Marlowe

The Long Night | Medieval Fantasy

Interacting with: Rylan @Vertigo, Emil @vietmyke

The beast was less than happy, he could tell. Tristan brought the fire closer to the large bird, hoping that the bright light would frighten it just enough so it could calm down. Even he knew his plan was flawed. But the stryx was in no mood to be manipulated by a total stranger. It growled again as it opened its wings partially. Its pupils dilated and constricted as it pinned its gaze on him. For a moment, he faltered. He was in huge trouble. If he fell, what a glorious death it would be! Killed by an oversized turkey. Grounding his teeth, he took a step forward, squaring his shoulders and reaching forward. If he couldn't soothe it, well, he would take it by force.

Someone spoke behind him. Tristan whirled around, his blood running even more cold than it already was. The man was another intruder, for Tristan didn't recognize him as one of the Durand household. No... this was Rylan, a scoundrel from the streets. They'd had a few run-ins here and there, but this was the most... well, apprehensive. In a flourish, he unsheathed the stolen sword from his scabbard, pointing it at Rylan as he glowered at him from under his hood. "And you're going to wake the whole place up with that screech of yours," he snarled, attempting to make his voice deeper than it was. Hopefully Rylan wouldn't recognize anything about him.

He glanced at the pitchfork, then the stryx. It had made a sharp movement. His eyes went wide. It was rearing up now, wings outstretched and muscles terse. Crap. It was ready to charge. If it did, it'd gore them to bits. Tristan wavered the tip of his blade towards the bird, hoping that if it did attack, it would run into his sword before it did any damage.

But the stryx didn't attack. It slouched begrudgingly at the sound of yet another voice. Tristan felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of his face. Now this had turned into an even larger problem. The new visitor was one of the Durands. He saw him around the manor when his father was purchasing stryx from the aviary. If there is a goddess, she's damned this whole night--

For a moment, he wondered if he should keep up with the charade. But at this point it was probably going to end up a fight. And he was sure that Rylan would team up with Emil and join against him. He certainly wasn't in the mood to be stuck with pitchforks and lances. Sighing heavily, he sheathed the black sword before standing straight and lowering his hood. He also lowered the torch, hoping the light wouldn't irritate the bird further. "Hi," he said in the most nonchalant way possible. "I'd think that stryx handlers and thieves would be tucked away in bed by now. A shame really... I really didn't want to run into anyone just yet."

Tristan set his gaze back on Emil. "But seriously. Don't go running for help. I'm not a cold-blooded thief like that guy over there. I only wanted to borrow this stryx for a little bit. I promise I was going to tell you."

The Long Night | Medieval Fantasy

Time of Day: Night
Season: Late Summer

---

Interacting with: No one, at the moment

The night was black as pitch. Above, the sky hung moonless and barren of stars. If it weren't for the fires coming from inside the manor, Tristan wouldn't be able to see his hand if he held it in front of him. Dressed in a black cowl and cape that shrouded his features in darkness, he silently glided down the pale halls of the Baske manor. No one was awake at this time. And for that, he was thankful. The guards would most likely alert his father if they saw him sneaking around. And if that happened, there was no way in hell he was going to get out of there without his father's nose up his ass.

Carefully, he stepped into the main hall. On the walls hung horrendous visages of beasts that his father slayed during his hunts. Yes, the men in the family were known for hunting. But Tristan found bows to be bulky and hard to hold... and, not to mention, he could hardly string one even if his life depended on it. He stood in the middle of the furnished room, warily eyeing the snarling muzzles and gleaming fangs glimmering from above. Tearing his gaze from them, he instead pinned it on a case that rested below a window. Like a specter, he walked toward it. A black blade, blacker than Vaucluse's nights, rested atop a blood red cushion.

Severance.

Hundreds of years ago, it was a dragon slayer. Now it was just sitting there. Waiting for someone to pick it up again. Waiting for him.

Light from a nearby candle rippled over its ebony sheen. Captivated by its beauty, Tristan tried to imagine himself holding it much like his ancestors did. Glorious. Fierce. Riding upon the back of a ferocious stallion and brandishing the dragon-killing sword. Biting the inside of his mouth, he cracked the case open. If his father were to catch him, he would surely be hanged for even touching Severance as a bastard. A smirk crossed his lips. A bastard wielding a blade meant for full-blooded lords. Already, he could feel his father twist and turn in his sleep.

