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3 days ago
Current There are many imitators, but Penny's Platitudes is the original and the best in RP collapse explanations.
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3 days ago
Launching a new service where I provide reasons why your partners abandoned your roleplay. Accuracy not guaranteed. No refunds.
3 days ago
Big talk for someone involved in 18 other RPs with me!
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3 days ago
Wheel of Time RP?
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4 days ago
A small cabal or religious types are in positions of power in both cases, both use tech and magic to achieve their goals. Sounds like special pleading to me.


Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.

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"Hunters are a crown a dozen here about," she replied, wrapping an arm around him and squeezing herself against him. She felt him stiffen slightly at the unexpected contact.

"You said we were betrothed remember," she whispered to him, "It would hardly to if we didn't show any affection."

The interior of the inn was a large warm space, well light by a fire and by several lanterns which hung from the dark oak rafters. Villagers sat at circular wooden tables, each of which was marked with the mositure rings of generations of ale steins. Several tables had been there was no bar, but several tables had been positioned to section off the entryway to the back room through which Mave could pick out barrels of ale and jugs of wine resting on shelves. There was a large stone hearth in which blazed a fire and a pot of stew bubbled in a large iron cauldron.

Conversation stilled as they entered as all eyes turned to them. Expressions were mixed. Some of the patrons, older villagers glared at them with suspicion, while younger ones looked at them with interest and even excitement. A matronly woman bustled across the wooden planked floor, her sharp glance slapping away curious eyes.

"I do be Mistress Sindi," she announced with surprising dignity, "welcome to the River Rush Inn. How can I be of service?" The tone was cautious and her eyes dropped to the weapons carried by the men. It obviously disturbed her to see armed travelers but she relaxed slightly as her eyes fell on Mave, presumably reasoning that the presence of an apparently unarmed young woman meant that the likelihood of trouble was decreased. Given the events of the last several months, that wasn't a good bet, but Mave was hardly going to diasabuse her.

"We are travelers from Illian, seeking food and lodging. I am called Kashvi," Mave told her with a smile. She touched her pouch so that the coins inside clinked, indicating she could pay. In truth her funds were dwindling but there was more than enough for their current needs. She wondered if the three Hunters had any coin, probably not. If it became necessary she would find more funds, though how she wasn't sure.

"Well food we have, but I'm afraid I only have one room to let," Cindi said with an appologetic glance. A young woman, perhaps fifteen or so slipped out of the kitchen area behind Cindi, obviously a daughter by the resemblence. She was wearing a simple wool dress covered by an apron and her hair was tied back with pieces of colored ribbon. She eyed the newcomers with curiosity, taking far more time than she needed to deliver a loaf of bread and mug of ale to a pair of tradesmen smoking at corner table.

"One room, will be fine," Mave responded, glancing back over her shoulder at her companions. Cindi colored.

"Mistress Kashvi, I certainly wouldn't ask you to share a room with!" Cindi blurted. Mave opened her mouth to object but the innkeeper rushed on.

"My daughter Myraia, will share her room with you, if that is agreeable?" It wasn't particularly, Mave had no wish to be separated from her company, but outraging the locals would hardly be a productive step either. She nodded her head in acquiescence.

"That is very kind of you Mistress," she said graciously as she could. The settled down at a table and Cindi brought bowls of stew and flagons of ale for the men. Mave took wine for the sake of politeness, though she would have preferred water to the sour, resinous red she received. The stew was hot and filling, in truth better than anything she had eaten since she and Ali had left the Two Rivers. The table of hunters became the focus of attention of the village youngsters, many of whom crept closer to listen to the conversation, much to the horror of their elders. Darius began to recount an unlikely tale about how he had been captured by pirates on the Shadow Coast, drawing him the attention he clearly craved. Mave who found the story unlikely, to say the least, found her attention wandering. She wanted to be in privacy studying her map, though in truth she had memorized every nuance of it months ago. Now that she was nearing her goal, or so she hoped, she found herself unexpectedly daunted. The mountains before her were vast and she could spend a life time, even the very long lifetime of an Aes Sedai, searching and never find what she was looking for. Her thoughts drifted to Ali and as she turned to look at him her eyes caught something on the mantle piece of the fire. Excusing herself she stood and walked over to it. It was a small piece of what looked to be black veined marble, shaped into the likeness of a strange lizard.

