The Otter

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Callum Prosser

---

"Dead? All of them? Horse cock. His Grace just accepted my father's request that they take me on a few days ago, and you're telling me every last one of them is dead? That's ridiculous."

"Don't know what to tell you, kid—not one person inside the estate survived the night. Whole place was on edge after..." At the inquisitive eyes of the red-haired young man standing before him, the guard trailed off rather than finish his sentence. Certain comings and goings likely weren't the sort of thing to be mentioned at will. "Well, either way, I'm just glad I wasn't on duty to watch the gate. Rather an unpleasant morning than a few new holes in my skin."

The young man grit his teeth at the response he was getting. Blocked as soon as he arrived, despite the response from Duke Nathan—with the man's seal, no less!—proving that he was meant to be there. Guardsman of the sort always seemed to enjoy these petty games, until the point someone offered a bribe to them, or could utter a threat they'd actually accept...I knew I should've taken the opportunity to just get portaled over here, but no, smart as I am, I decided I'd rather travel the mundane way, take in the sights a bit, enjoy the travel up and around the lake. Stupid.

He clenched his fist, the sword sheathed at his belt twitching sympathetically to the movement before he brought his temper back under control. "I'm afraid, goodman, that I don't have time to play around," he forced out through gritted teeth. Unspoken, of course, was that getting back home would prove a difficulty. A day's travel for a single man and his horse, lengthened to two by a leisurely pace. He'd only set out with as much feed as he needed for the one-way trip, both for himself and his horse. He couldn't well return by boat across the lake with the animal, and to get enough food for it to head back home the opposite direction without chancing foraging would leave him skint and having to hope that he could forage or hunt instead.

But he'd have to chance it if he did have to leave, because taking the way he came, returning home at a faster pace with nothing to show for it...that was a shame he refused to bear.

Refused to believe he might have to bear.

"As the son of The Right Honourable Seumas Prosser, Viscount Dinbevin, here at his request and on the invitation of His Grace, Nathan Corrin, Duke of Vaili and head of this estate, I must insist that I—the Callum Prosser written here in His Grace's own hand—be granted the entry that I am due!"

The guard looked at him tiredly, and sighed—leaning unprofessionally against his halberd, Callum noted with an utterly uncharitable and growing ire—letting his head hang for a moment. Throwing around titles was a dirty trick, both of them there knew it...Callum was embarrassed enough he'd had to resort to it, likely as embarrassed as the guard was having to listen to it, let alone knowing that at that point there was no real recourse to keep denying him entry. What the young man hadn't expected, though, was the sympathetic, exhausted smile he got, rather than the guard falling to the same ill temper as himself.

Somehow, that look made the worry start to gnaw in his gut where nothing else had managed yet.

"Here, sir, I'll take a moment to show you since it's such official business," he said; clearly, he was growing exasperated with the entire situation, it showed in his tone, but his patience had yet to run out, giving the younger yet more pause before he gave a small nod, following along at the guard's beckon.

He still wasn't granted entry to the estate, but looking through a clear window into the chapel showed, clear as the sky above them, that nothing he'd been told had been a lie after all. The duke and his wife lay in state in the center of the chapel, their corpses flanked by those of Sir Roland and Lady Gwyneth. He blinked once, momentarily uncomprehending...before backing away from the window, giving mumbled apology for his rudeness to the guard.

Who waved it off as though it hadn't bothered him at all. "Find your lordship something to eat, aye?" he suggested to the dejected-looking redhead, gesturing off towards the city center. "But hanging around here isn't likely to do you any good, unless you're hoping for more investigative type of folks to come and start asking you about it all."

With that, he was escorted back to the gate of the estate, where he led his horse quietly back into the city...bought a meat pie from a baker, cracking open the hard crust and scooping the filling out with a spoon. "The hell am I to do now?" he asked, pointlessly, to nobody in particular—his horse, maybe, as that was the only living thing that seemed to be listening to him there in the center of Tarin.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

True, I enjoy writing with Click.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

But ye, welcome aboard. Bro needs to get a non-AI tailor though. Button placement is godless.

