guards were as frozen as their unconscious and possibly deceased captain, allowing Persius to pay them with a hard stare, a flip of his cloak and a quick prayer as he marched inwards to the streets of the city.

Winding streets and dizzying alleyways fell under his feet as crowds of people stepped aside and parted to give way. The initial unease from the gate spread like a plague through the anxious and busy citizens of the city. Worried glances cast at his weapons, at the strange cloak, at the very foreign essence within him that somehow marked him as an outsider to these people milling about behind their walls. Ever so often he caught the glare of a patrol, relentless spears-for-hire who trailed after him almost as if expecting him to make trouble for himself. Those same patrols were shaking down market stalls, integrating with the populace, or just lazing on street corners. All the while, Persius bore witness to street brawls, screaming, and general disarray on his journey through the giant city. Ketrefa had little left of honor, though it seemed such had not yet caught up with its citizens.

Such became even clearer when he took a turn along the street and found himself walking through thinner and thinner crowds. The bustle and life clung to his back, fading into the background with each step, and Persius found himself inside the eye of the storm - a lull in the anthill that was Ketrefa.

It wasn’t so much the chill in the air as much as the chill in the people that made Persius pull his cloak tighter around him. His nose was wrinkled at the smell of the inner city, and his thoughts were wondering if any of his brothers and sisters of the faith could really be found in such a place. Slowly his eyes drifted over the dirty and ragged people he passed -- neglected children, drunken oafs, whoring women. He felt a pin of sadness, topped with a desire of justice for these people, but all he could really do for them was hope.

People would look, turn, and leave; save for one set of eyes -- for a while at least. Behind a rotting barral a skinny looking man wearing a soiled yellow scarf was staring hard at Persius, enough to make the massive man stop and turn to stare back. The pair held their gaze for a while before the man with the scarf slowly turned away and slipped into an alleyway. Persius let out a huff of air from his nostrils, dismissing the man, and continued on his walk.

Finally the winding back alleys and rotting roads led to a forgotten square of sorts. It wasn’t clear if it was made purposely or if a by-product of poorly planned buildings and misused market stands, but Persius found himself in it. There wasn’t much hawking, the general feel of the square being as wallowing as the rest of this forsaken district. A few more steps brought him before what must once have been a majestic shrine - a centrepiece of the square as forgotten as the rest. With stonework and copper embellishments wrapped in delicate spirals to honor the Goddess of Flame, it must have been a sight to behold in its heyday. Now it was covered with dried paint, dye, and refuse. Someone had gone to great lengths to deface as much of this ancient monument as they could, with arcane symbols of swirls in dizzying patterns, crude pictograms of horns and debauchery, and random defilement of paint and dirt covering most - if not all - of this once proud shrine to one of the highlands five main deities. Persius shot out a breath from his nostrils, be it mixed with disgust or amusement.

The longer Persius had to take in his surroundings, the more he noticed this defacement in the rest of the squalid square. On walls, above doors, wherever they might fit many of the symbols present on the shrine reappeared. The harder he looked, the more he found - old and new alike. A clatter of wood and metal brought his attention further down the forlorn district; a small line of ragged peasants stood lined up at a sturdier market stall in the midst of the largest street. The stall - complete with a regal awning of red and gold, looked freshly out of place in a derelict area like this. Each of the peasant’s approached in an orderly manner, receiving a bowl from a dark-haired woman in finery befitting her stall, and bowing their head deeply. From afar, it looked almost like a religious procession.

Persius remembered his own stomach at the sight -- the burn of an empty gut swirling back. Swallowing what pride he had crumbs of, he bowed his head deeply and found the end of the line. Immediately a fuzz entered his head and he wasn’t too sure what he was expecting -- to find food, or to find direction to food that wouldn’t be taken away from another hungry mouth... perhaps the latter -- only he was just as broke as those around him. He let his thoughts swim unconcluded as he walked with the procession. The line proved longer than it had looked from afar - or perhaps that was simply his stomach talking - and it moved at a slow pace, many of the people ahead being afforded a great deal of time to speak before receiving their gift and moving out of the line for another to take their place.