"Eh, like the Mill Stone do you?" an old toothless man whom Mave had taken to be asleep asked. He stirred at his table and sipped at a nearly empty flagon.

"That dosen't look like a millstone to me," Mave objected, taking a seat across from the old man. She waved her hand and the serving girl, Myriah, bought a fresh flagon of ale over to the old man.

"Much obliged missy," the old man said smacking his lips, "I'm Tye, when I can remember my name anyway."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance Master Tye," Mave responded politely.

"Just Tye, Master Tye was my father," the old man rejoined cackling at his own joke. Mave couldn't help but smile back.

"I am called Kashvi," she responded in kind. The old man took a swig of ale.

"Is that what they call you?" he asked. Mave had the sudden uncomfortable feeling the old man knew more than he was letting on but she simply nodded her head.

"That dosen't look much like any millstone I have ever seen," she replied, steering the conversation back onto course. Tye nodded, taking a draught of his ale.

"Aye, it is the Mill Stone," he repeated, emphasising the seperation between the two terms.

"Ah I see, it came from a mill then?" Mave asked, still not entirely clear.

"When I was a lad, Jenkins' mill was struck by lightning," Tye told her, pausing to drain his glass. Mave guestured for and was provided with another refill. She caught Ali watching her across the room and gave him a quick encouraging smile.

"It was a terrible storm, all wind and no rain, burned like a torch it did," Tye said taking his new flagon with as much gusto as he had shown for the old one. It clearly wasn't everyday he had both an attentive audience and a supply of free drinks.

"When the ashes cooled, all that was left was a pile of broken mud bricks and ash," Tye went on.

"He never rebuilt it, by then Old Jenkin had married Mistress Farvenu quite the scandal at their ages and with Master Farvenu not three weeks in the ground.."

"And the stone?" Mave prompted, doing her best to derail what was likely a long and pointless digression. Tye looked a little shocked that she had spoken at all, but quickly refocused.

"Oh aye, the found it in one of the bricks, a wonder for a while, but its just been gathering dust since then," he concluded. Mave nodded her head.

"And they never rebuilt the mill you said?" she asked, "I mean you must have a mill." Tye clucked as though the question was foolish.

"Aye but Jenkins place was always too far out town anyway, people had been complaining for years about having trapsie all that way, uphill besides." Mave kept talking for another five minutes but her mind was already spinning. She didn't doubt the Mill Stone had survived a fire and a lightning strike. It was obvious to her that the object was no simple stone. It was cuendilliar, heartstone, a relic of the age of legends, and was certainly worth more than the entire inn, possibly the entire village.

"We need to find a place called Jenkin's mill," Mave told Ali as they walked along the pebble beach. Several other couples were promenading also. It seemed the custom in Hollobrook and lanterns had been hung from poles to illuminate the path. Seniors stood up on the bank, chatting and keeping a notional eye on the youngsters below. She had pried Ali away from the boasting Hunters as soon as she could reasonably do so. She explained to him about the cuendilliar figurine.

"I'm not sure how it came to be there, but I have a sense... a feeling, that it is somehow important."

@Fetzen Looks good, feel free to pitch your debts to other PCs here, at least one should go to a PC, others can be used to create an NPC.

I also need you to pick a faction and create a rumor you have heard about its goings on.
Mave cast a glance back at the men as they talked. Ali was certainly capable of taking care of himself, but she preferred that conversation not linger on his strange eyes. If she were back in Tar Valon she would be in the library, searching for some mention of the strange condition. It wasn't as though she though Ali was dangerous, but it was unique in her experience. Even though she had confidence in Ali, the strangeness of his eyes would attract attention.

"What about you Kashvi?" Darius asked, edging his horse forward to talk to her alone while Ali was occupied. Surruptitously she thrust the parchment map she had brought from Tar Valon into a pouch. She had been comparing the mountain tops to the map as they wound there way up into the foothills. They had already left the major roadway taking one of the more minor pathways up towards the mountains. The forest was thickening around them. Occasionally

"What about you, you don't look Andoran," he began, running his hand through his hair in what he probably imagined was a suave guesture.

