Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current I love sixteen hour flights
3 yrs ago
Birthday, officially twenty years old today! yikes
3 yrs ago
Happy Holidays, everyone! Enjoy the time with your families, and stay safe on your travels!
4 yrs ago
It's my birthday! Another year towards twenty, woooooo
4 yrs ago
For whoever comes to read this, continue being awesome. I'm rooting for you.


nothing important

Most Recent Posts

hello it me
the tank
here's a birb

Just as she set another foot beyond the boundary of the tavern doorway, Ursa cast a look over her shoulder as one of the establishment's patrons approached. A fancy garb adorned the girl's figure, the little things from her hairstyle to her dramatic strut assuming a regal air. Tilting her head, her cautious eyes scanned the girl, not a weapon nor reason to spot. "Lovely," the mercenary laid her sword arm aside. "And how do you intend to fight without a weapon?"

It would not have surprised Ursa if the girl was a practitioner of magic; it seemed as if all of the Estalans dabbled in the Gift, one way or another. Magic had not been an oddity to the clans of the Ibion Expanse, herself including, although the elders condemned it as voodoo. Even so, she had always preferred the feel of a hilt between her hands, and the rush of excitement when two swords clashed. To her, it was the heat of melee, the thick of combat where songs and stories wrote themselves. No legends would tell of the ones who cowered from the shield of the front line.

Her free hand rested on her hip as another girl, shorter than the other, volunteered her clerical services. Ursa found her woes multiplied tenfold as a third face sought to involve himself.
"The plan?" Ursa drew a heavy sigh, evaluating their gathering as an inconvenience. "You've got nothing but a bow, the little lady is defenseless," she looked past the archer and the cleric. "And for all that I know, she will toss that jewelry of hers at those soldiers, pray that they falter and snap their necks, and call that fighting."

Another peer down both ends of the alleyway reassured Ursa that the remainder of their assailants were spread elsewhere along Port Sesta. "I can not babysit children during a battle," she emphasized. "Especially if it's those from Anarcas... this is a dangerous situation."

Renvall "Ren" Protego

The Kingsroad — Three minutes from Port Sesta

@LordVoldemort @Ambra

As the caravan was steadfast on their approach to Port Sesta, it had become very much apparent that there was a greater stirring that was unfolding within the walls of Port Sesta. Ren's mouth dropped open as he leaned forward, his gauntlets gripping the wood of the wagon tightly as Rhea delivered an onset of the situation.

"Anarcan ships?"

Ren had been very much aware of the ongoing tensions that existed between Estala and Anarcas, but to his knowledge, the crown had not sent an invitation of counsel to the Anarcans for several years. His eyes watched as the displaced began to disperse from around the entrance of Port Sesta, watched as they were running for their lives. "Were they warships?! Is there a ram at the front of the vessels?!

Maize raised a hand to silence the questioning company. "Calm down, you two," the knight spoke, turning to Rhea. "Are you certain?"


Renvall "Ren" Protego

The Kingsroad — Outskirts of Port Sesta

@LordVoldemort @Ambra

Renvall Protego considered drawing his sword to throw himself upon the blade if the Crown Prince were to continue talking his sanity away.

It had not been the boy's first journey beyond the walls of the capital, although it had been almost a decade since he had traveled to northern Estala. Ren could remember the musty smell of Port Sesta, the eight-year old clasping his mother's hand as he stepped off of the ship. They had left their cerulean shores for this land in the neck of winter, and Greymont was coated in a white mist that his mother called snow.

Ren had cycled between driving the helm and resting at the wagon during the four days of travel, staring down at his right gauntlet as the hand opened and closed a fist repeatedly. His dark hair fell to the side as his cheek lay flat against the other hand, his left leg and index finger tapping impatiently. The cool wind did not serve to air the heat from his black armor, some drops of sweat riding down his neck. While he rode with Maize and Eli, they were flanked by a second wagon, where a few soldiers of the crown followed.

"Five minutes," the knight called out from the helm, riding the horse beside Snowball.

Rolling his shoulders, Ren straightened himself for their oncoming arrival, his eyes wandering around. The welcoming winds of the sea were close, a look of neutrality about his features as his lips took in a healthy breath.
"About time to shake a leg," he spoke to the Crown Prince sitting opposite of him, his look remaining at the Kingsroad leading to Port Sesta.

Something was wrong.

Looking above, the wings of a wyvern rippled through the air, leading the boy to wonder if Rhea was able to see more than them. "Bloody hell," one of the soldiers cursed aloud, both of their wagons coming to a momentary stop. Scattered groups of people huddled along the gates, their focus on something from within the walls. "What's goin' on down there, this time?"

