Recent Statuses

16 days ago
Current Signed up and posted in my first RP. Excited.


Current Games:
Order of the Hourglass - Ayla Arslan

Most Recent Posts

Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy, Kaspar @Wolfieh
Event: Hugo's task, Location: Torragonese Desert.

With the Halassa situation taken care of, she had a moment to simply lean backwards upon the sand and take a breath of air. Whoosh! The adrenaline was pumping non-stop, it was worse than the excitement she felt at even her most pressuring of performances, nothing could have prepared for that kind of experience. She tries to recollect her memories of these past moments, just trying to work out for herself what has happened between her time in the Paradigms study to now. What she could really do now was go for a nice long sleep, in a great big comfy bed, lots of pillows… instead, she is laying down upon the cold open desert. She tries to figure out why the Paradigm would send them on a class trip like this and not even provide them with basic supplies or necessities, where are the waterskins? Just thinking about water made her very thirsty, especially as the sand has dried out the balm upon her lips, she has no idea of what she looks like, but she probably looks like a bedraggled sand creature. She lets out a great big grunt of exhaustion, as she forces herself back upon her feet, brushing herself down as much as she can in an environment like this.

Ayla frowns as Zaz continues to stare in her direction expectantly, she knows how the Virangi got impatient. She thought that she did good to direct the Halassa away from Jocasta and herself, clever use of her abilities, but the forthright dancer already found criticism in her actions, referring to her as a ‘Baboon’ and in the next breath a ‘Kitty Cat’. “¿Usar una espada? - Use a sword?”, she hears her speak in native Torragonese. The question reminded her of an old phrase she remembered by her old Avincian professor, “Calamus gladio fortior”, deciding at that moment to put her own spin on things, “Tibia gladio fortior- The Flute is mightier than the Sword'". She knew there would be some disagreement from this, deciding that heating the jug would placate her for now, besides, a hot coffee wouldn’t go amiss around now as she starts to feel that coolness seeping into her bones, gracefully accepting the drink. Meanwhile, watching Ysilla working herself back under that cloak and huddling up underneath it only placed emphasis on the current affairs. A nice, warm, hot bed… already dreaming of warmer times.

Already being next to Jocasta, it made sense to follow her lead. Instinctively, she was going to start pushing upon the rollerchair like she did with her friend Maura back in Varrahasta with the pair always seeming to be found by themselves together due to their frailty. This caught her by surprise as it started to move upon her own and seeing Jocasta journey upon the sand. She could find aspects of Maura in Jocasta, the way she is always so polite and considerate of others. She also noticed some of the more self-humiliation aspects too, how Maura used to belittle herself in front of others in order not to evoke negative feelings, recalling how others used to prey on her more frail appearance when they felt threatened by her as they reminded her that she was a ‘cripple’, as if this meant she was undeserving, some implying she is punished by the gods. She could sense the pride in Jocasta, the way she is not reliant on others, a fierce independence underneath that humble presenting exterior. This made her question her own role in the past, did Maura allow Ayla to support her… for Ayla’s benefit? That is a troubling question, and she felt guilty. Perhaps she can try to be a better person, starting with the girl in front of her.

"Ayla", she turns to see Yalen addressing her abruptly, tiling her head in curiosity as she looks towards the boy. "I'm sorry about earlier. I should have finished the beast quicker, but I was afraid to resort to arcane magic again. Causing harm to others is... not easy for me.". She found this question to be unexpected, taking a moment to think and consider her words as the blond boy tried his best to match the pace as they moved behind Jocasta. She did not even know how to approach a question like this,due to this being her first time she experienced real combat. “We have a saying for Halassa in Torraganese, ‘Lento pero seguro’, Slow but safe. These… Aberrations defy their base nature.”. She had no real words for the boy's hesitation when it came to using his gift to end life, as this is not a path she has crossed yet, having relied on others like him to do this on her behalf, “Death did not linger” She noticed how he grew silent, seemingly to ponder upon her words.