True, but the initial version of this stuck out to me more than any if the actual-art I found in the same vein and then I made Rain make it a fair amount less terrible.

I might just go in at some point and paint out the "what are you even doing" buttons but you know I'm lazy af.

Tbf I though it was ERode that found us our new player. But I did smile when I discovered it was Izurich who gave us this gift... :>

And yes, I do agree. ;)

@Estylwen

See, it wasn't even Izu who pointed the RP out to me, he just saw me reading the topic and instantly told me to join.

sorry man i can't let them give you too much credit

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Callum Prosser

The Honourable Callum Prosser

17 | Human | Male | 5'8" | 144 lbs

Goal: Become a knight, make a name for himself; potentially become a royal guardsman, but ideally, be able to earn his own title and fief (since he's too far down the line to hope to inherit his father's, of course).

History: Born the fifth son of The Right Honourable Seumas Prosser, Viscount of Dinbevin, Callum's prospects for life were not looking the greatest from the outset. "One for the land, one for the war, one for the church, and pray for no more" was taken literally by his father until the last line, where he instead felt it necessary to produce a fourth for the waters and a last to be spare for all the rest. While he still enjoyed a noble's upbringing, wealth, and education, the options left open to Callum were quite limited: Apprentice under a trader and eventually take up a mercantile life helping his eldest sibling in the maintenance of the family estate, follow the next into a military occupation, follow the third and give himself over to the church, or follow the fourth into a life on a boat.

While his father's primary hope was that he would take the first—indeed, that's what he was first educated for—Callum eventually chose to follow the path of his second eldest sibling, hoping that way that he might make a name for himself and perhaps even be granted a title of his own. He spent a period of time afterwards as a page to a local knight, one of his father's retainers, who taught him much of being a knight; a little earlier than perhaps he should have, but the man was already advanced in years, and he wanted to take care of the young lord's education as much as possible. Unfortunately, during Callum's true squireage, misfortune struck and his mentor was killed by a bout of sickness.

Without any heirs, he left his belongings to Callum, including a Seed that he had once claimed after a duel with a former rival; much of the rest of the estate was converted to monetary value and passed into the hands of the Viscount, ostensibly to be held until Callum was officially knighted and came of age. Seeing a possible opportunity in the growing discontent among some of the dukes, Viscount Seumas arranged to have his youngest son's squireage and knighting fulfilled by the Corrin family, perhaps even as the squire of Sir Roland Corrin himself.

Of course, as Callum was soon to learn, even the most secure plans in his life were likely to crumble to dust at a moment's notice...

Seed: An emerald gem and three shards of it carved off in its shaping. The primary, largest stone is simply set in a bronze ring; of the remaining shards, one is roughly half the size of the primary stone and the other two are half again as large as the first shard.

The shards long to return to one another whenever parted; when set in a weapon, the smaller two shards can be called to return to the one who wears the ring, with minimal control over their orientation in flight to try and ensure the wielder doesn't possibly impale themself. The largest offers greater control, with the weapon bearing the largest shard able to be controlled telekinetically. The size also corresponds to the distance at which the effect of the shards works—the smaller pair can be recalled from the distance of a good spear throw, no more than one hundred and fifty feet; the larger stone is only effective out to twenty.

Magic:

• Sparks: A stream of electricity arcs from Callum's fingers towards a target. Usually not immediately lethal, but certainly damaging, and accompanying muscles spasms can prove incapacitating for the unaware.
• Ember: Generates a small flame, that can either be thrown at opponents or used for more utilitarian purposes.
• Aegis: Creates a small, ephemeral shield that Callum can wield to protect himself from spells and physical attacks. More limited, perhaps, in size and scope than many more common shielding spells—but the more focused nature of it makes it an exceptionally energy-efficient spell to use.
• Mindblank: As a dedicated spell, Callum is able to focus his energies inward, 'raising the volume' of the constant stream of surface-level thoughts running through his mind. Against an active mental probe, this will make it exceedingly difficult to pick out anything of use amidst all the useless noise filling his brain.
• Compositional Analysis: High level; through careful focus, Callum is able to discern the material make of an item or a small group of like items. Very useful when detecting counterfeit coins, but extends beyond that single use. Best paired with traditional methods to avoid an excessive expenditure of energy trying to divine every last little detail.