Finally, when only one remained ahead of him, the scent of stew broke it’s way through muck and filth to tempt his nostrils with a promise of release from hunger. The commoner ahead of Persius greeted the woman humbly, but by name - Mira - and they spoke in a calm and graceful tone about the man’s family, a possible chance for work, and future prospects of the city and the district. Even from the half-conversation Persius caught, it was clear there was some kinship at play. Eventually, the peasant bowed even further, and the woman spoke a last time. The man repeated the phrase, “Praise the Goddess, and her eternal love,” and shifted out of the line to file away between debris and an entryway to living spaces some ten paces away, leaving space to be filled between Persius and the woman. At last, he had his chance at food, or at least, direction. “Approach, please.” the dark-haired woman said with a soft tone of voice.

Persius shuffled forward, the sudden slap of a scalp prompting him to pull his cloak over his belt in an attempt to appear less violent. He kept his head bowed and his vision low, clearing his dust coated throat with a “Greetings, Sister.”

There was a charged pause of silence; not a long one, but enough for Persius to know her eyes roamed over him and his apparel without needing to look up. “Please, call me Mira, friend,” the woman returned to break the silence, with no discernible contempt in her voice. “We are all equals before the Goddess.” Her feet fidgeted and shifted under her dress, lilting her pose on the small box she stood on. “Have I seen you here before? I thought I knew everyone, by now.”

“No. No, you see I am a traveler from Yalin.” He lifted his face to meet hers, “and I don’t want to deprive those behind me of a meal, but I am afraid I am as ragged. If you would know where I could find another meal elsewhere, or perhaps where I may find any brothers or sisters of the Golden Light.” He held out empty palms in gesture with his story.

He found her watching him with big, brown eyes and a graceful smile befitting her station as a sanctuary of the filth that had been the rest of Ketrefa. She lifted her own hand demurely to gesture down the line. “You may not be from here, traveler, but you are no less entitled to a full stomach and a happy life than any other. The Goddess sees and cares for all, and expects only a true heart in return.” Mira smiled at him with a comely expression, then twisted to gesture behind her stall, where three large cauldrons and a fair few modestly dressed - but nevertheless clean - men and women toiled to prepare more food. “The Golden Light I do not know,” she finally professed as she looked back to Persius, though remained as warm and welcoming as before. “Though I do not doubt my husband or cousin would. They are far more knowledgeable than I. But first,” Mira turned, and one of the others raised a bowl from the side in offering. The woman grasped the bowl gently, and simply turned to offer it to Persius. “Eat. Praise the Goddess, friend, and her eternal love.”

“An act of charity is not forgotten, Sist- Mira,” Persius bowed his head again and put his fingers around the bowl, “A prayer for this food and for your Goddess, may an emissary she be.” He looked back up and hesitated a moment, as if asking a question -- a slow pull of the bowl towards himself. Mira simply smiled and relinquished the bowl to him without contest or comment, the stone in Persius’ stomach fading into relief. It took him the rest of his will to not devour the bowl like the starved animal he felt he was right then and there -- opting instead to bow out of line, a sly finger dipped in the mush to give himself a taste.

Only when his back was finally to the others did he bite the tip of his glove and rip it off -- using his palm to shovel the gruel into his mouth. Hopes that his shoulders veiled his actions faded into hindsight as his primal hunger took over his mind, blank and starving. It wasn’t until his teeth accidentally bit deep into the wooden edge of the bowl did he realize he had finished. A sizable burp expanded his cheeks. “Praise be, so says.” He exhaled. As the procession continued behind him in relative peace still, it appeared the only witness had been the particularly crude mural of a horned woman on the wall of the domicile in front of him. Persius gave the mural a nod, turning to return the defiled bowl.

Mira seemed deep in an affectionate discussion with an older woman at the head of the line, though after a few moments of scrutiny he located a table with an assortment of poorly stacked bowls - the telltale mark of a place to return your kitchenware. There wasn’t much to do but skim along the side of the stall to place his own among the others. About to perform this minor gratitude, a hand slammed down on his shoulder with enough power to halt any warrior in their tracks. Persius was no exception, a cringe stiffening his back and he jumped to attention. His eyes widened as they darted back and forth in search of the source, a vision of the massacre of Yalin filming over his sight. The shock and vision faded and he was met with the gaze of a young man, handsome in that way that suggested he had never seen combat and had servants looking after him, a dark pool of blood was pouring out of his mouth -- Persius blinked -- the blood was gone. The man smiled at him with the same oblivious and welcoming heat that Mira had. “Didn’t mean to scare you, there!” he offered with a confident and friendly breath. “Are you new here, friend?”