"I'm from Arad Doman," she said truthfully, "my parents are merchants who do business in Andor." To her knowledge her parents had never done any bussiness in Andor, but it seemed unlikely that the lie could ever be proven.

"And you met Ali there?" he asked, a slight distaste coming into his voice. Mave didn't respond, her eyes scanning the woods. Back beyond the trees she caught sight of occasional hut, small farms, lumber jacks dwellings, and from the smell, charcoal burners. Judging by the ruts in the road it was still fairly well traveled. Darius followed her gaze.

"According to the Illianers, there is a village not to far ahead, Hollowbrook," Darius supplied, proving to Mave that he was more than a mass of muscle. She hadn't asked around herself, fearful of leaving a trail that the agents of the Shadow who seemed to be hunting her.

"Perhaps we should spend the night," Mave pondered, it would be dark soon and there seemed little point in wandering around in the mountains after dark.

As it turned out, dark was almost upon them by the time they reached Hollowbrook. It was a picturesque place, located beside a small lake which was fed from streams up in the Damora mountains. It wasn't a huge body of water but it was large enough that several small fishing boats were tied up along the gravel beach. The town itself was perhaps two dozen homes and a large inn of stone and half timber construction. A wall of grey stone enclosed a broad courtyard attached to an impressive stable of locally cut timber and thatch. A half dozen wagons were in the courtyard some loaded with pelts, others pilled with bundled supplies. At least one of the wagons belonged to a traveling peddler, its sides hung with pots and pans. Several teamsters sat on the edge of a stone flower bed, puffing at pipes and sipping ale from wooden tankards. There eyes followed the new comers as they rode into the courtyard.

Mave swung down out of her saddle and a cheerful looking boy with a lazy eye trotted forward to take the riegns of her horse, tugging at his forelock. Mave took a coin from her purse and tossed it to him. Lazy eye or not he snatched the coin from the air just fine.

"Stable for the night," she told the boy and led the small party in through the stone lintel of the inn.

There is a sudden stunned pause as you appear in the midst of the group. No one quite seems to know what to make of it and all eyes flick to a muscular man in late middle age with a tight goatee. He reaches into his pocket and produces a piece of reddish crystal about the size of his palm and peers at you through it.

"He is a Fae," the man declares.

"Waste him," says another. There is a sudden surge of shouts and pressing bodies. The only saving grace is that the attackers foul the lines of their shot gun wielding compatriots. An elbow connects with your head and a sharp metal knife gashes across your ribs.


Its car shaped, has four wheels...

A red mazda of some sort you think.

After an hour or so checking out the usual Fae haunts, trendy bars, art galleries, ornamental gardens, that the Fae are making an effort not to be found. The shooting from earlier in the evening appears to have died down and there are a lot of police out on the streets. The straights seem nervous, as though able to sense whatever undercurrent is roiling the supernatural community.

After a while January becomes aware that there is a car following him, making an effort to avoid notice. It hasn't made any attempt to close the distance yet, but it is definitely trying to stick to you...

"Just a fishing smack," Markus reported, closing his telescope as he slid back to the deck with the grace of a cat. Emmaline peered out towards the green brown smudge of the coast. She could barely make out a splotch of white against between wind and water. The Hammer was bucking along with a soldiers wind billowing her canvas. They had left the city of Corsair's four days before, the crew was in good spirits having blown their pay in an orgy of booze and... well actual orgies. At Emmaline's suggestion each man who had agreed to sign on for the voyage to Lustria had been given a gold coin as a bonus and as a result morale was high. Much of the hoard had been spent. Fresh sailcloth, new cordage, paint, tools, nails, spars, powder, and shot had been purchased. Not to mention tons of food, salted pork, hard tack, barley, dried fish, dates and salt, all of which had been crammed into the holds of the Hammer, in some cases displacing the cargo they had taken on in Tobaro, some of which was now lashed down on the foredeck under canvas. Finally and most vitally were dozens of casks of rum, all securely stored behind the pursers table and guarded against over eager crewmen. Emmaline too had done her own shopping, having acquired the rudiments of a lab, several books of arcane lore, and a new wardrobe which gave her options beyond loose sailors garb. The lab in particular had sent Morgan into conniptions, there really wasn't any danger so long as she was careful, though having seen her stumbling about the ship, that didn't seem to reassure him.