Skills: Horsemanship, general weapons use, low-level mental white noise, and a keen mind for trade...despite his desire to avoid a mercantile life.

Faction: None currently; some possible ties to the Corrin Sparrows, though with the death of their leader this is minimal at best, for the time being.

City: The town held by Callum's family, Dinbevin, is situated roughly equidistantly from Odonfield, Tarin, and Nordor, on the western bank of the Shimmering Lake. Founded by a community that used to live nearer the Fey river, a mark that is still evident in the surnames of some of the more prominent families and some of the place names surrounding the area, Dinbevin and the viscounts that have controlled it have been known in the past for a moderately independent sort of mindset—not one that leads them to stake it out entirely on their own, mind, but that they have played fast and loose in the past with which of the dukes surrounding them they'll align themselves with. For the last few generations, their allegiance has been given to the Dukes of Vaili.

Assets: Dinbevin is a town whose native industry is devoted mostly to farming and fishing, as there is little elsewise of direct economic worth; however, due to its placement, it has a thriving trade industry, with travelers and merchants from around the Fey river, Tarin, Nordor, and Odonfield all stopping through on a somewhat regular basis.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Based and "radicalization of the youth"-pilled.

At some point I'll write up the relationship blurbs and a bit about his other family.

Also, if you feel like adding Dinbevin to the map:

Look Here!

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Callum Prosser

The Honourable Callum Prosser

17 | Human | Male | 5'8" | 144 lbs

Goal: Become a knight, make a name for himself; potentially become a royal guardsman, but ideally, be able to earn his own title and fief (since he's too far down the line to hope to inherit his father's, of course).

History: Born the fifth son of The Right Honourable Seumas Prosser, Viscount of Dinbevin, Callum's prospects for life were not looking the greatest from the outset. "One for the land, one for the war, one for the church, and pray for no more" was taken literally by his father until the last line, where he instead felt it necessary to produce a fourth for the waters and a last to be spare for all the rest. While he still enjoyed a noble's upbringing, wealth, and education, the options left open to Callum were quite limited: Apprentice under a trader and eventually take up a mercantile life helping his eldest sibling in the maintenance of the family estate, follow the next into a military occupation, follow the third and give himself over to the church, or follow the fourth into a life on a boat.

While his father's primary hope was that he would take the first—indeed, that's what he was first educated for—Callum eventually chose to follow the path of his second eldest sibling, hoping that way that he might make a name for himself and perhaps even be granted a title of his own. He spent a period of time afterwards as a page to a local knight, one of his father's retainers, who taught him much of being a knight; a little earlier than perhaps he should have, but the man was already advanced in years, and he wanted to take care of the young lord's education as much as possible. Unfortunately, during Callum's true squireage, misfortune struck and his mentor was killed by a bout of sickness.

Without any heirs, he left his belongings to Callum, including a Seed that he had once claimed after a duel with a former rival; much of the rest of the estate was converted to monetary value and passed into the hands of the Viscount, ostensibly to be held until Callum was officially knighted and came of age. Seeing a possible opportunity in the growing discontent among some of the dukes, Viscount Seumas arranged to have his youngest son's squireage and knighting fulfilled by the Corrin family, perhaps even as the squire of Sir Roland Corrin himself.

Of course, as Callum was soon to learn, even the most secure plans in his life were likely to crumble to dust at a moment's notice...

Seed: An emerald gem and three shards of it carved off in its shaping. The primary, largest stone is simply set in a bronze ring; of the remaining shards, one is roughly half the size of the primary stone and the other two are half again as large as the first shard.

The shards long to return to one another whenever parted; when set in a weapon, the smaller two shards can be called to return to the one who wears the ring, with minimal control over their orientation in flight to try and ensure the wielder doesn't possibly impale themself. The largest offers greater control, with the weapon bearing the largest shard able to be controlled telekinetically. The size also corresponds to the distance at which the effect of the shards works—the smaller pair can be recalled from the distance of a good spear throw, no more than one hundred and fifty feet; the larger stone is only effective out to twenty.