Sucking in a shaky breath and finding his footing, Persius nodded. Grit returned to his voice and he faced the man squarely, “I am in search of the brothers and sisters of the Golden Light who reside in the city, do you know of them?”

The man continued to smile as his gaze wandered down over Persius, the same sort of pause he had experienced before. He drew his hand away from his shoulder, only to clap his arm twice and squeeze it before chuckling. “Ah, the Golden Light! I have heard of them, yes,” He proffered with a flippant tone. “Are you kindred of theirs? You have a rugged look to you, friend.”

Persius couldn’t help a smile, his eyes slightly wet. What energy he had lost seemed to seep back into his cold limbs, “Where are they?” He didn’t mean to brush away the questions, so he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but where are they?”

The man grew sadder in his smile, his eyes gliding down over Persius again. At last he retracted his hand. “Alas, this I cannot say without first looking into it. Our wondrous city is quite the sprawl, my friend.” Almost if he expected to be able to interrupt, he paused for a few moments before continuing. “But worry not, yes? My wife may be the generous one, but I am not without mercy myself. Eh?” He lashed out with a gentle tap of Persius' shoulder again, brimming with confidence.

Persius winced, “I understand.” He rubbed a hand over where the man had touched him and took a step back, “I must find a place to await news, then. I fear my time in this city is already on borrowed time.”

“Ah, no!” He called out. “You misunderstand me, friend. Hah! The perils of miscommunication, I fear. I am saying I will help you! I am an Akellos noble, there is nothing we cannot find out with some jostling and favours, yes? So I can offer you a trade, perhaps.”

“Trade?” Persius cocked his head, “What sort?”

The man grinned back at him with a knowing, but friendly, smile. “Well. Quite a simple trade, as a matter of fact. You are a rugged man, that much is clear. We are but humble servants of the Goddess. Not all places in Ketrefa are as calm as these. Help us, and we help you. Simple, no?”

“I’m not sure if causing trouble in a city where I am hardly wanted would do either of us much good,” Persius countered, but the man was already shaking his head.

“Please! It is not trouble, it is for the safety of me and mine. We shall feed, house, and,” he tugged ever so slightly on his smile, “...bathe you, and I will personally find your kin for you. In return, you help kind servants of the Goddess give some love back to the city and her hopefuls. We must always pay what we receive forward, do you not agree, my friend?” The man leant over towards the table, adjusting the precarious yet small tower of bowls.

Silence stood between the two for an uncomfortable amount of time before a grunt came from Persius. The mighty man reached behind him and untangled his scabbard from his back. With a metallic thud he let the sharpened bar of metal that was his blade drive into the ground, marking a boundary between the two. Looking over the weapon, Persius held out the scalps in one hand, the other on the pommel of the sword, "Let me say now that all the blood I spill, all the bones I will break; all the fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters I will slaughter will be laid at your feet. If you want this on your hands, so be it, but know that you and your Goddess will hold the consequences. I do not take joy in giving a curse in exchange for a blessing like the one you had shown me, but that is what you are asking. If this is what you truly desire in return." Persius shook the scalps, asking the man to take them from him, "Then I will do it in innocence."

The man was visibly taken aback by the scalps, but still put on the best smile he could muster. With a pause of his own, he eventually extended his hand to take the offered ‘gift’ and accept his verbal curse. “Let us hope that it does not come to that, yes?” He offered with another attempt at a winning smile. “When we are done here, tell Yesua back there-” he twisted on the spot to point at a black-haired man in modest clothes, stirring a cauldron. “That Kalet sent you to help with tomorrow’s service. He will offer you whatever you need. After work you come back to me at our home, and hopefully I shall have good news for you.”