With a flourish, he lifted the sword out of its case. It caught more of the light and its edge danced with a beautiful flame-colored hue. To his dismay, it felt heavy and sat awkwardly in his palm.

I'll get used to it.

---

The light from his torch illuminated the way to Vaucluse's stryx aviary. Tristan walked with a bounce in his step, no matter how urgent he was. He had food, water, and Severance-- all he needed was a blasted bird. It was easy to get to the aviary, and before he knew it, he was already in the area where they kept the giant carnivorous birds. Tristan never saw a stryx up close. He just knew that some weren't nocturnal, and some were, which meant he had to be extra careful around them.

Huffing, he marched over a small hill and saw two beasts nesting near the Durand household. A light still shimmered from inside the house, making Tristan give a little groan. Out of all times to be awake, of course these were the people who stayed up until past midnight. He twisted his mouth. Great.

Cursing, he slid down the small slope and slowly picked his way to the stryx. A tawny, earthy-red colored one lifted its head and growled at him. "Calm down now, boy," he tried his best to sooth it. All it did was look at him with beady yellow eyes and snap its beak. Crap. Now that he thought about it, how was he supposed to drag this thing out of here?

The Long Night | Medieval Fantasy

Interacting with: Vane @Sen, Nicoline @Dragonbud, Sabine @Fabricant451

It seemed like everyone had a pole up their arse today. It could have been because of his heavy tongue and the fire in his blood, but Tristan wasn't about to blame himself. In his mind, it seemed like no one was in the mood for jokes. That, and, well... the words coming from the saucy blonde woman made his cheeks sting with embarrassment. If his body warmed up any more, he wouldn't be surprised if he turned into a bloody dragon. A dragon without a tongue, that was. The very same woman sapped him of any bite or fire breath he had in him. A woman who dared to insult a man's pride and joy was nothing but a wench.

Tristan kept his smoldering gaze placed on Sabine. Yes, he was at a loss for words. Yes, he just got fiercely embarrassed in front of Vaucluse's whole town square. Even now, he could near the sniggers coming from other loiterers that had stopped by to watch the spectacle from afar. He was tempted to give the woman a good smacking. But his name had already been dragged through countless bogs and ditches-- did he really dare to fall as far as striking a woman who didn't hit first?

A crooked scowl crossed his lips. Another snicker from nearby only deepened the flush on his face, and he crossed his arms again, his fingers burying themselves into the flesh of his forearms once again. Tristan didn't even hear what Nicoline said, or what Vane told the young mage girl. All he cared about was getting home. After he pulled his stunt off, he wouldn't have to suffer through any of this shit again. No one would flinch at the mention of his name. No one would laugh behind his back. No one would call him names. Hell, even his father would be proud of him, for once. Tristan Baske wouldn't be a burden. His name would be a legend!

"... g-go get eaten by a chimera, you twisted ol' harpy," Tristan waved Sabine off before turning his gaze to Vane and Nicoline. "Don't you two worry. I've better places to be, anyways." And with a heated scoff, the defeated lordling turned away and began to head back toward his father's manor.

If he was lucky, that would be the last time he'd have to walk that blasted path back home.

Underrated and Overrated Video Games

My bf is playing FFVI for me as I watch him and I think it's horribly underrated. It's honestly my favorite FF game.

The Long Night | Medieval Fantasy

Interacting with: Vane @Sen, Nicoline @Dragonbud, Sabine @Fabricant451

Tristan was in his own world. He didn't even think of the leaf that fluttered away as if it was rushing from its side. Not even the sounds of joy ripped him from his thoughts. All he could think of was what he was doing to do with two stryx, especially if no one came with him. He couldn't just ask now. There were too many pairs of loose lips around these parts and if he went asking around for help, then the town guard would tie him to a tree to prevent him from leaving. Well, wasn't he stuck in between a rock and a hard place? It was as if fate was keeping him from leaving?

The sudden cold nipped at him again. Just as he was about to curse himself for not bringing a thicker cloak, a familiar face rushed up to him in a flurry. "Nico--" Tristan began, his tongue heavy. Before he knew it, the girl was gone, and he was left with a scarf wrapped around his shoulders. Huffing, he threw one end of it around his neck. It was soft and warm. Just what he needed.

Someone stepped out from the tavern and tossed some words at him. Tristan turned his head, giving the other blonde a sidelong look. Now, whenever someone asked him, "Are you the real Tristan Baske", that was just asking for trouble. If he said yes, he would quite possibly be met with a disdainful look and a scoff. If he said no, then, well...

