Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Posted: **Wed Feb 22, 2017 8:24 pm**

Cylus 1, Arc 717

Hiding your race was cowardly. Or so Asari thought. She held strong to the belief that unless you risked serious harm (like the Yludih or Aukari would from how people hated them), or you had to hide your race for a delicate situation, then you shouldn’t. Most people she’d met in Desnind knew what she was- because she’d told them. When she greets people, it was her instinct to point out she was a Naerikk. The few times she didn’t, it was usually found out fairly soon. It was just her luck.

Though had Arlo voiced his thoughts on why Asari felt so… disliked- she may have realized he was almost entirely right in his assumptions.

“Rharne… I’ve never been, but I hear great things. Mostly about the alcohol. But also about the religion. They worship um… Oh… What’s her name… the Immortal who likes alcohol…” Asari frowned, trying to remember the name. It wasn’t good manners to forget immortals- but in truth, Asari had never been very religious outside of Audrae growing up. “Starts with an I… Hmm… Ilsa? Ivory?”

After a second of trying to remember, she merely shook her head. “That sounds fun, though. Going where your feet take you. There are so many places in the world- it’d be a shame to see just one. Desnind is a good fit for me right now but… perhaps someday I’ll go somewhere like Rharne.” Giving a small smile, she added, “I’ll have to send you a letter to tell you what I think of it.”

As they arrived and entered the Kẹjï Kisa, Asari’s eyes were drawn to the bar, spotting Phyt- the bartender she knew. “Um… One person, yes. How about you grab us a seat, and I’ll get us some drinks. Do you want water, or some non-alcoholic cider?” She asked, already moving towards the bar, looking at him over her shoulder.

Reaching the bar, Asari gave a tentative smile to Phyt. "Hey there. Busy tonight, isn't it?" She asked, giving a light laugh- clearly trying to make small talk.

He gave her a brief smile, busily wiping down the bar. "You know it is, and you know why. No need for pleasantries, Asari Rosacea. What can I get you?" He asked, his deep tone polite, but direct.

Giving him her order, Asari nodded appreciatively when she received her drinks- one glass of Holpxay and one glass of Arlo's choice, before making her way back to her companion. Sliding his glass to him, she sat across from Arlo, taking a long sip of the Holpxay.

"Mm. Probably not as great as Rharne's alcohol- but pretty good in my opinion." Asari commented, absently licking her lips. Glancing back up at Arlo, she added, "So. Tradition two of alaiwa snäyì is to tell stories. For Sev'ryn it's usually about some great hunt their ancestors went on, or how they built their business from nothing and honored their family. But you're a traveler! Surely you must have stories. I'd love to hear one, if you have one to share."

Posted: **Fri Feb 24, 2017 7:58 pm**

"Ilaren, if I remember right," Arlo said when Asari referenced the Immortal and her connection to alcohol. He knew little more than it took to connect the domain to the Immortal in question, considering his focus of worship was elsewhere. Never mind the preferences of those citizens of Rharne.

Truth was, the young man wasn't sure why she'd consider Desnind to be a good fit on the one hand, but an unwelcoming place to her kind on the other. It seemed it ought be one or the other, not both. But Arlo decided not to question it, and consider the topic of letter writing instead. "I won't be here in Desnind I don't think, once Cylus is gone I'll probably be gone with it," he said as they'd stepped inside. "And I don't know where I'll go next yet. Would be awful hard for a letter to track me down."

A mug of cider would suit him just fine, or whatever was like it with no alcohol. A story? Arlo shrugged a little but smiled. "True enough. There's always a warmer welcome around a fellow traveler's fire if you've a good story to tell." He thought on it a trill or two while sipping his cider. "I'll tell you a story that isn't my own, but was told to me by a fellow traveler, an old man I'd met on the road half an arc ago," the young man said.

"He said that the story itself was told to him by another man in Ne'haer when they were sharing a drink in a local watering hole. And when he didn't believe it and asked around, all the locals told him it was true." Arlo wasn't sure he believed the story either, but it was an interesting one to tell on a night filled with shadows, out in the wilds.

"As he related the story to me, he swore that there was an old house outside Ne'haer, a grand abandoned thing gone to ruins that that was rumored to be haunted. Hunters and travelers ought to have liked taking shelter there, but they wouldn't go near it," Arlo explained. "Some who were brave enough to try it, fled before midnight with stories about thumping noises, moans, screams, and an awful, mysterious bloodstain that turned up on the front porch and couldn't be washed away."

Now as legend had it, Arlo went on to tell, it was a wealthy merchant from Andaris that had built that house, arcs and arcs ago. And once it was finished, he threw a grand party and invited everyone he knew. There was only one man who refused to attend, and that was the merchant's own son. And so father and son had a terrible fight, and when it was over, the son threatened his vengeance on the father for disowning him.

"Now around midnight," Arlo continued, "The merchant decided to join some of his friends on the front porch of that house. They were drinking and telling stories when from out of the night came the pounding of hooves towards them. There was a cloaked rider, and he headed straight for that porch. And the merchant said to his friends, that would be my son as he stepped off the porch. And no sooner had he said it, then two bolts were fired by that rider. The merchant stumbled back on the porch, shot in his chest and in his throat. And the rider turned round and fled, leaving the merchant's guests to tend to him."

It was too late to help him, Arlo went on to say while draining the last of his cider. He'd already bled so much that a great pool of blood had spread out from under him. He coughed, he wretched, he convulsed, a lady who'd wandered outdoors screamed. And then the merchant was dead. "Now the next trial, after he'd been carried inside and the servants had scrubbed the porch clean of the blood, a wagon full of men came to collect the body. But as the men stepped up on the porch, blood began to pool around their boots in a pattern just like the one made when the merchant had died. The men threw the body in the back of the wagon and fled in fear, and the servants cleaned up the blood again."

Arlo smiled and shrugged. "The legend goes that they never could get that blood to stop appearing each time anyone stepped on the porch. The moaning, the screaming, the rattling, all of it started that night and no one in the house could sleep a wink. It was abandoned and sold many times, painted and painted again, but every new owner fled before spending more than three trials in the house. And the house has been sitting abandoned a hundred trials by now."

Now Arlo wasn't sure he believed the story either. The old man that had told it to him was very old indeed. Didn't seem quite right in the head and had been wearing his shoes on the wrong feet. It was an interesting story though, and the young man thought if he ever traveled to Ne'haer, he might look for that house, just to see if it was really there.

Posted: **Thu Mar 02, 2017 4:59 am**

Mod Bomb

"Ke’u ailewu Ileri?" A Sevir firmly questioned Phyt, swirling his glass of Holpxay. Phyt continued to wipe the bar. The spontaneous walk put together by Desnind was bringing him a lot of business for his winery. Of course, it brought the travelers and foreigners. Where there was good drink and excellent company, people grew curious. His eyes briefly flitted over to the Sev'ryn patrons as they watched Asari and Arlo. Phyt could tell that they were more focused on the out-of-place Naerrik woman than they were the young human boy. Something was clearly making them leery of her.

"Azuk tọjẹ azuk sev ailewu atroj'ath ọhun," Phyt replied. He had lived in Desnind a long time. He spoke the language fluently, the immersive environment greater than any private teacher he would have found in Nashaki. He moved from the cleaning rag to the open bottle of Holpxay, refreshing the man's why.

"Mänyän auduv tä ailewu ke’u." This time, the comment came from the woman sitting next to him. They were a couple that lived within the city, their green iyọ lamp standing on the bar between them. Natives with only the best interest of the city in their hearts. As disciples of Moseke, they believed in her teachings. Generosity and kindness to all unless given reason to believe otherwise. It was harder to distrust those that kept their heads down and attempted to blend in. This woman stood out like a sore thumb with her bright nails and high heels.

"Dẹọdọ dav ke’u nyara?" Phyt said, finishing the fine pour of spiced black wine. He was careful not to knock the lamp over. The woman took the full glasses, getting up from her seat. The man nodded to Phyt, picking up the lantern.

"Talun," the man responded, his face blank to his ideas.

"Dav takip eaui ọgun." Phyt growled, going back to cleaning his bar.

The couple moved to a table closer to Arlo and Asari, eavesdropping on their conversation. The hair on the back of their necks stood up when Asari began to explain the walk, as if she was one of them. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't. To their innocent minds, she knew an awful lot about their culture. Why hadn't her Sev'ryn friends come with her? They continued to chatter quietly between the two of them in Xanthea. Once Arlo finished his story, the woman leaned over with a polite smile. "Ibeere kẹmïkälï," she offered, expecting their blank stares.

"Ṣïṣẹ dav takip säju ïtẹsïwäju."

"I am sorry. We noticed you from the other side. Your story. It is interesting. Shall I tell you both one?" The woman again smiled, but her eyes narrowed when she focused on Asari.

"I was 10 arcs old when it happened. She killed my father. The city trusted her. He trusted her. I trusted her." The Sev'ryn woman had by now clenched her hand around the stem of her glass. Her partner simply watched Arlo and Asari. Few of the groups around the two tables had quieted down, watching with anticipation as to what was going to happen.

"She married him after my mother died. They dated a very long time. They were good friends before that. She came from Augiery, exiled for her beliefs. Or so we thought. She knew so much about Desnind and she fit in well. She understood us and we could understand her. As you have probably caught on by now, she was a Naer. That's what you are, isn't it mpïshï?" The malice was evident on her voice.

"You know an awful lot about us and Desnind. You were able to tell your friend here about the alaiwa snäyì as if you've known about our traditions all along. I don't see a Sevir here beside you explaining it. Who taught you mpïshï? Did you learn it in a classroom from another Naer? Are they seeding you in our city so you can relay information?"

"Lo'kunai," her partner started, reaching over to touch her wrist. Instead, she rebuffed him and stood up hastily, spilling her dark Holpxay. By now, several of the surrounding tables had stopped talking to watch the scene. Phyt had straightened up, considering whether to intervene or not. He remained still for the time being. To his right, a nubile woman tilted her head idly. Her hair was black and curly, her skin marked with black paint for the occasion, and her emerald eyes focused on the situation in an analytical fashion.

"You don't belong here mpïshï. If I see through you, Moseke sees through you. You and any other of your shadow sisters should leave while you still can," Lo'kunai threatened, her hands clenched firmly.

She stormed out of the winery. "Bou'eri eaaz," The man whispered towards Arlo. He grabbed their lantern and followed as quickly as he could. The remaining tables tucked into their own conversations, many switching to Xanthea in efforts to hide their gossiping. Even so, many conversations had turned to the Naer and her human acquaintance. Phyt took this opportunity to approach Asari and Arlo, plopping his cleaning rag onto the wet table.

"Careful Asari. The more you stand out, the more they will hate you. The Sev'ryn are good folk, but like many, they can't understand what they don't know," Phyt offered the advice to her, mopping up the spill before heading back to the bar.

► Show Spoiler

Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Into The Forest We Go

Into The Forest We Go

Into The Forest We Go

Into The Forest We Go