"Where do you live?" Persius was wiping his hands against his cloak, eyes on Yesua. He can't say he liked the sound of any of this, but he also can't say he has liked much as of late anyways. Yesua seemed to cut out of sturdier stock than most of these preened and well-dressed cooks, giving the impression of a man as much out of place as Persius himself was among the ragged masses. Still, he seemed content to be working the cauldron, smiling jovially at his comrades.

In front of Persius, the young man chuckled and reached forward to give his arm a gentle and brief touch -- the brush making Persius’ skin twitch even well hidden under his armor. “Do not worry yourself, yes? Yesua will show you all you need to know. If you get lost, my friend, you can simply ask for House Akellos. Our fame in Ketrefa stretches many generations back, you cannot lose track of us!” He smiled warmly, giving an ample nod in the same motion as he retracted his hand.

“Very well,” Persius took a step out of reach, “Goodness within you, Kalet... I think I’ll speak to Yesua right away.”

Kalet simply nodded. With a final smile, he stepped aside and returned to the bowls, allowing Persius the freedom that came with not having eyes on his every move. Openly at least; he certainly still felt like they were all keenly aware of his presence -- but in their defense... as small as it may be... he himself was having trouble remembering what it was like before paranoia took over his mind.

“Yesua?” He felt his voice leave him before he was even aware he was speaking. He felt slightly foolish addressing the man so directly, especially upon realizing he still had his weapon out. Slowly he tucked it behind him, “Kalet had sent me your way.”

The man gave a gruff grunt as he released his ladle, which was quickly snapped up by his comrade at the cauldron, and looked up at Persius. In another life, he could’ve been out there, fighting battles of his own. Yesua nodded slowly and brushed a hand through his thick but groomed beard. “Excellent, excellent. I’m glad he’s taking the Narrowtown issue seriously. You got a name?”

“Persius of Yalin.” ‘

“Well, Persius of Yalin,” the man grunted out as a growing warmth spread on his features. Eventually, he too smiled like the others had, welcoming and without judgement. “Grab a few bowls and let’s finish this service. After that, I’ll show you to our quarters.”

---

The promise of lodgings turned out to be true; a modest bedroom in a family house a fair distance away from the district he’d first met all of them. Everything was laid out within an hour of his arrival. Fresh clothes - almost identical to what Yesua and the other workers had worn - more food, a small tub to climb into and get clean. Yesua had made himself scarce after sending him to his room, giving Persius only basic directions about when and where to meet up in the morning. There had been no real room for questions, and by the time Persius was situated in his new room, the bearded man was gone for the evening.

Persius was not left alone for long, however. Yesua’s presence was rapidly replaced by a comely young woman, with soft features that seemed to dust with a blush simply by looking in Persius' general direction. Still, she smiled with the same warmth that Kalet and Mira had, and when she swept across the small room to direct Persius towards the tub, she touched his arm with the same exploratory squeeze that Kalet had. Again a cringe chilled over his skin, the great man wincing. This time, however, he gently removed her hand off his mailed arm and offered her a simple nod for explanation.

The woman respected his boundaries only in the most technical sense, insistently remaining in the room to help him bathe. Eventually, when words were finally the last solution, she spoke a simple utterance. "Allow me to show you the love of the Goddess."

Persius stared at her for a long time, his hands tangled in the straps of his armor. With a loud clang, his hauberk and cloak fell to the ground, an inconspicious pouch tied to his belt. His muddied once white shirt came next, then his bries. Finally the man stood bare, his body mottled with grotesque blue lesions and black bruises from recent slaughters. He cleared his throat and gave a slow nod, "Fine..." Taking a few steps forward he thrusted his laundry into her arms, "But be careful with them, I'm afraid they are more torn than myself from the journey." She accepted his laundry with a considerable amount of confusion. Confusion turned to indignance, even frustration, and for just a moment the facade of a pleasant and shy attendant fell away. The woman caught herself in the act, and offered Persius a warm smile and a nod soon after, leaving the room with his clothes. The door slammed shut, and for the first time in a long time, a giddy smile was plastered on Persius' face.

No one came to bother him again that night, finally allowing the traveler some rest. He found himself scrubbing quickly in the bath, so fast the water didn't have time to turn mild - all for his grand plan that he had been cooking up since he first saw the room.

Hopping out and tightening a towel around himself, he immediately leapt into the bed -- asleep before his head hit the pillow.

---

Narrowtown was a descriptive name in every possible way. Doubtfully an actual district of the city, it seemed to be a winding set of alleyways crisscrossing the back ways of a few larger districts in a dizzying pattern. Glassless windows opened straight out onto the street as much as doors and arches, and in many places the opposite sides of the alley stretched so close to each other that any well-built man would struggle to press through; likewise, it wasn’t hard to imagine people climbing into each other's buildings from open windows that were a mere arm’s length apart. This cramped space apparently did not dissuade people from living here, nor did it have any fewer citizens lounging and hawking wares than any other set of streets Persius had experienced in Ketrefa. It was a maddening experience - a veritable sea of unwashed masses squirming and fighting amongst each other in a stink Persius only noticed because of the cleanliness that had been forced on him the night before.

Led by Yesua, a small expedition of hopefuls from the day before had set up camp along the broadest of these alleyways, a single cauldron and enough bowls to feed but a considerable minority of the populace, even with the inclusion of bread. It’d naturally be all but impossible to build the stall from yesterday here, but the alternative still seemed like folly at best. Persius had been given the task of lugging ingredients, which proved no tougher than an honest day’s training in Yalin. Finally rid of the last weight in the throes of preparation, Yesua finally deigned to speak to him. “Alright, Persius of Yalin. Any of them try to get what ain’t theirs, or hurt any of us, we’re relying on you.”

Persius sniffed, regretting it instantly but replying with a resigned sigh. He had hoped they would have forgotten his violent abilities and let him simply ladle soup for a day. Tucking a cheek he nodded, "If that's what you want, then by all means."

That seemed to be all they needed. A few moments of preparation followed as the cooking began, and a nearby resident dragged out planks and barrels to set up a makeshift table for Yesua and a second man to stand behind. They gestured for Persius to take up a position at the tableside, and it seemed two of the men who came along busied themselves entirely by taking up guard posts of their own at the back of the procession.

Soon enough, the scent of dirt and filth in the alley was being pushed aside by the promising aroma of warm food. It was enough to stir the nearby crowd into slow action, a few who had been eyeing the stand ducking into their homes before reappearing to weave through the crowd. Others climbed straight out of windows as word began to spread, and within half-an-hour of cooking beginning in earnest, Narrowtown had become an anthill of activity. These commoners, however, did not have the grace or respect of their peers from yesterday. The attempt to form a line was haphazard at best, and those foolish enough to follow the leader were quickly swallowed by the crowd of interested citizens. Within minutes, men and women alike were pressing up against the table, and against Persius -- sending a strange heat to his belly and a coldness to his head. It only took another few moments before the first man tried to squeeze past him on the side, only dissuaded when Persius failed to budge, a twitch forming in his eye. Clamoring voices overpowered each other, all urging Yesua and the other man to heed them first. The sounds seemed to saturate in Persius’ ears, the thud of the wooden bowls turning to clangs of metal -- the shouts for food... just plain screams.

It swiftly became apparent that today's service was nothing like the one Persius had personally experienced. Not only was there disorganized chaos among the populace, but the process had its own rules. A ragged man in the masses raised his hand into the sky, showcasing some sort of basic medallion in the shape of a heart with six horns around it. Yesua pointed at him, and he forced his way forward, assisted by the few in the crowd who wanted some semblance of order. Reaching the front, he received a portion of bread and made himself scarce just as quickly. This pattern repeated again a while later, another person battling their way through the crowd to show off the same insignia and receive their share of bread, all the while an increasingly indignant mass of people argued and begged for Yesua's attention, rattled the table by pushing each other, and tugged at Persius’ cloak, causing Persius’ heartbeat to rapidly increase seemingly against his will. Another few moments and a third person came out of the woodwork with a medallion and received their bread.

