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In đź—ˇ Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Farim

Location: The Slums of Genesea
Time: 4th of Ventu 1729

Flashback! Part 4


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The darkness of the backroom was stifling–as if the room tried to swallow all the light within it. Farim and Malik sat on their knees in front of the coveted leather tome, currently sat shut and on the floor. The owner looked at the scene with worry and a hint of regret before quickly spitting out a warning.

“I will watch the front. We CANNOT be caught, you understand. This would be bad for all of us…so if you hear me greet someone close and hide the book and act like you are helping me sort inventory.”

The boys nodded, and the man slowly pulled the curtain over the door leading to the back. What little light bled into the room was even more stifled. All that the boys could use to read the book were the light of some nearby lit candles. And read they did.

The book itself had no title, it had no author, but whoever did write had much to tell on the matter of a certain type of magic–Alchemy. ”A forbidden art within a forbidden practice. This is the kind of secret this man has been hiding from us.” Farim smirked.

Malik returned the sentence with a look of concern. ”I think he is just hiding it from everyone. This kind of thing would be dangerous in the hands of the wrong person.”

Farim waved his hand dismissively. ”But we aren’t those kinds of people! We can use this for good! Maybe finally get your family into a better place so we can hang out more!” Farim’s excitement was endearing, but Malik could not help but feel a pit in his stomach over the thought of these illegally gotten gains.

They both darted their eyes over every inch of every page. There were recounts of powerful alchemical feats, the history of the practice of alchemy, beginner recipes, and even a powerful recipe towards the back for something labeled a “Philosopher’s Stone”-- something that would take the burden from the caster and place it onto an inanimate object instead. Before they finished reading Farim’s eyes beamed with ideas.

”This is it! If we make you this, you could make gold and gems to sell and your family won’t be so poor!” Farim spoke so candidly about Malik’s poverty that it almost stung, but Malik could not deny the fact that eating stale bread and week old hummus was not something he could stomach the rest of his life.

So they followed the instructions as quickly as they could. They did not know if the owner truly meant “5 minutes” or “what felt like 5 minutes”. The necessary reagents for the spell itself were rather small, just requiring chalk to draw some symbols and to have two participants recite a long incantation uninterrupted. They gave the book a hasty look over one last time, making sure the prerequisites were done.

As they began, Malik showed once more a sign of doubt on his face. ”Farim, we’ve barely read this spell over and you want to cast it? Maybe we can try another day…” But Farim shook his head. ”Who knows if we will get another chance. The old man could be back any minute!”

Farim cleared his throat and began speaking the spell’s required verse.

”“Sanguis animae, pretium potentiae.
Lumen in lapidem, vita in vinculum.
Aeternum ferrum, servitium aeternum.
Philosophorum, surge.”

As the word “surge” left his lips, the room began to thrum with ancient energies. As if they woke up a beast asleep for hundreds of years–and it was hungry. The book surged with light that almost blinded the two boys, Farim shielded his eyes quickly. Malik on the other hand, seemed almost entranced, as if the light beckoned him in. A moment later, the old man sprinted from behind the curtain.

“NO!”


He sprinted as fast as his old body could carry him, tackling Malik away from the ritual circle. But just before an impact was made, a concussive shockwave pulsed from Malik. It sent Farim and the owner flying to the edges of the room–a sound echoing as if a thunderbolt had gone off. In just that brief moment, something had happened that would change the trajectory of Farim’s life forever.
In đź—ˇ Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Farim

Location: The Slums of Genesea
Time: 4th of Ventu 1729

Flashback! Part 3


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The bell above the door jangled as the boys pushed inside once more, their familiar laughter filling the cramped space. But today, something felt… off. The shop was dimmer than usual—the front lanterns unlit, the curtains half-drawn, the air viscous with incense that smelled faintly of metal and dried herbs. Farim wrinkled his nose. The shopkeep never burned incense.

Malik shrugged it off, craning his neck. “Old man? You in here?”
A rustle answered from deeper inside. The old man emerged, but his usual wide-eyed grin was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looked as though he had aged ten years overnight. His hair was askew, his robe half-tied, and his eyes—those warm lanterns—had dimmed to nervous pinpricks.