As the social butterfly, she reached out to the others. She looked towards Kaspar as he was hanging back from the others, noticing the glances from his direction. She smiles back towards him, “Shame there wasn’t an opportunity to study them more closely”, she makes reference to the boy's sketchbook he carries around with him, “When the circumstance is right, you should find the opportunity”. She gave a warm smile as he was gently disturbed from his thoughts, responding, “Perhaps I will. Their shells had quite intriguing patterns on them, I may try to sketch them from memory. Surely you might find a subject in them, too?”. Kaspar’s attention quickly disappeared to that of the long legged Virangish girl when she spoke. Perhaps that she was more his type, she mused.

Ayla found herself silent with only Ysilla with company. She was reminded of another expression when she was being disciplined in her Avincian class, “Wise men speak when they have something to say, fools speak because they have to say something”. As she gazed up towards the other Virangish girl, she could only consider her to be the wisest of them all. She tries to imagine the thoughts going through the woman’s head, Ysilla mentally picking out the right woods to recreate the Halassa. She directs her words towards her, “We have the Snakewood in Torragon, its pattern would be ideal for the puppet”. She noticed the smile appearing upon those features, that damned smile, Ysilla seemingly taking notice of her words, “Snakewood has a beautiful distinctive pattern, strong in body, when carved could create a good defensive puppet”. Whilst she received no reply, she knew her words were heard, recalling the numerous times Ysilla could quote her to the breath.

As others continue to be paired up for their conversations, she pulls out her flute. She recalls some of the melody that Jocasta was humming as she tries to create it, putting on her own Torragonese flair to the music. Though the coldness did bite at her fingers, missing the odd key as she shivers a little through the playing, doing her best to entertain her companions through their walk beneath the clear starry night. She saw how Jocasta’s little face glowed up as she smiled towards her, "O-oh! That's my song!" she chirped. "How I wish I could play the flauta as I do the harpsichord". She was sure the girl wasn’t oblivious to her errors or improvisation, especially as the song was unfamiliar to her, attempting to improvise. She cannot help but glance upon Ysilla’s cloak, wishing she was as fortunate as the chill permananted the air. She turns towards Jocasta. “Been attempting to follow the harmony of your humming, is this a tune of your homeland?” she asks with curiosity, as she continues to play again with a more faithful rendition. There was a very evident shift in tone as girls responded in return "I think it is,". Jocasta shrugged slightly, taking a moment to wait as the wind passed them, "Though I don't... don't really know," she finished belatedly. "It was from... my childhood but...I don't remember it. They er-erase you when you arrive at a Refuge. They say it's so you won't miss the family that left you there”. It seemed that around this moment, there appeared to be a warmth, sensing Jocasta using her gift, as she began to feel it wrap around her. She looks towards the girl, a little surprised, but very kindly, a blush appearing upon her cheeks as it seemed Jocasta was accepting of her company and friendship.

Ayla had listened to Jocasta with her heart as she spoke, allowing the girl to speak freely of her vulnerability around the trauma she experienced. Part of her feels warm, the way this girl feels secure enough to share, and this makes her feel close. She placed a hand upon Jocasta’s shoulder, a reassuring touch, the presence of another who cares, listening, and is wanting to share an understanding and listening ear. “Sounds like it must have taken a lot of courage”. She wondered if Jocasta really knew what she feels herself at times, wearing multiple masks from being vulnerable, being strong, being petty, being generous, competing diametric opposites which she could only imagine how exhausting this must be. Even in these moments,where the girl is vulnerable herself, she also reaches out with her magic to comfort Ayla in return. It seems Jocasta wanted somewhere to belong, a place to call home. "I-I didn't exactly have much choice. Th-the first couple years at San S-Sofia were... were even nice. That's the side they'll show us when we get there". She could tell Jocasta wasn’t used to being touched, feeling as the girl visibly jumped as her fingers laid gently upon her, removing them after a light cherishing moment. “We're a t-team, though, and we have a m-mission.So I don't want you w-worrying about me. I don't need protection”.