"Mmmm," Tristan began, flushing slightly. God above, why did he have to be seen in a woman's scarf? In front of another guy, on top of that?! "'Tis I. And I don't need nothing but another drink and a woman in my bed."

As if there had been someone listening to him, a woman stuck her head out of the door. She was pretty but her attitude was unsavory and rude. The fire that poisoned his blood burned brighter. "Oh, screw off. We ain't doing nothin'. Can't say anything about the big bird man, though," he sneered at her with a malicious grin. "Hey, you seem like ya gotta stick up your ass. How about a good lay to see if ya loosen up a bit?

Let me draw u like one of them french girls

@Congee Well each set are like 6-8 characters each, all kind of a group shot. I don't mind it if you color them in or not.

Let me draw u like one of them french girls

Would you be willing to draw a series of characters? If it's too much for you I'm willing to pay.

The Long Night | Medieval Fantasy

Time of Day: Dusk
Season: Late Summer

---

Interacting with: No one, at the moment

The milky blue hue of the sky diminished into a brazen yellow as the sun began its descent. During this hour in Vauclause, the streets became mostly empty of sentient life. Some would still be out in the streets, completing their final chores for the day. If it wasn't for the people, there would be the cats that lurked in the alleyways in search of rats and birds that stayed out too late. Overall, Vauclause was a sleepy town at this hour. Besides the drowsy commoners and the sneaky felines that prowled the cobblestone roads, there were the people who rummaged through the streets in search of fun and drink.

Night was considered something dangerous in the southern Lutairian town. It wasn't just the rapists that pounced upon women or the cut-purses whose daggers gleamed in the dying light. There was something other than the cats that lurked the roadways. There was always the strange shape, the crooked torsos, the smiles lined with pointed teeth. Whether they were demons or beasts, no one ever wanted to figure out. Some believed they were safe there. They didn't believe there was anything to worry about past the town's gates. That the beasts stayed away from civilizations because they knew that humans there would prove too big of a hassle to hunt. There were even people who swore that magic didn't exist-- that it was merely a child's tale that taught children not to dabble too much in the unknown. The friars shouted in the streets on early Sunday mornings, Lorelei's blessing is upon us all!

Lorelei.

He remembered when he was seventeen. Dabbling in his urges, Tristan did not turn to Lorelei but to the whores with full breasts and wide hips. Swordplay was a song to his ears, not the hymns of the church's choir. And it was seventeen when he thought, Lorelei does not exist.

Tristan stood under the shade of one of the tavern's overhangs. Even though it was evening, the southern sun bore into the earth and warmed its core. He was sweating underneath his black cotton tunic and azure cloak because of the heat. Or maybe it was the drink that was making him sweat so much? It was a bad day-- he had spent much of it drinking. He was clearly drunk, but not the happy type of drunk that he usually was. No, this time the Tenebroux coconut rum had mellowed him out and made him feel like... well, a coconut husk. Exhaling a wistful sigh, he ran a hand through his blonde hair as he cast his eyes up to the darkening sky.

The sky wasn't yellow, anymore. A tinge of blues, purples, and grays had plagued it. A gentle breeze slid between the buildings and swept fallen leaves up into its embrace. It was a sign. His plan would soon be set into motion.

Months had passed without any sign of the Soque. Tristan knew they were far south and most likely would never come in contact with any of them, for they were a solitary people who did not directly mettle with international politics. But they hadn't brought gunpowder or silver ore from the mountains-- they hadn't even brought dragonsteel, which was lighter than steel but much stronger. Sure, Lutaire could very well mine its own metals. But creatures would get into the solitary mines and devour the innocent. There would be no chance of escape.

At least Soque's coldness only draws dragons and wraiths, he thought with a putrid wrinkle of his nose. We have dragons and wraiths and chimeras and manticores and rocs and--

It had been a few days since Tristan had formulated a "plan". He tried to use "plan" almost sparingly, at least to himself, for it wasn't really a plan and just a general gist of what he was going to do. Dropping his head, he scratched at his scalp as he sought to soothe the itch that had been harassing him since this morning. Knowing his luck, he was bound to have fleas.

Y-yes, a "plan". He was going to solve this whole mess, single-handedly or not.

First, he'd wait until dusk fell. Until everyone was asleep. He didn't care if there really were demons and creatures of the night wandering about town. Then, Tristan would go to that one guy's place. Dur... duranego? Durial? The Durands' homestead. They had those big birds. If he stole one or two of them, and then tried to gather a handful of people... they would go with him, right?

Of course they'd go with me. I'm Tristan Baske! he puffed out his cheeks, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he stared at a leaf indignantly. And if Tristan Baske wants to go someplace with two stryx then they have to come with me. There's no saying no!

The wind blew again, spiriting the leaf deeper into Vauclause. Tristan stared after it, his fingers gripping the bare skin of his forearms. What with the sleeves of his tunic folded up to his elbows, the previously gentle breeze was beginning to nip at him...

The Long Night | Medieval Fantasy

@Vertigo @Dragonbud Accepted!

And I posted my character~ Everyone may post their character in the character tab as well!

The Long Night | Medieval Fantasy

Tristan Baske

"Cowards die a thousand deaths. The brave only die once."

---

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Class: Noble

Country of Origin: Lutaire

Weapons:
- As of now, has a simple sword with a brilliant navy handle.

Appearance:
A young man standing at 5'10. Tristan isn't necessarily thin, but he's not broad shouldered either; many consider him lean or fit. He has a slight farmer's tan from being outside and romping around Vaucluse without a care in the world. His hair is ash blonde and feathery, almost soft to the touch, while his eyes are strikingly blue. There are no signs of scars on his body due to the fact he has never been in direct combat with foe or beast alike.

Personality::
To say Tristan Baske is a confident individual is an understatement. Brash in more than one way and rude in many, he's blunt, dry, and inconsiderate. A lion with no mind for the opinions of sheep, he only accepts the best. Choice cuts of meat. The most beautiful women. The most expensive bottles of wine. The most loyal of subjects. He carries himself with an obnoxious swagger. Despite his arrogance, he has a childish excitement for adventure. The thought of slaying dragons and saving women from bandits sends fire through his blood.

Of course, Tristan isn't always like this. He may seem like one greedy son-of-a-bitch, but those who truly know him can see he is fairly naive and gullible. Strife and oppression are things that he doesn't really understand. In reality, he means the best, not only for himself but for everyone-- in his own way, that is.

Short Biography:
Tristan is the middle child of Seth Baske and Laila Baske, the heads of the wealthiest family in Vaucluse. He was never meant for fame-- his older brother, Rordan, was automatically chosen to be the heir of House Baske because of his age. Jacques, his younger brother, was coddled by his mother, and with his father training Rordan to become the next lord, Tristan gained little to no attention from his parents.

And so Tristan entertained himself. He showed no interest in his studies. He neglected to learn poetry and other fine arts, he never learned about cultures of other cities and nations, and never admired the teachings and psalms of Lorelei. All he cared about was romping through the town and singing drunken songs to whores while he flaunted his status.

A confrontation ensued once Seth got word of Tristan's shenanigans. However, Tristan's relationship was already cemented into his personality, and he had no intention of becoming a prim and proper lordling. Seth and Tristan's relationship soon became sour. Bitter with resentment, Seth did not name Tristan as heir when Rordan became bedridden and died of a vicious illness. Instead, he chose Jacques-- who was fifteen to Tristan's nineteen. Tristan's pride was tarnished, driving him to leave him in a blaze of fury.

He hadn't spent a day on the streets when he ran into a peculiar girl. She was disheveled, poor, and hungry. Stung with pity, Tristan brought it upon himself to buy her food and drink. It was then that he learned her name was Nicoline, and before he knew it, the two became friends. Tristan spent three days in the streets when Nicoline suggested that he head home. He was not one to be a vagrant, and due to the "ruin" he had caused in town, there were few who wished to help him. Begrudgingly, he took Nicoline's advice. It was fortunate for him that Seth and Laila allowed him back to the manor, but not without stripping Tristan of his name and titles. Pity made him keep him there, Seth said, and nothing else. Tristan was no longer a son of his.

Summary:
A know-it-all rapscallion who dreams of glory.

Trivia:
- In truth, Tristan has the status of a bastard. He is still heavily impacted by his change of status.

- Tristan's called the "Vagrant King" behind his back because of his denial and overly pompous nature.

- He has never been in combat. Because of this, Tristan has a horrible aversion to seeing wounds bigger than a cut, along with blood-- especially his own.

- Every time he's part of a group, he automatically appoints himself as its leader.

- Despite his history, Tristan knows how to carry himself and act like an actual noble.