“Ah. You boys,” he said, voice thin. “Wasn’t expectin’ visitors today.” Malik blinked. “You sick or somethin’?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” He waved them off, but his hand trembled. “Just… inventory day. Lots of delicate items. Don’t want you two breakin’ anything important.” Farim tilted his head. “But we never break anything.”The shopkeeper looked at him strangely, almost pitying. “…Yes. I know.”

He gestured half-heartedly toward the toys, but his attention kept drifting toward the shadowed back corner. The forbidden section. The shelves seemed even barer today, as if something once resting there had only recently been disturbed.

The boys exchanged a silent agreement. Something was wrong. But curiosity, especially in Farim, burned brighter than caution. While Malik sat near the counter, turning the color cube in his hands, Farim wandered deeper into the aisles. The shopkeep’s muttered warnings drifted after him, but they were too soft and too late. He found himself standing before the forbidden section once more.

Only this time… one book was missing from the shelf. A small rectangle of dust outlined its former resting place. Farim swallowed, goosebumps rising along his arms. “Sir… what was here?”
The shopkeeper froze. Truly froze—like a man caught dipping his fingers into royal coffers. His voice came out taut.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

But Farim wasn’t convinced. And as if to confirm his suspicions, something glinted inside the counter’s half-open drawer: a fragment of aged leather binding, embossed with a swirling symbol matching the dust-outline on the empty shelf. He knew better than to question the man who had provided them sanctuary for so many days, so he left it at that for the moment. Malik ushered him over so they could continue their mock battle between royal guards and daring vagabonds looking to usurp the throne.

But even as they played Farim kept stealing glances at the book, his curiosity building. When they next came through to the shop, the owner was once again missing from the desk. Malik went up to the counter, reaching for whatever toy may be laid out for them, but there was none. It wasn’t strange for the man to be gone and handling inventory or even just taking a light nap while business was slow–but he always left something for the boys now routine visits.

Suddenly, a familiar silhouette came bursting from the backroom, his eyelids sunken and skin almost ghastly in color. The two boys let out sharp gasps as he lurched towards the counter, body shuddering. “Sorry to scare you boys. Been losing sleep lately. Had to take a small nap and didn’t get to set up the shop properly.”

Farim’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t buying it. The aged book from the other day was now completely hidden from both the counter and bookshelf. So he raised a finger to point at the old man.

”I want to see it.”

The man looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Come again, lad?”

”The book...I want to see it.” Malik looked at him with concern.

“I can’t. You are too young. The things in those tomes are not for your eyes.”

”You know it is bad luck to refuse an up and coming prince.” The shopkeeper had half a mind to debate with Farim about how he was only son to the King’s brother, not an up and coming prince. But his mind flashed to just who his father was. Grand Vizier Hafiz…A man he did not want to cross nor associate with. Then his eyes went to a naive and foolhardy boy throwing around his royal weight not realizing the consequences it would entail.

Reason, however, gave way to fear. The man dejectedly spoke. “Very well. But only for 5 minutes! You open the book, see what it has written, and then close it. No tricks. No games. This is serious stuff written here.” His look was iron and absolute. Farim had earned his little foray into the unknown, but it would not be for long.
In đź—ˇ Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Farim & Malik

Location: The Slums of Genesea
Time: 4th of Ventu 1729

Flashback! Part 2


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


As candlelight illuminated the space behind the counter of the shop, an older yet kind gentleman sat looking at his two newest visitors. “But I do say you young ones always keep folks like me on our toes! Didn’t think I’d see someone as young as you boys here.” He cackled again before straightening his posture.

“You just hiding from trouble or are ya lookin’ for it?” The shopkeep gestured around the counter to glass displays and wooden shelves stacked with trinkets, baubles, devices, and knick knacks. Things like a skull shaped whistle, a gleaming gem with no discernable color, a model train set made from foreign wood, and so much more decorated the shop.

“You pair strike me as the toy-lovin’ kind…” The man paused before reaching behind his counter and producing a color cube made of smaller also colorful cubes as well as figures portraying popular character motifs made of resin. “I’ll let ya play with these - but if you break em…” The old man paused, sporting a sinister look before jaunting his face into a grin. “..then I guess they’re just broken toys! No harm as long as you boys have fun!” The man snickered at his playful banter.