Magic:

• Sparks: A stream of electricity arcs from Callum's fingers towards a target. Usually not immediately lethal, but certainly damaging, and accompanying muscles spasms can prove incapacitating for the unaware.
• Ember: Generates a small flame, that can either be thrown at opponents or used for more utilitarian purposes.
• Aegis: Creates a small, ephemeral shield that Callum can wield to protect himself from spells and physical attacks. More limited, perhaps, in size and scope than many more common shielding spells—but the more focused nature of it makes it an exceptionally energy-efficient spell to use.
• Mindblank: As a dedicated spell, Callum is able to focus his energies inward, 'raising the volume' of the constant stream of surface-level thoughts running through his mind. Against an active mental probe, this will make it exceedingly difficult to pick out anything of use amidst all the useless noise filling his brain.
• Compositional Analysis: High level; through careful focus, Callum is able to discern the material make of an item or a small group of like items. Very useful when detecting counterfeit coins, but extends beyond that single use. Best paired with traditional methods to avoid an excessive expenditure of energy trying to divine every last little detail.

Skills: Horsemanship, general weapons use, low-level mental white noise, and a keen mind for trade...despite his desire to avoid a mercantile life.

Faction: None currently; some possible ties to the Corrin Sparrows, though with the death of their leader this is minimal at best, for the time being.

City: The town held by Callum's family, Dinbevin, is situated roughly equidistantly from Odonfield, Tarin, and Nordor, on the western bank of the Shimmering Lake. Founded by a community that used to live nearer the Fey river, a mark that is still evident in the surnames of some of the more prominent families and some of the place names surrounding the area, Dinbevin and the viscounts that have controlled it have been known in the past for a moderately independent sort of mindset—not one that leads them to stake it out entirely on their own, mind, but that they have played fast and loose in the past with which of the dukes surrounding them they'll align themselves with. For the last few generations, their allegiance has been given to the Dukes of Vaili.

Assets: Dinbevin is a town whose native industry is devoted mostly to farming and fishing, as there is little elsewise of direct economic worth; however, due to its placement, it has a thriving trade industry, with travelers and merchants from around the Fey river, Tarin, Nordor, and Odonfield all stopping through on a somewhat regular basis.

What do you know, I took the words of Est and Izurich and went and made a thing. Hi to the four of you that already know me.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

As the others started to rapidly devote themselves back to the combined arts of planning and conversation, Esben—who was rapidly beginning to feel once more the effects of the climate atop his injuries—coughed, a small globule of half-congealed blood landing in the sand at his feet as his nose began to bleed once more. He felt at it gingerly; broken, it had to be, Éliane wasn't just pulling his leg and trying to keep him out of the front by telling him it was.

And between a throat still raw and the break itself, attempting to force the dry desert air through his airway ruined the slight reprieve their underground escapade had given him.

"Right now, we won't lead anybody anywhere," he mumbled, feeling the Dame Commander's eyes upon him. Carefully so as not to set his head to moving too quickly lest the light and everything else conspire to make him lose his breakfast as well as his blood, he sat down on the sand, before leaning back to sprawl out entirely while Eve hunted down the rest of their train.

"I just need to rest..._{for a moment..."}

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

@Click This

---

Esben frowned at Éliane's mention of his arm. He moved it around a bit more—he couldn't keep the grimace off his face at doing so, but it still moved as he wanted it to move, and nothing was stuck at an odd angle. "Seems fine enough to me!" he said with an incongruous tone of satisfaction in his voice. "Besides, the battle. We've got more to worry about than my arm, as you just pointed out, and I can't hoard her attention anyways."

With shaky hands, he pulled his weapons back over toward himself, hanging the buckler back on his belt and leaning the sword against a larger piece of rubble that had survived the fall. Then, with the help of that same rubble, pushed himself up to standing—swayed once, over-corrected and leaned hard the other way, and after steadying himself with a hand on the Dame Commander's shoulder remained upright. Just ahead of them, the rest of the group was beginning to move along, so he put his sword back in its sheathe, turning back to Éliane:

"Well, coming?"