"Third one today," Morgan agreed, both men sharing a sour look. They were holding a generally west south west heading and rapidly approaching the capes which marked the end of Araby and the beginning of the great ocean, threading the passage between Ulthan and the Arabyian peninsular. Markus would have been happy to strike at a ship if a rich prize presented itself, but there was little profit in chasing after fishermen, esspecially when their shallow draft lateen rigged boats could simply turn to shore and run into the shallows where it would be impossible for the Hammer to follow.

"Aren't we kind of far from any city?" Emmaline asked. Morgan made a dismissive guesture.

"Sure, but there are little villages all along the coast, most of whom boast a few fishing smacks if nothing larger. Emmaline tugged the bodice of her new traveling dress upwards irritably. The shirt of finely woven linen was form fitting, but the seamstress' assurance that it wouldn't slip had evidently been overconfident. A skirt of alternating red and gold stripes fell to just above her knees. The ensemble included stockings but she had opted not to wear those in the heat of the Araybian sun, settling instead for sandals in the fashion of southern Tilea.

"We will be rounding the cape in a few minutes," Morgan announced, probably more for her benifit than Markus'. The pair of them had spent several hours pouring over the charts before picking a route close to the coast to lead them out into the great ocean where they could turn south west for the run across open water to Lustria. From there they could pick up the brisk trades and head south before turning easterly in the great southern winds to race across and around the point of the Southland. Even those charts left a great deal of guesswork to be done, though Rahjad assured Markus that when they reached the Southlands, accurate charts could be obtained. The former prisoner had made they voyage as a slave, but apparently had traveled on enough ships on the eastern side of the Southlands to know what he was speaking about.

"Six weeks to Lustria, three down the coast, five weeks to the southern capes," Markus muttered, "then Sigmar alone knows how long up the eastern coast and to Ind." Emmaline knew that Markus was concerned that Von Roberts had a head start on them, despite the fact that Morgan predicted he would take the slower and safer route of feeling his way down the west coast of the Southland. The breeze began to stiffen noticeably and the pennon above shifted direction, showing a north westerly wind rather than the west north west they had enjoyed all morning. The vessel creaked as Sketti spun the wheel to maintain their course.

"Sail ho!" a shout came from the crows nest.

"What?!" Markus and Morgan said in synchrony.

"Shes coming out of an easurary the far side of the cape, just cleared the high ground," the lookout shouted.

"Three masts!"

Markus scrambled up the rigging half way to the cross trees and unsnapped his glass. Emmaline followed him clumsily gripping the ropes tightly.

"Sigmar's balls," Markus cursed as he peered through the glass. Anchored by an arm looped through the ratlines.

"What is it," Emmaline demanded. Markus didn't reply but instead passed her the glass. She took it with both hands and nearly fell to her death in the water below. Markus, expecting her clumsiness, caught her around the waist. She hooked an arm into the line the way he had done and extended the glass which, for a wonder, she hadn't dropped. Immediately the cause for Markus' concern became apparent. A three masted ship, all sails hung, was racing out of the bay from behind the low rock formation which had concealed it from view. It's figurehead was a leering dragon. The Sea Drake.

"All hands!" Markus bawled, grabbing Emmaline and half leading half dragging her back down to the deck. She followed greatfully.

"Bastard was waiting for us, probably using those fishing smacks as scouts, may daemons eat his balls," Markus cursed. Sailors who had gone of watch an hour earlier were pounding up from below decks, racing to their stations.

"Can't we just run away?" Emmaline asked, nervous because of the tension between Markus and Morgan. The first mate shook his head.

"We don't have the sea room to come around, northerly will take us flat aback and we might wreck on the rocks if we tried it, not to mention she will be in range before we can manage it, and can tack around us besides."

"We could out run her on a close southard, we can move closer to the wind than she can with those big sails, but that means running right past her. Its a clever ambush I'll admit," Morgan groused.

"What are your orders lad?"
Events of Araybian Nights

Available Archetypes

The Aware
The Hunter
The Veteran

The Spectre

The Oracle
The Wizard

The Tainted
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