Ayla couldn’t stop smiling as the girl was opening out, like a Halassa climbing out of her shell, and being brave. It is okay, you are with friends now she thought. She considers her words, drawing back to rely on her own family's words in a moment like this. “Lions protect the lion pride. Supporting each other. They are fierce, proud, and strong, No one has ever heard of a weak lion”. She leans over to provide a thank-you peck upon the girl's cheek, “Thank you. Glad you’re part of my lion pride”.

The bitter sweet moments spent together seemed to disappear as quickly as they appeared, as they came upon the others seeming to come and greet them... except they weren’t. She could make out the muffled cries in Torragonese, as she felt a shiver run straight through her body like a frosty lightning bolt, "Arena Malvada! - Evil Sand". It is not many moments she made the sign of the Pentad, but this is one of them. There are many old Torragonese myths and even a bizarre ancient religion around a creature known to her as Shal-Desierto - Thing of the Desert.

"Sand Wyrm!" she heard Jocasta scream, "East of here! It's... it's coming up fast!". She could feel the vibrations in the soft sand, but it wasn’t heading towards them, it was heading towards the refuge, they wouldn’t make it. “Jocasta, stop! You won’t make it… !", she pauses for a moment, watching the others hesitantly, “Wait! You’ll die, trust me…”, as she tries to recollect her thoughts as she thinks about the old myths and legends, desperately searching for something she could use, feeling like a lost cause. Ayla ends up getting distracted in memories of a children's game she played when she was younger, Dança-Alsahra.

Dança-Alsahra was a relatively simple game where one kid, usually Maura, played as Shai-Desierto, whilst the others danced around. Maura would give out a big roar, and turn around as the others danced around wildly. Upon hearing the roar, everyone had to immediately stop. Often it was the kids falling over or not stopping that were ‘caught and eaten’, then Maura would turn back around again, as the survivors danced around again. The goal was to be the last dancer standing, or get through the rounds as exhaustion grew as the dancers were being ‘chased’. Like a spark of inspiration, it hit her, excitedly shouting to the others in Torragonese, “Dança-Alsahra, Dança-Alsahra!”.

Ayla didn’t have time to explain to the others, time is clearly something they do not have, as Shai-Desierto was roaring. They needed dancers, or at least a great big blundering one to give out vibrations. How to communicate this with the others, all she had was… sound. Sound! She rummages through her handbag as she pulls it out, the tool of their survival, the tool of their freedom, the solution to their problems… a tuning fork.

With her tactician's mind, she creates the plan in her mind, and directs orders. “Binding Magic. Kaspar, Ysilla, need this bigger, at least 100 times bigger. Right now. Use everything.” She holds out the tuning fork, allowing them to have a glimpse of its very simple design to recreate, expanding upon the plan as they start. “We need a thumper, a blundering dancer, a distraction. Shai-Desierto likes vibrations, heat, and magic. Give it to him.” As the shape is starting to form, “Yalen, this has to be red hot.”, then returning to look towards Zaz and Jocaster. “Once formed, use all your kinetic energy to send it as far as you can towards those Halassa corpses.” As the instructions appear to be received and made clear, she finishes up with the most important step of all. “Stop absolutely everything, not even a breath.”

There was a step in the plan not shared, but it wasn’t necessary, it was her role. There was a particular reason she picked this tool, and as a musician and a sonic mage, it was only natural. Ayla drew in deeply, the raging sands provided all the kinetic energy she could ever need. Picking the precise moment, she cast her own spell, humming the sounding word "Chuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-SA!" a loud clap of her hands with the final syllable, the concentration of mana and sound causes the giant tuning fork to reverberate, vibrate wildly, as it is cast across the sands.

The thumper is now loose, free waltz through the night as Shai-Desierto hungers. She made one last hand-gesture, commanding each and everyone of them to stop completely, not even a breath, not even a step, and not even a spell. Silence has now fallen upon the class. Hopefully not for the last.

Here for the Horsey.

Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy, Kaspar @Wolfieh
Event: Hugo's task, Location: Torragonese Desert.

As the inks are sprayed upon the encroaching Halassa, identification for communication became remarkably easier and the class seemed to naturally respond to what felt instinctive to them, a natural reaction from the pheromone laced within the dyes. This was perhaps a secret to the party, but whilst the Torragonese greeting was given a personal touch, it allowed her to become close enough to gather the information she needed for her performances. With the instructions provided by Ysilla, she used this information to direct the class like a tactician, watching over their progress with interest, directing her abilities as necessary.