Farim and Malik looked at each other with nervous glances before sheepishly taking the toys from the counter and walking around the shop. Malik fidgeted with the colorful cube, attempting to place all the same colors on one side. Farim clutched his two figures in either hand—a desert army soldier sporting two curved blades and a royal palace guard. He admired the details in the colors and contours of the body, and began daydreaming of fighting wave after wave of “bad guys” to protect his family from danger

As the two absentmindedly wandered, they took brief breaks to fully observe the nature of this shop. While up front held a majority of knick knacks, there were quite a few more books than anything else. Shelves filled side to side with texts with varying titles stretched for several feet in both directions, and many more aisles of severals expanded further into the sales floor. It wasn’t a full on library, but was close to it. Just about any topic was categorized—from horror, to nonfiction, to fairy tales, to textbooks. But one particular section stuck out to the boys.

A small corner at the back of the store that sat unlabeled, with books that frayed along the spines. It was clear these particular items had been made many decades—maybe even a century ago. Dust settled along the covers of books that lay flat - and that’s when Farim noticed this was the first section that wasn’t completely stuffed along every inch with texts and books. As the two began to reach out towards some of the eerily placed texts, the old man protested.

“Boys! No playing in the forbidden section! Only certain folks got access to that!”

For the moment they backed off, but the seed of curiosity had been planted–a trait of Farim’s that would prove to cost him throughout his life. The boys obediently backed down and resumed the rest of their exploration unabated. In the days that followed, it truly felt like they had found a mini home in this chaotic and dangerous city. Malik and Farim would gather, play, and converse with the old man about whatever crossed their minds. Sadly, there came a certain day when this would come to a tragic and sudden end.
In đź—ˇ Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Farim & Malik

Location: The Slums of Genesea
Time: 4th of Ventu 1729

Flashback! Part 1


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The sun across the arid desert beamed down onto the scene of a bustling city full of life. The streets teemed with peddlers of eccentric wares and lavish buildings built to cover every physical desire one could dream. Such was the front facing appearance of Genesea - city of splendors; where the Sultan himself resided with the royal family.

Yet further still down these bright lit streets, as one traveled further from the radiant palace, there were some less personable trades taking place. In the slums, it was just like any other underbelly across the globe. Cutthroat gangs roamed the streets, looking for trouble or pushing contraband underneath the crown’s nose. Deceptive shops and businesses swindled lost or wandering tourists for every ounce of coin they carried. The more daring and nefarious citizens of Genesea reside here - yet unfortunately so did the poor and squalid, left with no other place to go.

It was here that Farim spent some of his former years - clinging to a longtime friendship with a young boy named Malik. The pair stayed on the safer streets of the Slums, avoiding the Black Market and other dangerous alleys. Yet they still wore the same joyful smiles as any other child - playing games and exploring the city's lesser known nooks and crannies. In a place ripe with forbidden trinkets and secretive deals, it was hard for two curious boys to resist making their mark on the world.

Today, however, would prove to be something far different than what the boys had in store. They met in their usual place, grinning ear to ear as they ran across a crossroad that served as a small bazaar. The merchants even began to become familiar with the boys, cracking jokes and offering snacks and trinkets for them to stay out of trouble. They of course were most wary of Farim—given the fact that his father was the Grand Vizier and one of the scariest men any of them had ever encountered.

Side by side - some even mistook Malik for Farim and vice versa. The only real difference between the boys was the color of their eyes and how truly soiled their clothes were. Farim had access to all the luxuries of royalty, but still chose common clothes so Malik wouldn’t feel different - but the telltale sign of hand-me-downs that barely had the grace of water and soap was as clear as day. Malik didn’t let this bother him, and often gave Farim flak for being “fake poor”.

”You are definitely a Prince playing pretend!” He would mockingly shout. ”Am not!” Farim would retort. And shortly after a barrage of ”Are too!” and ”Am not!” would echo throughout the streets as one boy would chase the other. That is until one of the peddlers grew weary of the noise and would shout at them to quiet down. Such protests were met with childish remarks and gestures from the pair before they scampered off. Sometimes, if the man scolding them was angry enough, they would even be chased up and down the roads.

It was during one of these chases that Malik happened to make a fateful discovery. His eyes glinted towards an interesting antique shop he had heard about, but could never work up the courage to enter. Using this adrenaline filled chase as a catalyst, he ducked into the shop before quickly yanking his friend Farim into the doorway. The two hushed themselves as the angry man ran down the street and passed their makeshift hiding spot - and once his shouts grew silent, the boys giggled victoriously.

”We dodged his wrinkly butt, didn’t we?” Malik chuckled. Farim nodded, and opened his mouth to let out another smart comment before another voice cut through the low lit darkness.

“Careful boys - you’ll be ending up like us one day! And your butts will be the wrinkly ones!” A voice cackled in the darkness prompting the boys to jump and turn towards the sound.
In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Corin Talmor



Title: The Gem Knight
Race: Human (Cyran)
Class: Paladin — Gem Knight Archetype
Interaction: Bastion @Oso
Location: Port Verge
Attire: Think rough-n-tough artisan. Cotton shirt rolled up to the forearms, with a wool artisan coat to cover his torso when he does his craftwork. Brown leather pants with reinforced knee-support, and a practical belt full of pouches and clasps for his various tools..
Gold Balance: 33
Injuries: Cracked arm, embedded crystalline shard near sternum, mild concussion
Equipment:




Whatever sense of caution Corin had on the onset of his new small friend meeting with a stranger quickly faded once they made their purpose clear. This “Seaside Tailor” had an interesting sense of scrutiny and empathy for a potential buyer’s “misfortune” of wearing whatever assault to their eyes they happened to witness.

Still. It was a fun aside for the time—so Corin obliged and entered the shop with his compatriots. He found himself immediately drawn to the crowns embroidered with gemstones. The man admired the delicate craftsmanship, glazing his eyes over the Corsair’s Plume Hat. This particular hat caught his attention the most, prompting him to gently lift it onto his scalp.

A nearby mirror gave him a proper show of every angle—the majesty of the plume flaring as he did mock twirls. Corin chuckled to himself, and found him liking the look….until he saw the price tag. He quickly yet just as gently placed the hat on its resting place as Bastion approached him with an offer.

”Now that is a heavy choice, friend.” His voice carried a distinct tone of dry sarcasm mixed with a jovial grin along his face. Corin’s eyes wandered to the plume hat, but that 60 gold price tag was too rich to ask even under normal circumstances. But that’s when he saw the Captain’s Beret–a perfect blend of simplicity and authority. ”Might not quite be the right rank but it still wears pretty well, don’t you think?”

Corin placed the cap onto his head and looked into the mirror with a smile. His trip home had brought him close to death, yet he still felt rather thankful for the chance to rekindle some lost embers of his life before the Mourning. ”It wouldn’t feel right to charge you the full price, even if it is just the 20 coins.” Corin spoke as he turned around, flipping the hat off of his head with a deft move of his fingers. He briefly handed it to Bastion and pulled out his own coin purse.

33 coins to his name…ouch that hurt to think about. Corin counted out 10 pieces and held them aloft for Bastion to grab. ”What do you say we split it? You could even take a few turns wearing the hat if it so fits your fancy, Commander Bastion.” Corin smirked at the honorific. There were certainly men who had been promoted to high ranks for less than what Bastion had done in the field, even if the warforged wouldn’t outwardly admit it.

In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Corin Talmor



Title: The Gem Knight
Race: Human (Cyran)
Class: Paladin — Gem Knight Archetype
Interaction: Bastion @Oso
Location: Port Verge
Attire:
Think rough-n-tough artisan. Cotton shirt rolled up to the forearms, with a wool artisan coat to cover his torso when he does his craftwork. Brown leather pants with reinforced knee-support, and a practical belt full of pouches and clasps for his various tools..
Gold Balance: 33
Injuries: Cracked arm, embedded crystalline shard near sternum, mild concussion
Equipment:




Whatever sense of caution Corin had on the onset of his new small friend meeting with a stranger quickly faded once they made their purpose clear. This “Seaside Tailor” had an interesting sense of scrutiny and empathy for a potential buyer’s “misfortune” of wearing whatever assault to their eyes they happened to witness.

Still. It was a fun aside for the time—so Corin obliged and entered the shop with his compatriots. He found himself immediately drawn to the crowns embroidered with gemstones. The man admired the delicate craftsmanship, glazing his eyes over the Corsair’s Plume Hate. This particular hat caught his attention the most, prompting him to gently lift it onto his scalp.

A nearby mirror gave him a proper show of every angle—the majesty of the plume flaring as he did mock twirls. Corin chuckled to himself, and found him liking the look….until he saw the price tag. He quickly yet just as gently placed the hat on its resting place as Bastion approached him with an offer.

”Now that is a heavy choice, friend.” His voice carried a distinct tone of dry sarcasm mixed with a jovial grin along his face. Corin’s eyes wandered to the plume hat, but that 60 gold price tag was too rich to ask even under normal circumstances. But that’s when he saw the Captain’s Beret–a perfect blend of simplicity and authority. ”Might not quite be the right rank but it still wears pretty well, don’t you think?”

Corin placed the cap onto his head and looked into the mirror with a smile. His trip home had brought him close to death, yet he still felt rather thankful for the chance to rekindle some lost embers of his life before the Mourning. ”It wouldn’t feel right to charge you the full price, even if it is just the 20 coins.” Corin spoke as he turned around, flipping the hat off of his head with a deft move of his fingers. He briefly handed it to Bastion and pulled out his own coin purse.

33 coins to his name…ouch that hurt to think about. Corin counted out 10 pieces and held them aloft for Bastion to grab. ”What do you say we split it? You could even take a few turns wearing the hat if it so fits your fancy, Commander Bastion.” Corin smirked at the honorific. There were certainly men who had been promoted to high ranks for less than what Bastion had done in the field, even if the warforged wouldn’t outwardly admit it.

In đź—ˇ Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Drake


Time: Evening of the 2nd
Location: Tough Tavern
Mentions: Everyone at the Tavern



What was a delightful evening where Drake could reconnect with an old friend quickly turned sour. And even that sour rancor turned dreadful as the events transpired in the bar. A cold sweat began to run along his temple as the man took stock of the situation.

Right. They want to rob the bar, minimal resistance, and they pack just the means to keep any wayward or rebellious souls in check. Direct escape? Impossible, or at least presumably so. Whatever trickery or sorcery was afoot, perhaps the shroud only blocked visual and audible stimuli. But getting there means getting through the vagabonds who had claimed the night.

Drake shot quick glances around the room, it seemed there were around half a dozen bandits. Perhaps untold numbers beyond the shadow-licked walls of the tavern. But the upside was, as the witch had put it, “No eyes in, no voices out.” So the odds of external help for either party was low. Yet each one of these vagabonds posed a great threat.

It was mid analysis that Ariella began her muddled drunken protest, and was quickly approached by an unnamed large mass of a man. There was ice behind the Lord’s blue pupils that almost spoke on their own. A disdain for one who would casually speak so slyly in front of his own sister—but he held his tongue. This was not the time for blind heroics. At least not yet.

”If I may.” Drake paused, his hands fully stretched back onto the table as requested. ”The bravado and theatrics are plenty enough proof that you all control the room. While such games are entertaining I cannot help but bring to light one major flaw in this arrangement.” The lord paused. ”You speak or us as if we are walking sacks of gold coins for you to cut and maim as needed until you leak us dry.”

Drake turned his head to look at Garran. ”But enlighten me. How many burlap sacks have you seen cut up, crushed, and sliced that can still be good at keeping the gold all in one place?” He posed his question and let it hang before continuing.

”Killing or maiming us is the same as taking the key to a treasure vault and throwing it down the river. Unless your goal isn’t riches, but something else.” Drake continued. ”Some powerful connections lie beyond this room. Something that some poultry spell cannot snuff out…So I just wanted to kindly request we settle things amicably. For all your sakes and ours.”

He stopped one last time, before quickly adding. ”I’ll have a double whiskey, please Lady Kalliope.”

A single act of moderate defiance, but he hoped his little speech would buy some time, or perhaps draw some ire towards him. Maybe it would even offer the group an opening. Drake kept his calm demeanor, but he also braced for the proverbial whip that may come to crack against him.

In Roses and Daggers - Looking for new players! → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Did I hear someone is interested in alchemy?

Well I happen to bring good tidings in the form of Farim Kadir! A cousin to the main bloodline, and son to the wicked Grand Vizier himself -- carrying all his ambition and perhaps just a little bit of his ruthlessness (he just won't admit it). Farim is a self-made "Trade Prince" who runs an enterprise that spans the entire Alidasht kingdom, with goals of reaching to the neighboring kingdoms.

The secret to his success? An ever growing list of contacts, benefactors, and trade partners (and a little big of that sparkly alchemical magic but don't tell anyone.)