"Maybe the gatekeeper's just being a cunt," Ren suggested, throwing his hands up as they crossed against his breastplate. It wouldn't have been a surprise if that was the case; the mandate did require the gatekeeper to search for contraband, and Port Sesta was always a densely populated hub.

Maize turned back to the wagon behind their own, looking past the two of them.
"Let us continue," Ren heard a hesitation in the knight's voice.


Port Sesta

@Ambra @Poi

A woman with a sword at her belt was a rare sight. A woman who knew how to use the sword at her belt was a gem. "And a beautiful woman..."

Ursa hated drunkards. Pondering the will of the crown, she had been set to meet with the Dauntless in the backwater establishment, finding herself on the receiving end of a sailor's drunken serenade filled with pungent breath. It had been two days too much of residing in Port Sesta for the young woman. They must be enjoying their trip so much, she thought, her back against one of the taverns' pillars as the nuisance wobbled in a struggle to remain standing.

Sighing, Ursa kicked herself from the post as her arms fell to her sides, walking away and taking a seat at a vacant table. Over the time she had been in Port Sesta, there were no others that made it apparent that they were also waiting for the Dauntless to arrive, and it did concern her a little. She hoped that she was not expected to pamper the prince on her lonesome; Ursa was a sellsword, and she did not intend to earn her bag of gold through anything other than seeing the child to Rozel.

Her head turned to the entrance of the tavern as its door was kicked in with brute force. "Weapons to the ground, wench," Ursa raised a brow as the perpetrator waved an axe through the doorway first, scanning the room as he approached her. Her eye caught the flash of a sigil on their coat, realizing that it was an Anarcan soldier. The aggressor slammed his weapon through several of the wooden tables, inciting fear among the people around her. "You daft? Weapons to the ground, wench!"

Remaining seated until the soldier was a blade's reach, Ursa caught the man by surprise as she flipped the table towards him. His axe chopped through the wood with ease, but as the splinters came apart, the end of her sword interrupted his speech as the curved edge cut open the soldier's throat in a swift motion. His legs gave out and his weapon clanged against the floor, his hands coming up to cover his neck as he fell down.

"Stay in here," Ursa instructed the people within the tavern, returning her wo dao to its scabbard and drawing the sword from her back, instead. She had known about the amnesty between Estala and Anarcas, but in the confusion of the soldier's sudden entrance, it was obvious that they intended to wage war. "Find some place to hide," she added, stepping over the soldier's body. She looked down both ends of the corridor, seeing no signs of additional soldiers and hearing no sounds of a battle around Port Sesta.

At a loss for the situation at hand, Ursa looked around the tavern, keeping her sword ready as she was a foot past the doorway.
"I'll come back when I find out what is going on."

What Reese could first remember about the invasion of Shiganshina years ago... had been how much louder it was. Soldiers, children, all of the screaming as the massacre carried on. But they no longer lived in the infamy of that day; while the appearance of the Colossal Titan was certainly not expected, humanity was prepared to retaliate, and there was an objective to their deployment. The trip back to the headquarters was a silent trip; they all knew what was about to happen. Did they have any doubts? Any private, dreadful thoughts? Perhaps, but no one said a word. Not as they arrived at the castle, not when their orders were given, and not when they took their assignments. Not a word.

This was a moment that they had trained for. Wiping his uniform of the ash and dousing the burn on his arm with water from a canteen, Reese did his best to shake off the tension that caused his body to tremble, weaving through the formations around the courtyard of the headquarters. The disarray seemed to place some of the military in a hasty confusion, knowing to look for Jade and Grant in the middle of it all. With his closer friends in separate assignments, simple prayers for their safety were not enough to stop his nerves.

Hulking a container of fresh blades to set up another station for resupplying, Reese scurried to where Jade and Grant stood, placing it aside before joining them.
"This is not how I imagined the first day after graduation," he bore a partial smile, their presence soothing him slightly but his rapid blinking betraying his composure. "I'm ready, how 'bout you?"
It is currently the Year 615, the afternoon of Hjorst the 4th.

As the Estalan retinue rides for Port Sesta, those outside of the crown wait for the company to arrive. Two ships flying the coat of Anarcas dock into the harbor, its occupants bearing the northern standard. Catching the militia off guard and slaughtering the opposition, they begin to occupy the city in an open act of war.

A dangerous pirate war brews along the Thanatian Sea, the threat expanding upwards to regional Estala and the Archipelago. The factions stand stark and powerful, with little to no resistance currently prepared for their forces. The Estalans have not yet enlisted support from the Island—Kingdom of Rozel.

There are unexplained shadows in the Gift.

© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet