• Solo • A Toast to the Departed

A settlement east of Rynmere across a stretch of water called 'the eastern trench' broken into three regions: Welles, Oakleigh, and Berwick.
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Doran Cooney
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Posts: 461
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
Race: Human
Profession: Performer
Renown: 40
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A Toast to the Departed

On the 78th trial of Ashen during the 718th arc...
Moonlight marked the path ahead of him. In the near distance he could the the lights of several buildings, their flickering invitation drawing him as a moth might to a candle's flame. A part of him had wished he'd remained in Cappola, the same part that had urged him to slip beneath the covers and join Alistair - the same part he felt ferociously humiliated and guilty over. The rest of him, the greater whole of his mind, was glad to have the chilled night air to further clear his mind and revitalize his weary body. It had been all too much, and though it would have been more convenient not to make the lengthy trek onward to his cousin's ranch, he found content in his choice. At the very least, supposing his cousin would receive him, he would be able to sleep with some confidence that the mage would not come after him. He needed time to truly mull over everything, and he needed that time to be spent in relative isolation.

As he neared the lights, he was stopped by a sturdy wooden gate, a length of fence running along what he assumed to be the far reaches of his cousin's estate. It was held shut but a sturdy looking padlock, though there was no one nearby whom he might request entrance from. At the risk of being labeled some shadowy burglar or thief, he opted to climb over. The gate had been constructed of sturdy wooden planks, a large arch about twice and a half Doran's height, stood above giving the entrance to the property a regal bearing. Spaced as the board were, it was no challenge to scale, and as he steadily found his way to the top, he hopped down with a heavy thud of his feet against the ground, knees bending to absorb the brunt of his fall's impact, though he stumbled forward some thanks to the weight of his pack knocking him off balance.

Dusting off his hands, he started down the beaten path towards what seemed to be the main building. Even in the darkness, he could see the obvious touch of a Venoran's influence. There were flowering bushes and plants all along the road - familiar trees as well that Doran assumed his cousin had imported over. Though there were only a few who had begun to bloom, Doran didn't have much difficulty recognising many of the familiar species, and his pace slowed to a languid stroll. It was so peaceful and quiet, if not a bit more open than he was used to. The moon's light illuminated enough of the world around him that he as was able to walk without needing to constantly check where his foot should fall, and there was the gentle chitter and chirp of the night time insects all around, their raucous harmony a soothing ambiance.

When he finally arrived at his intended destination, he was met with the front of a very Venoran facade. Though it was constructed mostly of wood, already there were vines and other greenery that had crept up along the building's face. From within, he could hear the quiet murmur of conversation form an open but curtained window, and so he rapped his knuckles with a firm knock upon the building's sturdy door. The voices stopped, then footsteps followed. When the door was opened and Doran found himself faced with the wrong end of a short spear, he merely blinked in surprise, too astonished to respond in fear.

"A strange thief to walk up and knock." The weapon's wielder was a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who spoke with a foreign lilt to her voice. There was a fire in her eyes, a spirit of something wild and dangerous, but her lips were curved in an amused smile.

Slowly moving his hands up to either side of his head in uncontested surrender, Doran's quiet voice let out a soft, nervous chuckle. "And a strange greeting to a guest, thrusting a spear at his face." For a moment, they stood staring at one another, but with a bemused snort, the woman set the butt of her spear onto the smoothed wooden floor. "Thank you." The relief in his voice was almost palpable, and the woman offered him a curt nod.

"If you are no thief, then why have you come to call so late into the night?" While the woman's eyes squinted in suspicion, she hardly seemed threatened by Doran's presence. Not doubt a benefit of the spear she still held securely in her grip.

"Ah, well..." Already having decided he had no intention of outing the ex-noble'ss secrets, Doran opted for a truth of omission. "I had meant to arrive earlier, but I was... waylaid."

Though the woman raised a brow, she didn't seem keen on pressing the matter. "I see. And you are here to see Marcel?" Though her wariness in tone remained, Doran noticed that her grip upon the wooden shaft of her spear had relaxed some.

"Yes, if... that's alright? I'm his cousin, Doran Cooney. My aunt is his sister."

"Marcel!" Without warning, the woman's voice boomed through the house, the small foyer's walls almost reverberating. Within the next few trills, a familiar figure appeared in the hallway, his face turned in a concerned scowl as he hurried to her side.

"What? What is it?" Though he seemed to notice Doran was there, his focus was such that he only glanced in his general direction before addressing the woman.

"This is Doran Cooney. He claims to be your cousin." She gestured loosely with her spear, acting for all the world as if Marcel had just happened by.

"Doran?" The man's dark, chin-length curls bounced as he turned his head. His eyes lit up with recognition as he gave him the once-over, and his concerned scowl gave way to a surprised smile. "Doran! What brings you all the way to Oakleigh?" He clasped Doran's hand, his other on Doran's shoulder as he drew him into a quick but tight embrace. As he released Doran, who smiled weakly in response to the over bearing greeting, Marcel glanced over his shoulder, into the darkness outside. "And where's your better half?"

"That is why I've come, Marcel." The softness and somber tone of his voice served to draw his cousin's expectant smile into a soft curved line of worried anticipation.

"Then, perhaps it is best we speak over some tea."

"Or something stronger, maybe."

Both men stared at each other for a trill before Marcel's voice murmured in a quiet, cheerless, "...I see." He beckoned Doran follow him down the hall. The woman and her spear took up the rear, but she disappeared through a door on the right while Doran and Marcel proceeded through another on the left. The room they entered was spacious, decorated with potted plants, paintings, and a large woven rug. There was a couch and several lounge chairs arranged around a hearth of brick that housed a small but cheery fire. Marcel settled into one of the lounges, wordlessly inviting Doran to do the same.

The woman returned as Doran settled down, a bottle in one hand and three glasses carefully clutched in the other. She first made sure Marcel had his, handing him the bottle as well, before giving Doran the second, keeping the third for herself. "Venoran Red." The cork had already been popped, and Marcel helped himself before pouring for the woman and Doran in turn.

He took a slow, long drought of his glass before he leveled his gaze with Doran's. "Where's Lily, Doran?" Already, there was a sheen to the man's eyes. He and his brother had been frequent visitors to Doran's and Lily's home. Though several years Doran's elders, they had gotten along well enough. Both Marcel and his brother had always preferred Lily, but had been kind enough to Doran - though perhaps it was due in part to knowledge that Lily would have been displeased had they done otherwise. Shortly before Lily's fall, Marcel and his brother had come into a small fortune which they had split between each other. Marcel had taken his share and essentially disappeared from the world, only sending his letter within the past handful of trials that he was alive and well and that Lily should visit him. What he had done in the time between his departure and now, Doran could only assume it had been the construction and development of the ranch, perhaps some other adventures of a kind. Though older, Marcel looked much the same as he had before, only know, his brow was knit with the anticipation of news he had already guessed at.

"Venora, where she will remain forever." Doran's voice was little more than a whisper, and when he'd finished, he took a sip of his own wine, eyes soft and sad. "Shortly after you... left. Lily had a... a fall. She lived some years after that, but..." It was clear in Marcel's eyes he understood the nature of what it was Doran was saying. "I'm certain she would have loved this place. I saw you planted her favorite flowers along the path." His smile was wistful as he offered an appreciative nod. "I wanted... I felt it was right to tell you in person."

"To Lily." Marcel's voice cracked some as he raised his glass, the start of tears at the edges of his eyes. "May she find beauty wherever she is."
word count: 1636
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Oracle
Posts: 728
Joined: Fri Apr 06, 2018 12:28 am
Race: Prophet
Profession: Seeress
Renown: 1000
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A Toast to the Departed

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Doran

This is a very well written story. You use beautiful florid language to describe your setting, allowing me to clearly see Doran's surroundings. This is something that many people forget to do, but your writing is wonderfully balanced between well written dialogue and creation of the setting. I also enjoyed your use of NPCs, they had an excellent depth to their personalities that I enjoyed reading. Well done, and enjoy your rewards.
Off Topic
Note: I've changed the following knowledge you requested to another. Please pm me if you would prefer something else.

Endurance: Walking in Darkness (This isn't really a feat of endurance)
to
Detection: Using limited lighting to find your way at night

Points

XP: 10
This may not be used for domain magic

Renown

N/A

Loot

None

Injuries

None

Knowledge

Acrobatics: Scaling a Fence
Acrobatics: Bending Knees to Absorb Impact
Strength: Pull Up
Detection: Using limited lighting to find your way at night
Non-Skill Knowledge[/tab][/tabmenu][/align]
word count: 166
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"Without the dark, we'd never see the stars"
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