Ayla watches Ysilla, as the puppets come upon display. Though what drew her envy was that warm-looking cloak billowing behind her, almost willing to do anything to huddle up under these cold conditions. The jester puppet Khamsei cackling in an unnerving manner, an uncanny valley, a facade of life that borders upon the grotesque, as the Hoopoe draws the pair upon the Halassa adorned with violet hues.

Ayla would think that under other circumstances, Kaspar would take the opportunity to take out his sketchbook to draw these creatures, though thankful he wasn’t overwhelmed with artist inspiration in this moment. The red-painted Halassa drew his attention, matching the crimson gleam present within the boys’ eyes. The sand engulfs around the tortoises’ legs, slowing it further, but a powerful beast and the boy’s mana limit were in direct contention. Thankfully, Kaspar erected a powerful barrier to stop its advance… a very powerful barrier by all appearances, as the red Halassa slumped, momentarily stupefied, leg spasming.

Ayla felt the shift in her drawing almost immediately with a Halassa being downed already caught her off-guard. Her focus shifted to the priest boy, Yalen, hearing how he spoke the blessed words of his gods and in the spirit of divine retribution, a blood curdling shriek departed the yellow Halassa’s mouth, as if the creature had defied the will of the gods. She could see how the eyes of the creature boiled within its skull, swelling, inflating, the steam erupting from the sacs. She was thankful that she forgot to eat before attending the study, as she dry-heaved upon the sand in front of her. Air becomes thick with the scent of boiled Halassa, the red mist of its blood bubbling out with wet pops as it escapes through the eye sockets and ears of the creature. If she ever had ever questioned the power of the Pentad, she immediately apologises there and then to avoid their wrath.

Ayla could feel the battle dance of the Zarina upon the sands, the swift and agile movements as she stalked her prey, evading the attacks in rhythm, flexible in her bobbing and weaving, striking to constantly draw its attention, baiting the beast like a Matador to create the ideal opportunity to end its misery. She couldn’t help but give a smile when she noticed it, Zarina naturally targeted the biggest Halassa out of the group without encouragement, the proud nature of the Virangish girl unable to resist the challenge to display her talents in front of the others. Even as skilled as she was, it seems ever so subtly the girl couldn’t stop the dancer inside of her from moving in time to the sounds of her flute, keeping pace with the variation in tempo, seeming to time for the appropriate moment to flow into the next movement.

The final Halassa’s were approaching herself and Jocasta, the pair still residing near the spot where they arrived. The animals were thankfully charging wildly, but sluggish and disorientated under the effects of her magic. The green Halassa was taking the lead, seemingly approaching Jocasta out of the pair. It was approaching too fast for Ayla to do anything about it, but thankfully the other girl was willing to pull out her trump card. She could feel an incredible draw of energy, stunting her own magic, and with a flail of her arms, Jocasta directed it towards the Halassa, watching the poor creature flip, going through the air in a backwards somersault, cartwheeling over itself till coming to a stop fifty yards away on its back. Truly the girl in the rollerchair displayed some impressive raw power in her assault, it wouldn’t surprise her if Jocasta turned around and suggested she was RAS 9 in that very moment, and Ayla would believe every word of it. Though the acting afterwards was good, the skill failed when in such proximity to a fellow performer. Ayla could empathise with Jocasta, she understands what it means to be physically weak compared to others, and the parts they play to survive in the world they live in. With great power comes great responsibility, and Jocasta must find herself burdened under that heavy load.

The final blue Halassa is stumbling towards the pair, and with Jocasta in her weakened state, it was to Ayla to step up. This would be her first ever confrontation with a wild beast like this outside of the Circus petting zoo of Varrahasta and the safari’s organised as family trips by her father, under the protection of an armed escort. The beast’s features were distorted, pained, as something truly maleficent has blighted this perhaps one noble creature. The residual effect of Jocasta’s drawing allowed her the time to prepare, and with the others finishing off the other Halassa, she could now be afforded the opportunity to use her magic for herself. Whilst she was seemingly not trained in combat like her classmates, her time entertaining as allowed her to pick up a few skills. Unlike other performers who liked to enhance their stage presence, glowing and shining like a beacon on the stage, Ayla always stayed in the background, the conductor hidden in the dark as the audiences’ eyes were upon the play. It is through her performances she was able to develop the beginnings of how to use her powers obfuscate, and whilst these skills have yet to be nurtured under the tutelage of an experienced Master or Arch-Zeno, she has enough for the purposes she intends to use them for currently.

“Stay still”, Ayla starts to play her flute as she begins to draw upon the energy around her, Kinetic, Arcane, and Chemical. From the perspective of the blue Halassa, if it was a sentient creature, events and its awareness would start to follow along these lines. It would feel the creeping darkness as it starts to decrease its awareness of its surroundings, that feeling it is embarking on autopilot towards its destination, having the urge to travel over in that direction, but starting to lose focus. The air is starting to fill with the sounds of a flute, omnidirectional, instilling a constant presence. The tortoise will start to look around, not seeming to make out any distinctive or recognisable shapes in the desert, having a feeling that there is something there, as if something is missing, but not able to conceive on where it is. It starts to look around, disoriented and confused, and frightened as an animal would be in this situation, would start to lash out blindly around it. The Halassa would start to notice something, a shape, moving towards it to attack, only for its actions to slide through the liquid mass. The mass starts to form a shape, something that begins to resemble something like a miniature Halassa made of ink droplets and strokes levitating in the air, giving out a gleam which rivals the stars in the bright sky. The creature would try to approach it, but it always moved backwards, a charge would result in the ink dispersing around and reforming again elsewhere. Constantly attention is drawn to this.

Ayla continues her performance for the creature as it now seems to be trapped in a world of its own, its actions being delicately controlled through the subtle uses of multiple magics working in tandem, being rotated within intervals to the effect to be managed so the others may rally together to finally give the beast the peace it deserves. To the rest of the class, they could see how Ayla appears to hypnotise the creature like a snake-charmer, playing the flute to subdue the entranced Halassa, guiding it away safely from Jocasta and herself with her ink splot acting like a carrot-upon-a-stick before it.

Sounds interesting! Seen some themes like with the expanse in there too.
"To refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit!"

Been too interested in these themes recently, reading and watching adventures from Yang Kai, Chen Fan, Li Xiao Fan, and great many others. Really nice to see someone else passionate with the setting.
I don't think I have the availability for a 1x1, but I just wanted to wish you the best after I saw it on the side-bar.
I am far more familar with tabletop RP in real life and Roll20.

In these settings, which seems similar to the above, your create a character for that story, and you are collaborating in writing that story.

If you remove yourself from that story due to inactivity or similar, it is left to the others to resolve that issue.
Typically the character is written out, such as going to the town, and them deciding they got other buisness elsewhere. Sometimes if the character has been very important, they might turn into an NPC or Cameo role by the GM with a limited role. Usually this is a tribute/honour for this to happen.

In games where there are pre-generated characters, these may end up getting continued. I imagine in this format, this happens significantly less than in Tabletop RP given that there is a lot more creative control.

Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy, Kaspar @Wolfieh
Event: Invitation to Ersand'Enise, Location: Varrahasta, Torragòn.

The strongboxes are locked tight as the canopies are brought down, and the crash of the shutters ring around the port. The merchants and traders are done for the evening, packing away their fare, as the bustling streets are soon to be emptied. Ayla refers to this moment as the calm, a period of respite for nature to claim as its own as the Gulls, Rolieiro, and Skua sing their chorus to their heart's content. After the calm is over, the nocturnal storm begins as the taps at the drinking establishments are in full flow as the morning's catch is put to the grill.

Unsurprisingly, as the sun sets, the roar can be heard outside of the house, and surprisingly, within the household as well. A messenger has arrived from Torra Corda in the eve carrying a important message for Duarte, one that travelled very quickly through the walls of the household. Torragòn has been instructed to pay the mage price to Ersand'Enise, on the apparent orders of a Paradigm Hunghorasz, and the Arslan family were dutifully assigned this privilege from the Iron Throne directly.

The young play in the streets to the tales of Ersand'Enise, it is every young magi dream to be recruited to the Academy of Thaumaturgy. The reputation and prestige alone is said that being called, no, becoming the chosen of Sipentia, is clearly a sign of divine intervention and a sign that your family is on the ascendance, as the roar her ancestor, ‘The Lion of Torragòn’ can be heard across this world.

If this is the case, why are the faces of her family sullen and downcast, why is being chosen seen as such a burden that even the most hard-hearted of nobles can be seen distraught. Reality can be different to flights of fancy. A dynasty can end because of the many accidents and incidents lurking behind those walls. Only a family with much to gain risks sending their heir into the heart of the academy, for there is lots to be lost as they always return changed, different, a far cry from the selective grooming and education afforded over the years. Those from very prominent positions risk their secrets, skills, techniques, and strategies, falling into the hands of their political enemies. A war can be decided, lost or won, on the very choice of who is sent into those hallowed halls.

If the choice is based on magical ability alone, within her family it would be clear. Her eldest brother, Jorge is said to be a magical prodigy with his natural aptitude, along with his handsome looks, physical prowess, and charm, her father has groomed him carefully and manoeuvred him politically to the extent he is curated as the "Lion Reborn'' within Torragonese circles. He has been afforded every opportunity the influence the Arslan name has to offer to secure a very promising future, rumoured to have already reserved a prominent position within the next Torragonese campaign currently kept to a select few on parchment and ink to accrue accolades to accelerate his career.

The front door slams as she peers out her bedroom window in curiosity, seeing Jorge briskly walking towards the docks where his friends were already kept waiting for him. Whatever frustrations burden him appear to be quickly dissipated as he walks off with his companions, the outcome seemingly accepted without any significant resistance. She hears the hushed tones of her mother, Azahara as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. “Dado, you cannot be serious, she won’t… …”, the voices seem to come to a pause, a silence settling only to be interrupted by the sound of boots making their way down the corridor to her chambers, growing heavier and heavier. She knows what was discussed has been decided and there won’t be any alterations, her mothers’ wise words can no longer hope to help sway the decision when it has reached its conclusion. Her role as the daughter now was to soothe her father’s mood as she awaits the verdict of the outcome.

Ayla places the flauta by her lips. The gentle fluttering of the notes resembles that of a songbird as her father makes his way through the door. In a typical fashion, as if always caught off guard, he pauses as she is found playing, deciding to pull along a cushion to sit patiently for her to finish. There were unusually many Rolieiro found this evening, an omen perhaps, as her eyes are remarked to resemble the brilliant blue feathers, its brown-patterned cloak drawing parallels to her brunette mop of hair. As she draws to a close, she places the flauta upon her lap, “Da, it seems the Rolieiro are out in orchestra today”. Duarte’s hardened features betray the emotion being bottled inside like a pull of a harp string, the suppressed rage flaring through his body language, an anger directed towards himself, a confession of a betrayal, a death sentence. He composed himself before speaking, “You’re to go to Ersand'Enise. Your possessions will be packed for the Galley in short-order.” With the words, short shrift, he turns to swiftly exit the room and disappear within the darkness of the house.

Servants come and go, collecting her possessions, few rarely spoke and only for directions and advice on how to handle her belongings as her life soon only consists of what is contained within these boxes. The atmosphere of the house is sullen, a house in mourning, few that past lower their head, the words “Dami guide you” muttered in passing for the deceased relative that must have lived within. Her father had been recalled to Torra Corda, her brother Jorge in tow, and her mother has been noticeably absent as she attends to the affairs of the household. It was only at the farewell her family returned from hiding, her mother and siblings weeping tears of sadness, promises to write, blessings being cast and prayers offered to the five gods. As if coincidence was to strike again, she boards upon the galley ‘Rolieiro’, the cracked blue paint giving it a majestic appearance from the docks. She picked up her flauta and played once again.

Event: Ersand’Enise , Location: Academy of Thaumaturgy, Ersand’Enise.

Upon her arrival, Ayla has been settling into her room. Fabrics drape, cushions adorn, incense burns as the spartan room is transformed into something that resembles a homely Torragonese interior. Time passes quickly as four weeks later, the absence of a letter from home was noticed, but Ersand'Enise Academy of Thaumaturgy has kept her more than a little busy. What drew her attention was the myth and legends, and how, with some amusement, that the majestic place gave birth to many storytellers’ flight of fancy. She remembered the tales of the great white Roc, a favourite of hers, its bronze beak terrorising the first years, especially those who are malicious in their intentions and ill wishes She now often feeds bread crusts to the ‘Roc’ of the Arboretum lake as it honks about excitedly, to the chagrin of others now pecked incessantly for their lunches. She heard about the secret school of magic, Sigma, and how it keeps the academy at the fore-front of magical knowledge, however in reality, it is a standard deviation. As for the magical hand, don’t get caught in a bout of rock, paper, scissors if you desire to win. However, the tales of magical flying rugs and cleaning equipment, dragon mounts, personal yasoi handmaidens, and sorting wizard caps were all fiction. Life at the academy was remarkably normal, for what she would assume an every day educational facility would be like, with the exception at least something goes bang, whiz, pop at least once during each of the 25 hours.

Her introduction was shared with a couple of merchant girls also summoned to the academy, tall and beautiful, Zarina and Ysilla. When fighting the aftermath of the journey involving excessive bouts of seasickness, sea shanties, and the smell of rotten fish, she spent time making considerable efforts attempting to become familiar with the pair, soon finding herself interacting with them separately for reasons she understood very little about.
Zarina was a girl who lights up the room, though sometimes less of a candle and more like a destructive pillar. She was a dancer, and through the art of music had opportunities to perform together with aggressive tempo, sharp staccato, and loud crescendo. Zarina, becoming familiar as Zaz, was fond of a brewed brown bitter elixir which she calls coffee, generously serving those around her. Without moderation, Ayla soon found herself restless, irritable, gasping for breath, and excused herself as she found herself temporarily bedridden through exhaustion.
Ysilla was comparatively a calmer character, giving an attentive appearance as they partook in art together as Ayla played a lively melody upon her flauta.
In her classes, Ayla also came across a boy who is both studious and devoted, in books and his faith, Yalen. Thankfully a patient soul as he showed great patience in responding to her questions of what must be trivial matters and information for the boy.
Kaspar was often by the Arboretum lake, known for its pleasant views. She had met the boy whilst he was sketching in his charcoal, often concentrating on his work. One afternoon, she could not help noticing the boy peering often in her direction, towards the gorgeous orchid between them. Finding the opportunity, she starts to gently make her way towards him, looking towards his sketchbook as he works. "Drawing me like one of your Perrench girls?", the girl offers him a warm smile, watching the faint blush appearing upon Kaspar's cheek, as he grows flustered and momentarily lost for words, "I’m not accustomed to portraiture, but I can try if you’d like". The pair started to meet up during lunch to share discussions on their art.

Ayla, like the others, found themselves making their way to Forked Tower, and Hugo’s Study in particular. The scattered students are being pooled together like an untapped resource, ready to be exploited. After arriving, they are soon greeting the others in a warm manner, familiar greetings to Zaz and Ysilla who were already settling in their seats. She takes notes of those lessons known to herself as she identifies the older gentleman as the legendary Paradigm. She slowly makes her way before him, head bowed in polite revered greeting, as she takes a hold of his hand in Torragonese style, “Paradigm.”. Ayla also notices the pigtailed girl in the rollerchair, approaching her with a more friendly smile rather than one of reverence, lowering herself slightly so she is eye level with the girl, taking one of those mitten gloved hands within her own, fingers squeezing upon it, “Ayla, pleased we have met.”, withdrawing politely after the greeting as they were being ushered into taking their seats. She gracefully glides to place herself between the sisters, knowing the preference for distance between the pair, a somewhat futile effort to help as they could easily look over her head with the height-difference. The document lands upon the desk as she holds to examine the page written in Avincian, as she takes in a deep drink of the brewed elixir. During the heated exchanges, she cannot help feeling moved by Jocasta’s spirited words and passion, resonating with the emotions expressed empathically, recognising the actions of others who seek ‘protect’, a word more synonymous with ‘prevent’ from experience. The wise words of the Paradigm interrupted with their gentle conciliatory tones, and soon the unexpected occurred before her, a gateway seeming to show the beautiful night skies of her beloved Torragòn. She anxiously starts to follow as her fellow students make their way through the gateway, seemingly stepping through as if entering a new room, beckoned and encouraged to make the journey.