---

Luckily, Esben could still walk unaided as the party followed behind Cid, taking in his history lesson and the newest directives that could be passed their way. He did what he could to follow along and store every useful tidbit of information away, though keeping his focus entirely on the man was proving more difficult than usual. He'd just have to write down what he could later and compare with the others to make sure he didn't miss anything—nothing terribly out of the ordinary, there.

Getting the chance to get some proper rest seemed more and more appealing the more they walked through, however...not that he'd voice the complaint. Best not to give too much ammunition to Éliane's misplaced command that he should lie down and wait for a full check-over. The knowledge that Valheim would likely send teams to seize the crystals that Cid was telling them about, though, stood out better than anything else; no doubt that would be going into both of the reports that would find their way back to Skael, if there was such a concrete threat of the Blight being brought up from within.

He frowned, a muffled sound further back catching his attention. He turned, hand dropping to his sword, just as Cid was saying something about expediting their trip to the surface—just in time to see the cathedral doors fly open despite their weight, Izayoi's old master facing them again. Heedless of the glow appearing at his feet he pulled his sword free, stepping back once to resume a fighting position—

Rrrrrgh.

—and the world spun away from him, feeling like he'd just been inverted and reverted in an instant as the scenery changed back to the open sky, the tile at his feet dissolving back into sand.

Slowly, he placed his sword back where it belonged, covering his eyes with his other hand. He bit his tongue to stifle the groan that tried to rise from his throat, at the sudden light, the sudden shift, and the twisting in his stomach that accompanied the momentary sensory disorientation that followed an unexpected teleport.

"I hate that."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

The climb hadn't been particularly easy by any stretch, even without a Niyar trying to hinder him. The weight of the mud that gradually grew to cake his arms and front made it more difficult with every foot gained; but between his strength and his indomitable stubbornness, he climbed upward all the same, cresting the peak in that section just barely devoid of the conflagration that rapidly finished engulfing the rest after he stood. Through the fire and flames he caught Gisela's glance as she looked his way, a distinctly unimpressed look—surely it had to be for Aisling, who had disappeared and left him to finish his climb.

He grinned and gave a small wave; as he looked around further, he couldn't see anybody else atop the hill, only Gertrude flying higher above. Gisela called a fog upon them, and once it lifted he could see Gerard and Fleuri at the opposite side, looking as winded from their sprint as he felt from the climb.

He paused for a moment, glanced between them, Gisela, and Gertrude as the rest all started to ascend...a momentary flash of uncertainty across his face, not seen since they'd fought the Golden Boars some nights before.

Finally grinned again, and gave the two he'd originally been ordered to move with another wave. There was no room for uncertainy in Fionn's mind, not after the duel he'd sought had been stolen from him; he'd made it first, and the rest of his assigned squad with him. That was good. Gisela turning and giving Gertrude a dressing down was good as well, for all the trouble it might cause the rest of them; likely the old mage was the only one that their newest would listen to at all, no matter how much she affected disdain and disinterest at her elder's words.

With a mumbled word his hands returned to their proper shape, and with another, the focus and energy just released was transferred—drying the mud caking him in an instant, where it cracked and flaked off with a flex of the muscles and some simple stretching and bending, leaving nothing but dust behind. And an instant later, Gertrude went right back to her previous antics, outwardly disregarding what Gisela had told her...though no doubt the words would stick with her regardless. Fionn stepped forward, placing one hand on Gertrude's shoulder—ready for however much she'd hate it—and looked over to Gisela.

Better he field this one, than the captain have to debase herself for such a fragile ego.

"Give her a bit more credit, Gisela," he cajoled, his usual friendly smile plastered on his features. "She had a better vantage point than any of the rest of us, to see how I was faring with Aisling and how close any of us were to the top—not to mention how little flames like that bother some of us, or that our goal was to get to the top, not reach it and hold it after. She was playing to the rules of the game, smart, like. Can't blame her for that, can you?"