Then the pattern changed. A woman in dark rags elbowed her way to the front of the table, forced to fight for her right at the front. A shining piece of metal clattered onto the wooden planks - a polished and embellished symbol of the Sun Mother. Yesua gripped the piece, investigated it briefly and then nodded to the other man. The woman received a bowl of stew, and a heart medallion, before she vanished back into the crowd. The symbol of Oraelia vanished into a sack by Yesua's side. After another few bread rations being passed out to commoners appearing in the crowd with medallions, another artifact clattered onto the table. A well-tended scepter, unmistakably embellished with insignias honoring Tekret. That too vanished into the sack in exchange for a bowl of stew and a medallion, confirming the pattern that was to be today's service of food. Kindness and love seemed considerably more absent here, to the point that it barely even resembled what Mira had offered the hopeful on the day before.

The whole scene seemed to blur to Persius, his fingers tightening around the grip of his weapon -- his weapon, he couldn’t remember when he had drawn it. The shoving, the screaming, the clash of metal. Persius’ chest began to heave with deep laboured breaths. His eyes darted between the faces of the crowd -- their features melting into strange shadows. He felt like their empty faces were staring at him, how and why, he didn’t know but they were looking right at him -- they all were. The knight’s fingers went numb, his right arm shaking. At that moment a man bumped into him and a sharp blanket of needles and pins washed over Persius. His heart thumped heavy against his ribcage and he threw out a massive arm -- slamming the intruder backwards. “Back!” Persius’ barked with a shaking rage. Hot air was huffing out of his nostrils -- people starting to give him space as he leveled his weapon between himself and the crowd. They all looked familiar; a sweat ringed Persius’ head, they all looked like the enemy.

From his side he heard the distant gurgle of Yesua’s voice, as if Persius’ was underwater, “Yeah, stay calm, you dogs! There’s food for everyone who does the work of the Goddess!” It was a hollow reaffirmation of his own rage, but other than that, Persius was alone in a sea of madness. The world seemed to spin, Persius dropping instinctually into a low guard, when something caught his eye.

It glimmered briefly in the sun, just enough to pull Persius a little ways back to shore. It was a brass scallop shell being held up by a hungry man. Persius’ brow knitted, the blood flowed back into his fingers and with adrenaline and purpose, he began a powerful walk into the crowd. His body knocked away the hungry initially, then it was their own fear. His eyes were narrow on the pendant -- pointing a gloved hand, “Where did you get that!” He shouted, more people leaping out of his way. “Where did you get that?”

The man in question was shaking, eyes wide as the monster of a man came stomping towards him. A hand from one of the cultists came out to stop Persius, maybe even offer a reassuring squeeze but the knight batted it away with a heavy hand. Finally the hungry man was in front of Persius, knees bent and hands raised. Between the two was the pendant. Persius plucked it from the man, “Where did you get this?” He growled.

“I found it-”

Persius’ arm slammed into the man like a metal bar, smashing him into the soup table -- bowls spilling and clattering everywhere as the whole ensemble tipped from the weight. Persius kept the man pinned. “Where...?” The voice was low and gravely, but all the man could muster up was a hoarse cough. Adding more weight into Persius’ pinning arm, the hungry man’s back began to creak and pop. “Where!?”

“Persius,” a distant voice cut in, the growl of Yesua at his most frustrated thus far. “Persius! Not on the table! Someone get this lout in line, already.” Around him, much of the panicked crowd had begun to press back, but they were swiftly replaced by the cooks and lookouts that Yesua counted among his compatriots. Hands reached out for Persius from all sides.

Spinning to meet the hands, Persius’ felt his head swirl. He could hear the screams. He gritted his teeth, putting his weapon between him and the cooks. A stiff tension rose as both parties processed. Some people in the crowd were crying, the man on the table was coughing madly -- and Persius’ own heartbeat wracked in his head.

“Stand down dogs of Neiya,” The voice wasn’t Persius’. The crowd gasped, Persius dizzily spinning again to find the owner of the voice. Behind the cooks, threading through the crowd, even appearing behind the table -- men and women in yellow scarfs. They greatly outnumbered the cooks -- the crowd showcasing obedience to them. At the head of the group was a ratty looking man, who the burgers and beggars both looked at with a sense of respect and fear.