When he isn't growing his trade network, he's out romancing the ladies, out on the town, a proper playboy philanthropist stereotype. But lately, the winds are changing for his man. For once in his life, he seeks true love. He thinks he may have found it...buuuut there's definitely some people ready to stand in his way. Like his father who he vehemently hates on at every possible opportunity! They kind of have a tough relationship....

So some cousins or other form of family could be a wonderful boon to his life! OR if you are looking to make an enemy, I like to think Farim would be a fun one to contest with.

--------------------------------

I do also write Drake Edwards, esteemed Lord and heir to the Edwards estate. His style is more refined, a proper gentleman and scholar in his own right. A raging heartthrob and hopeless romantic -- hoping to properly court his current love interest whose captured his attention vapidly. When he isn't pushing papers and learning about dukedom from his father...he's enjoying a brisk walk, horseback riding, playing the piano, and taking part in whatever sounds intriguing to him at the time.

He is kind, believes in the good in others, and seeks to help Sorian overcome its recent debacle of public smear campaigns run by some troublesome few that seek to tarnish the royal family's good name. Come interact with him if you're more into the typical old English gentlemanly vibes

Hope either one of these characters sparks some interest with folks, and I'm always happy to answer questions :)
In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Corin Talmor



Title: The Gem Knight
Race: Human (Cyran)
Class: Paladin — Gem Knight Archetype
Interaction: Phia @princess, Menzai [@sammies], Bastion @Oso, and Arya @Potter
Location: Port Verge Market
Attire:
Think rough-n-tough artisan. Cotton shirt rolled up to the forearms, with a wool artisan coat to cover his torso when he does his craftwork. Brown leather pants with reinforced knee-support, and a practical belt full of pouches and clasps for his various tools..
Gold Balance: 30
Injuries: Bruised arm, embedded crystalline shard near sternum, mild concussion




It wasn’t long after bumping into one of them that the entire crew began descending unto Corin in a flurry of quick, hurried, and measured responses. Some careful, some threatening, but the one he was drawn to was the tall familiar warforged who addressed him as “Commander”. How long had it been since he heard those words?

Corin grinned, reaching a firm hand out that took hold of Bastions in a deceptively vice like way. Not to threaten him—Corin knew Bastion could snap his old body like a twig if he really wanted. But he didn’t. That’s what Corin always liked about the gentle giant. He always knew when to swing the big sword, and when to stretch out a hand.

”Bastion. It’s been far too long, old friend.” His voice hummed with reverence. ”The men used to call you Big Red — on account of how you’d scare the living daylights out of anyone in the dead of night with those fancy oculars of yours.” Corin smiled, giving Bastion’s hand a final shake before adjusting himself.

Corin sized up the crew of adventurers. If nothing else they were all quite capable. They had the survival instincts to make it through things most people wouldn’t. The airship crash was evidence of that. But sometimes in a place like this it takes more than just instinct to get by. He just hoped such nefarious qualities wouldn’t infect them like it had the rest of the filth wandering through the market.

”It is as your small protective friend says. I was on the ship falling to my death before I collided with a tree and used what little sense I had while I was spinning to crack my shield into the dirt and soften the blow. My arm isn’t too happy, nor are any of my ribs….I also have a rather persistent headache since the crash. But other than that…I think I made it out well.” Corin smirked, the absurdity of his tale would likely earn him a rightfully justified look of skepticism.

Then he furrowed his brows. ”There was another man. An elf with orange eyes and dreadlocked hair. He seemed the cautious type. A brief exchange of words was all I could afford before he ran off in some unseen direction. Sound like anyone you might know?”

Corin turned and gauged the surrounding area, the worried and anxious stares began to blend and morph into ones of intrigue and perception. It was like a mountain lion sizing up its prey before the fatal strike. His skin crawled with the faintly malicious intents that were written on all of their crooked faces. As he continued his scanning, his eyes met with the bird perched on Arya’s shoulder. He took a few steps and held up the back of his hand to the eagle, offering his scent for her to familiarize with if she so chooses. ”What a good bird.” Corin said softly.

”It might be good for us, since food seems to be on the mind of many here, to find a more private venue to talk. Care to join an old man for some dinner?” Corin laughed and began walking the same way Phia had initially been walking before their fateful encounter.