He gave the girl's shoulder a squeeze. Reassuring, at least to anyone else that wasn't such a brat—no reason he couldn't have a little fun with it if he was going to play at her game as well. "Now, Gertrude, that little plan of mine wouldn't have worked at all without your help, and you know it as well as anyone, so it's your victory as much as the rest of ours. Keep it up and show us what you can do when you don't have to hold back as much, eh?"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

@Raineh Daze @Izurich @Click This

---

Sand.

I hate sand.

Esben coughed and spat, his head lifted just enough that he wasn't covering his own face with saliva and the cursed sand as he tried to clear his mouth. After a moment of that, he rolled over, eyes shut as hard against the sun as they had been against the sand itself—and struggled to force some semblance of order on his jumbled senses, his balance unable to properly tell up from down when he knew, logically, he was lying in the desert.

The sun beat harsh against a face that was already wind-burnt, skin abraded by the dust that blew with every gust. He raised his left arm to try and shield it—cursed at the sudden, shooting pain in his wrist and forearm, matching the ache in his chest.

Realized he couldn't hear his own cursing past the ringing in his ears.

"Hvi—"

He let the arm drop, opening his eyes to the light around him. Everything was a blur, inasmuch as there was anything to focus on in the sky above; but he could catch flashes of movement in his peripheral vision, or the bright flare at the end of a gun barrel. He closed his eyes again, coughed once more. "Djevelen. Right." He could feel blood on his face as well, likely from his nose; the weight of the beast tackling him like it did had forced his arm right back into his body, and his fist was barely higher than his nose. Hopefully that wasn't broken.

His weapons. He had to find those, force himself back into the fight—

The ringing started to subside as he rolled up onto one elbow, and back over, barely keeping himself up off the sands. His sword landed nearest him, that was quickly found. The yelling of the others was still indistinct as he cast about for his buckler, but at least he could tell the difference between the voices and the ambient sound now.

—The world grew darker all of a sudden, and he could hear music begin to come from nearby. Ciradyl? It had to be.

He took his buckler in hand, started to struggle, first to his knees, then hopefully to his feet—gunfire erupted around him and the rest, the ringing returning with a vengeance and threatening to leave him just as disoriented as when he'd first started trying to move.

And the ground shattered beneath the group, sending Esben tumbling below, all sense of balance lost.

---

Esben's sword and buckler clattered to the stone floor as he touched down, soft as a feather, and still he crumpled back to the floor once the full force of gravity took over. He had his eyes shut tight, trying once again to right himself within the void by force of will—focused upon the rock beneath him to the exclusion of all else. Some voice he didn't know was speaking with the others, but when faced with trying to figure out what was being said or the risk of losing the contents of his stomach, it was more important that he avoid that embarrassment. Bad enough that he'd been taken out of the fight so rapidly.

After a few moments it subsided again, and he could push himself up—to his knees, and then he slid back to a normal sitting position. He opened his eyes, looking around at the others—the blood all over the front of Izayoi's clothing stood out first, followed by Rudolf, falling down hard to one knee—just as a burst of red hair filled his vision, worried green eyes and flushed cheeks coming into focus as his eyes slowly adjusted.

She was holding something out to him, but between the ringing he'd already had in his ears and the cannon barrage that had made it worse, he was having to try and read her lips more than he could really hear anything she was saying.

Drink, he thought he caught.

"Hold kjeft, Mini," he grumbled, his hoarse, almost-unrecognizable voice sounding distant in his own ears—but at least he could start focusing in on it. "I can't catch up. What are you holding..." His eyes crossed, the vertigo coming on again for a moment—focused again, and he could recognize the canteen for what it was. With a sigh of relief he took the water, taking a few sips just to try and ease the pain in his throat. He'd need something else for the headache, undoubtedly. "Thank you, thank you—go focus on one of the others, I should be alright for now. Rudi looks like he's just aged ten years since we started."

Unceremoniously dismissing the diminutive red mage, he turned around, trying to gain the positions of the others...found Éliane and Eve a short distance away, and raised his free arm to point at them, wincing again at the pain in it and his chest. "Eve, Elly..."

The arm bent, shaking slightly and pointing at a nose that was misshapen at least as much by the expression on his face as he forced the injured limb to bend as by any injury it may have sustained.

"...It's not broken, is it?"