Lava Alckon

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Drake

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

---

It was the scream that snapped him out of his dominant trance of his. Kalliope’s shrill cry for help called Drake’s attention just in time to catch the swinging door and the crowd that gathered around it in the blink of an eye. He took the time to aim and considered shooting once in hopes of securing some form of victory over this unseen kidnapper. But his better reasoning kicked in and he shamefully lowered his gun.

Then, as if on cue, guards and staff began swarming the scene. There were blades and guns that had been flinging that came to a stop once the kidnapping had concluded. Drake’s anger bubbled forward as he looked around the room, his revolver now swiftly holstered into its usual resting place. ”I hope you all can find it in yourselves to look the other way tonight. But for those of you who plan to tell the tale of what happened, and bring the hells upon my family…I will be there to guard the gates. So tell them to bring their best.”

Then is when the familiar and welcome face of his father stepped into his view.

”Father…” His voice barely crept up before listening to his “Dad” voice. Quick efficient orders to control the room long enough for them to flee the scene before the man’s emotions got the better of him. It worked well, and before long they were all in the carriage, a somber air hanging over them as Gideon softly wept over his sister.

The gentle grasp of Drake’s hand made him look up, and register the reassuring words. ”I’m sorry it had to be like this…I wish I had done more.” He was sure his father would disagree, to tell him he did his best. But with two ladies now gone, and his sister in unknown condition, Drake found it hard to claim any sense of victory. He would spend his time in the hospital getting treated, gripping on what he could with cold sweat dripping down his forearms as doctors went to repair the tissue.

There were hushed whispers, concerns voiced, questions asked, and most of it was met with a cold stare from the young lord. If it wasn’t a bourbon or an anesthetic, he didn’t want any part of it. It took nearly 8 hours to treat his wounds that night – an exhausting endeavor for all parties. Drake spent the night in the families infirmary once the major injuries were treated, and began drifting off to sleep in the early hours of the morning, the thought of those yet saved still lingering on his conscience.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Corin Talmor

Character Art

Title: The Gem Knight
Race: Human (Cyran)
Class: Paladin — Gem Knight Archetype
Interaction: Elithar Revalen @Infinite Cosmos, Meiyu @Tae, and Minerva @FunnyGuy
Location: Port Verge, Common Area
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: 23
Injuries: Cracked arm, embedded crystalline shard near sternum, mild concussion
Equipment:

Inventory

⋆ Oathlight — Reforged longsword of Talmorite alloy
⋆ Luminar — Shield of Light and Memory
⋆ Necklace of Vowstones (Citrine, Amethyst, Diamond)⋆ Scale-mail infused with gem-stones, offering an iridescent kaleidoscope of color
⋆ Travelling Clothes — simply garb meant to wear out of combat
⋆ Artisan’s Clothes — good for working in the forges or workshops
⋆ Travelling Cloak — Cloudy blue cloak used to mask his figure
⋆ Maintenance toolbelt & travel satchel

The group had left the tailor, all company present complimenting the new looks they had acquired. Corin nodded at each of them as they presented their new spoils. ”What a fun shopping trip that was. It’s been a while since I’ve gone shopping.” Corin mused as the group began to walk along the docks, presenting their arguments for a good place to eat. Corin nodded in agreement, the hungering growl of his belly signaling his mutual desire to try some proper food. Suddenly, a commotion that had drawn most of the dock's attention prompted him to turn his gaze mid-conversation.

Three figures were in an interesting tussle exchanging even more interesting words. A serpent-kin woman and a feline attributed female were both ganging up on…an elf? With orange eyes and dreads. Corin smiled. ”So that’s where you ran off too.” He said softly. Corin turned to his group. ”If our goal is to gather more people bearing these…gems from the ‘beast in the sky’ as Phia put it…we’ll want that one’s presence. Maybe his two lady friends would like to tag along.” He spoke while gesturing pointedly at Elithar, and began making his way to the trio.

The clanking of his armor would signal his approach before anything. Corin adjusted his new cap with a bit of pride and swagger in his step as he began addressing Meiyu, Minerva, and Elithar. ”Did I hear that right? You all happen to be heading to the Squid too?” The tall man stood near them as they rose from their skirmish. He made note of the smaller wounds and kept his composure. ”That elven one is with me, and you all seem like the interesting type of folk to enjoy a pint and talk about the fun day we’ve been having.”

Corin lifted his arm and pointed a thumb at the group he had just departed from. ”We were just about to go there ourselves if you’d like. We can order more food and split the bill or an easy win-win as you so aptly put it.” He smirked at Elithar. ”Not sure what your beef is with the man but I can speak with confidence that none of us are in any place to be spending lavishly. I hope some regular ale will do the trick. I could even fix some of your wounds if you let me.”

Corin reached his hand out to whomever would take it. "Name’s Corin. Pleasure to meet you all." He smiled as he greeted the three of them, pure innocence hiding a prepared stance incase more combative antics were to ensue.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Farim

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

Flashback! Part 5

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

At first, Farim had blacked out entirely, his head throbbing as he came to moments later. He saw the old man ushering people away from the door to the shop through the fluttering curtain. The noise had attracted far too many witnesses. In the haze, Farim quietly called out for his friend.

”Malik, where are you? Did you get the stone?”

Farim crawled through the darkness until his hands touched something cold. Like a fabric. He tugged and pulled, realizing it was a shirt. But the boy wearing it had skin as cold as ice. Farim’s eyes adjusted to the light, and then his eyes shot wide.

There in the darkness of that dusty old room in Alidasht, Farim’s best friend lay on the cold wooden floor with eyes that lost what little spark of life they had remaining in them. Malik’s eyes were oddly serene, as if seeing something beautiful for the first and last time all at once. His body had not yet gone into rigor, but its stiffness was unmistakable.

The young boy felt his world begin to spin. He clutched his friend's sleeve and grabbed onto his chest–ragged breaths beginning to fill the silence. Farim’s shaking eyes darted between the book, his friend, and the curtain leading to the outside. ”Help…I can…I can get help, Malik…” He quietly murmured.

Farim’s hand finally let go as he crawled towards the door. He tried to stand, but his legs failed. It was as if the strength had been sucked from his body–a price he later learned to be the exhaustion of casting such strong magic. As he stumbled forward, his eyes moved once more to the book, and a peculiar sight caught his eye.

Where there were once simply pages and ink, there now rested a small teal crystal that pulsed with a faint blue light. Farim quickly grabbed it, and continued his crawl to the door. ”Sir, we need help…” His voice called out, but it was far too soft against the bustle at the front door. The man continued placating the curious onlookers away from his shop, and could hardly take the time to perceive just what had occurred in the backroom.

Farim was just about to raise his voice when an image caught his eye. His eyelids raised in fear as a translucent image of Malik standing in front of him, equally as scared.

”Farim, where am I? Why am I laying over there but standing here? What is happening!?”

Farim lay there in complete shock, unable to process what he was seeing. ”I… I do not….I can..not…I…I….” Fragmented thoughts poured from the boys mouth before he could even know what he was trying to say. It was not long before the see-through Malik ran to Farim for comfort.

”FARIM I’M SCARED! What is going on?! I DON’T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON!!” Malik’s speech became frantic, and as he collapsed forward to cling to his friend and weep, he felt his body slip through Farim as if he were made of air. The realization began to settle in the pits of both their stomachs.

Farim was the first to scream. He could not hold it in any longer. His hands reached for Malik, passing through him helplessly before grabbing onto his own hair and curling up into a ball. Every ounce of strength left inside the young man was used for his voice. Farim screamed louder than any boy had in that moment. A mixture of sadness, regret, trauma, and so many other emotions came welling up from the deepest part of his soul. Tears streaked down his face and dripped onto the uncaring floor beneath him.

Malik knelt onto the floor, unsure of what he had become, but a glance at his corpse brought a surge of tears himself. He knelt beside Farim and cried his heart out–for even if the boys did not fully understand what happened, one thing was certain.

Malik was dead.

There was no going back, and for whatever reason his spirit remained on this earth. Forever bound to the crystal spawned from the ancient ritual. The shopkeeper would later be discovered by the city guard and forced to walk into the desert in exile to never return. The book was never found in the chaos of that day—with how much foot traffic came in and out of that shop, it was only a matter of time before the book was erroneously placed somewhere else. Hopefully, it will never be discovered again—or else its secrets will continue to influence the world in chaotic and unpredictable ways.

---

As time passed, Farim would learn the nature of this spell, and just what he had done that day. He had created the Philosopher’s stone he wanted, but it came with a cost so great he would live to regret it every day of his life. Every sleepless night like this one, where he tossed and turned before finally jolting awake. His voice rang out in the dead of night, with little to no response. Because anyone who slept near or around him knew that this was a normal occurrence.

Except for one person. A recent addition in his life that gave him a great cause to worry. His hand gently held the Philosopher’s Stone while removing the cover to Thara’s cage. She had already been cooing softly against the bars when Farim he shouted himself awake, and nudged through the bars to softly nip at the beads of sweat crawling down his face. For a moment, he laughed, smiled, and returned her soft gesture with a gentle rub of his hand.

Farim stepped out onto the balcony of the guest house and leaned against the railing. Several thoughts clouded his mind at the moment, but one topic pierced through them all. The way her golden hair flowed along her frame matched with the glowing smile that seemed to dispel any troubles around them. Her fiery nature that captured that perfect blend of sassy and kindness. His concerned look shifted to a melancholy smile as he thought about her.

”I can only wonder…if someone like me is worth your time.” He softly spoke, only himself to hear.

Or so he thought.

A spectral hand grazed his shoulder and a familiar, grown up projection of Malik crept into view.

”My friend, if anyone is worth her time, it is you.

Farim chuckled ”Thanks old friend. I truly hope so.”

In this tranquil moment, the two shared a moment of silent peace together they didn’t often get. But as the sun rose, Malik’s visage took its leave. It was time to start the new day, and tackle whatever new adventures awaited the Trade Prince of Alidasht.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Farim

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

Flashback! Part 4

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Farim

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

Flashback! Part 3

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Corin Talmor

Character Art

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:

Inventory

⋆ Oathlight — Reforged longsword of Talmorite alloy
⋆ Luminar — Shield of Light and Memory
⋆ Necklace of Vowstones (Citrine, Amethyst, Diamond)⋆ Scale-mail infused with gem-stones, offering an iridescent kaleidoscope of color
⋆ Travelling Clothes — simply garb meant to wear out of combat
⋆ Artisan’s Clothes — good for working in the forges or workshops
⋆ Travelling Cloak — Cloudy blue cloak used to mask his figure
⋆ Maintenance toolbelt & travel satchel

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.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Corin Talmor

Character Art

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:

Inventory

⋆ Oathlight — Reforged longsword of Talmorite alloy
⋆ Luminar — Shield of Light and Memory
⋆ Necklace of Vowstones (Citrine, Amethyst, Diamond)⋆ Scale-mail infused with gem-stones, offering an iridescent kaleidoscope of color
⋆ Travelling Clothes — simply garb meant to wear out of combat
⋆ Artisan’s Clothes — good for working in the forges or workshops
⋆ Travelling Cloak — Cloudy blue cloak used to mask his figure
⋆ Maintenance toolbelt & travel satchel

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.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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.