In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 9 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Corin Talmor


Title: The Gem Knight
Race: Human (Cyran)
Class: Paladin — Gem Knight Archetype
Interaction: Everyone, in their own special way
Location: Lhazaar Jungle --> Port Verge
Attire: Think rough-n-tough artisan. Cotton shirt rolled up to the forearms, with a wool artisan coat to cover his torso when he does his craftwork. Brown leather pants with reinforced knee-support, and a practical belt full of pouches and clasps for his various tools..
Gold Balance: 30
Injuries: Cracked arm, embedded crystalline shard near sternum, mild concussion
Equipment:



Corin had paused. There was a long silence following his question before he slowly sighed. ”Guess that’s my answer. Oh well.” The man’s absence had told him what he needed to know for the time being. He was alone. And would have to figure out this poor situation on his own.

Branches clawed at Corin’s cloak as he pushed through the Lhazaar jungle, each step landing with a tired but stubborn certainty. Every joint in his body protested his reckless descent, yet here he was — not a corpse at the base of some forsaken tree, but a very sore, very alive man heading toward Port Verge. Corin stuck to the more traveled paths that would likely avoid any predators or pursuers, but the most persistent tails could stick to him rather easily.
He shoved aside a curtain of vines. Humid air clung to him like a second skin, the scent of salt beginning to thread its way into the musk of wet earth…the sea was close. Ahead, the undergrowth thinned. A salty breeze kissed his face. Lantern-light flickered through the leaves with Port Verge, nestled at the edge of the world like a hungry grin. Smugglers, pirates, traders, mercenaries, a proper nest of rogues and survivors.
”Alright. One foot in front of the other, Corin. You aren’t dead yet.”

Corin sauntered into the port, keeping his reflexes honed for the various threats that loom in the shadows. Nameless vagabonds rustled in the distance, just out of sight as the new “shmuck” made his way into the bowels of the lion’s den. Corin paid them little mind, unless they decided to approach him. This caution only bubbled beneath the surface however as he approached the stall with the words “Madam Zarra’s” sprawled along its entrance. It was time to see what Port Verge had to offer.

Corin browsed through the wares, thinking of just what he could buy or what he could hear. Information came free if you listened long enough — and Corin had always been a good listener. Besides, his coin purse still felt too light for comfort and he needed to take stock of local “opportunities”.
He was halfway through debating whether the next item was a scam or merely shoddy when a shift in tone cut through the market. Tension, hushed voices, the kind that precedes either applause or violence.
Corin’s head turned.
At the docks' edge stood a group unlike any he’d seen. Five of them — recently untied by a handful of smugglers and sea-scoundrels.
First, a warforged with sun-themed plating, a blue scarf fluttering like it had something to prove. Corin’s eyes immediately shot wide as he recognized the mechanical menace. Bastion? Then his eyes moved to a half-elf crowned in bone, nature-touched and wild-eyed beneath a deer skull helm. A yuan-ti woman who was beautiful in an unsettling, too smooth way, hints of scales catching the light when she moved. A tiefling in starlit skin with an eagle perched like a judgmental sentinel at her side. And a robed wolf-kin in human guise, purple hair flowing in the coastal breeze, eyes too watchful for a simple wanderer. This group had trouble and talent all wrapped in the same bow.
Corin slowed his steps, feigning interest in a cracked spyglass while listening.
The group appeared to have been given two rules: don’t leave and don’t die. Disobey either, and you die. One of those is kind of inherent, but sure. He continued looking through the cracked glass as if to admire its craftsmanship while the group was untied.

“When Prince Dane’s ready for you, we’ll come find you. Don’t worry, we’ve got our ways. For now… welcome to Port Verge. Try not to make me regret untying you.”

And there it was. A name to hang onto. And a new group of compatriots to possibly align with. The fact that Bastion was among them meant they would likely be good company, and he was fairly certain he had seen some of them on the Stormrider—with very limited interaction. This was proving to be far more interesting than he could have hoped. It was as if destiny itself was sharpening its teeth—ready to sink itself into himself and the eccentric people present.

So Corin smirked and noticed a group of three immediately begin to break off—the smaller half-elf had proclaimed she was hungry, and the wolf-man followed shortly after. This could be a good chance to meld himself with the group. He chose his path carefully, nonchalantly marching forward until he bumped into the ever-determined Phia on her quest for food. The two collided softly before he innocently smiled. ”Are you just as lost as me?”

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