Event: Hugo's task, Location: Torragonese Desert.

As she walks through the gateway, she feels her hairs standing upon their ends, goosebumps along her body are raised prominently as she feels her body assaulted by the experience of temporal energies and then met with the cold air of the desert at night. She shivered as she started to wrap herself up by placing her hands around her body, dressed completely inappropriate for adventuring out into the desert in the middle of the night. As she is still trying to gather her bearings, stroking her hands up and down along her arms, she starts to hear Jocasta calling out with concern. Others start to prepare to defend themselves as she starts to gather her belongings from the satchel, dropping a couple bottles of her ink into the sand. She could feel her hands shaking, and this time, it wasn’t a result of the coffee. She was pushed backwards as she must have been in the way, falling down into the sand. She could hear the screech of the Halassa at this point, a cry that was guttural, a clear contrast to the sweet sounds of the song birds that populate Varrahasta. The sand sticks to her face, smudging the delicately applied makeup as she starts to sit herself up.

Ayla thinks back to the first time she performed for guests, and how it was a nerve-racking experience, how her fingers missed the holes, releasing an ear-piercing shrill, the pained look on their faces. She remembers an older gentleman, a name never provided, came over to speak to her as tears ran down her face. He came up towards her, crouched down before her, as he offered what appeared to be a pepper, “Nothing’s as bad as Virangish pepper.”. Before she realised what happened, she found herself chewing upon it. The heat just travelled through her mouth, coughing, choking, her face turning a bright shade of pink. House servants rushing to bring her water, scolding and laughter heard around the room at her reaction. As she was starting to slowly recover, the man bravely spoke loudly amidst the protests, “My child, now you know, no matter how bad you play that instrument, there is something far worse.”

Ayla grit her teeth as she recalled those words, “Nothing’s as bad as Virangish pepper”. She finds herself renewed with energy as she pops the top of the ink bottles and grabs a hold of the Flauta. Others are already making their way to confront the beasts, but she will get there first. The open ink bottles soon show their role as Ayla plays her melody, the shifting tempo and swings of the note, drawing energy from the sound. This energy is transferred through to the ink as it appears to start behaving as if it is being charmed, luring it through the bottle openings as if they were watery pythons. The long snakes mix into a ball and soon disperses into five streams as the hues shine and bend, becoming the five primary colours of the gods as they whip through the air like the darts towards the Halassa. Those at the front may feel the sudden gust as the inks find their marks, individual splish, splash, splush, splesh, splosh can be heard as each of the Halassa are now adorned proudly with a distinctive colour, and if fortune has favoured her, reducing their vision temporarily to support those at the front line. As the Halassa moves within the reach of her drawing, the flute plays an accelerating portamento. The air starts to grow very still and quiet, an unnerving experience as Ayla starts to draw upon the kinetic energy of the rampaging beasts, vibrations start to fill the air, the sand shifting underneath their feet as a disorientating zone of control is established through her casting. The Halassa start to slow from the drawing, their primal aggression becoming more sloppy as those agile seem to dance and flutter around them like butterflies, or moths to a naked flame, as the beasts are finding their senses becoming overwhelmed by the vibrations and effectively blinded.

Ayla has now done what she can as the beads of sweat are adorning her features. She tries her best to maintain that field for as long as possible, taking short intervals to refresh the drawing and casting of the magic, trying her best to maintain that disorientating field to support her fellow students… no… her friends.

Character for GM review.

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