The ratty man spoke again, a lopsided smile on his face, “This isn’t your turf.” He parted his long yellow beige coat to showcase a shiny blade, but it was the brass scallop shell hanging under his neck that caught Persius’ eyes. With a nod from the gang leader, three other scarf wearing members began to push stubborn stew stirrers away from the table and to inspect the pots -- one pilfering the sack of tokens.

“Where did you-” Persius pointed at the ratty gang leader.

“So says, Brotha.”

The words filled Persius with a cathartic glow -- steeling his expression and refocusing on the cultists with a new burn. The leader tilted his head, eyes flashing over the tense cultists as if surprised to still be seeing them, "Lovewhores, you deaf? I said beat it.. As in leave, before I send you back to the Holy Cunt myself."

Outnumbered and outmatched, the cooks and helpers didn’t appear all that enthused to do anything but remain, guarded and unsure. Yesua, initially overwhelmed by the chaos unfolding all around him, turned towards the table - his gaze immediately fixating on the sack now firmly out of his reach. When the situation finally seemed to entirely dawn on him, his face twisted into one of almost manic anger. “You have committed a grave mistake today,” he pressed out between gritted teeth, fist balling up despite the odds. One of the cooks touched at his shoulder, and it seemed to be enough to at least bring some sense into him. Yesua glowered at both the leader of the scarved reinforcements, and at Persius, before he finally began to walk away, inspiring the other cultists to finally move. Like that, the food procession was officially over with, and the cooks began to scatter in different directions through Narrowtown.

"I commit a grave mistake everyday," The Leader turned to Persius' the smile of a predator still on his lips.

"Best way to learn grave lessons," Persius found his breath, the comfort of Brotherhood leaking in. "I cannot thank you enough... I've spent a terrible forty eight hours looking for you all."

"Please," The leader kept his confident smile, one a lot more genuine than any Persius had seen in a few days. The leader gestured for Persius to follow, "I'm sure you have a lot to tell me."

"That is no exaggeration, Brother." Persius clutched at a small pouch hidden on his belt. The leader cocked his head.

"Call me Justinian."

---

Summary

Persius, one of the surviving men from Yalin, travels north and reaches Ketrefa to continue the search for other members of his order. The Walled City is not quite so welcoming as he had hoped, however, and the guards do their best to deprive him of all honor and protection. After some aggressive negotiations, Persius finally enters Ketrefa to continue his journey. The experience is a dizzying and unpleasant experience of crowds and labyrinthine architecture.

Persius eventually finds himself in the Court of Flames after an encounter with a yellow-scarfed beggar, which has been thoroughly defaced with arcane symbols, refuse and images of the horned goddess, throwing the already decrepit district further into defilement. There he comes about a food service conducted by the Cult of the Horned Goddess - Mira and Kalet are still doling out food as a religious service to the hungry commoners. Persius swallows his pride and stands in line for a chance at food, and after a short interaction with Mira, is given the chance to eat something after his long journey. While he tries to return the bowl, Kalet scouts him out for work, and digs into his story and reason for being in Ketrefa. Persius fights with his inner demons. He hires Persius for another food service the next day in return for helping him find the Order of the Golden Light.

The Cult of the Horned Goddess offers him lodging and a bath, and do their best to make his stay more pleasant than he desires, and Persius manages to find some peace despite their best attempts.

The following day, Persius follows a group of cultists led by a man named Yesua into Narrowtown; a set of alleys and back streets rather than a district of it’s own, famed for being so narrow in places that people can climb across buildings through their windows. He stands guard while the Cult perform another version of their food service - in Narrowtown, people only receive food if they either have a cult medallion, or if they have religious artifacts to trade for one. Persius struggles to keep his memories of the slaughter of Yalin at bay in the massive crowd, and it eventually culminates in chaos as Persius spots a familiar artifact amongst those being pawned off.

The Cult try to get him under control, but out of the crowd and nooks and crannies of Narrowtown a whole band of yellow-scarfed individuals leap to his defense. They scare off Yesua and his cultist friends, with threats from both sides. Persius realizes that the band are actually part of his faith, and he is reunited with his allies, the leader of whom is named Justinian.

MP/DP

Don’t be silly!

Predtige: cult of the horny goddess 9+5=14

Collaboration with Enzayne