Steel, Song, and Dragonbone

This is an archived version of FeralFront. While you can surf through all the content that was ever created on FeralFront, no new content can be created.
If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.

    //Hail and well met! There's not much to know about this in advance, except that it's intended to become some variety of fantasy/high adventure in a vaguely D&D-like setting. Pick a character you'll have fun with, and let's be off!//



    Merric Corellium blew in with the storm. It passed over the town of Alarnen during the night---the thunder rumbling overhead, the wind sweeping down the dusty streets---and when it subsided in the morning, there was a young man in the middle of the square, sitting near the central fountain as though he'd simply fetched up against it. (It wasn't a good fountain, necessarily; it had been built some years before, when the town had been a bit wealthier, and a bit more inclined to show off that wealth. The fountain no longer ran, but its basin remained, gathering rainwater. After the storm, it held a few inches.)


    It was difficult to tell what exactly he'd been doing on the road. He had a rather battered pack with him, scraps of braided ribbon hanging off it here and there, but did not appear to have a weapon. He sat against the fountain with a carved wooden flute, a birch staff leaning up next to him—but although the music was warm and light, that was hardly astonishing. There was nothing magic about it. No astonishing effects appeared. It was just a flute, and he appeared to just be playing it for his own enjoyment.


    As for himself, he was young and travel-stained, sandy curls tumbling around his ears, features sharp and freckled. His clothes were pale brown and pale green, sturdy but not expensive. All said, there were only two things out of the ordinary about him.


    The first was his cloak, which was the pale green of budding leaves and had been cut into long, narrow strips down the back. These were fluttering in the breeze through the square. It was not, all said, a practical cloak.


    The second strange thing about Merric Corellium was his eyes, which may have been grey-green behind the thin, cloudy film which covered them. Despite this, he looked up and smiled whenever someone came near the fountain, blank eyes crinkling at the corners.


    This was not often. Alarnen was small, small enough that strange things were few and far between, and more often than not a sign of trouble to come. Even something so innocuously strange as the young man who had come in after the storm could be an ill omen. So they swept on around him, and the music drifted along behind, carried on the wind.


    Image result for lucky blue smith gif smile

    thallian keyruon

    Thallian Keyruon didn't have the slightest clue to where he was. After running amongst the trees through a half-beaten path in the woods for what felt days on end, he had stumbled into a small town just as the sun was beginning to rise. He preferred to keep a low profile. His dark green cloak was pulled tightly around his lithe figure with the hood up and his head bowed low. He wasn't quite sure how this place took to strangers, or more specifically, to someone of his kind.


    Thallian, often preferring to go by the abbreviation 'Key' of his surname for simplicity and digression, was a half-elf. First glance would have him at a clean-shaved and dainty looking man, and second glance would prove you wrong with his pointed ears and very fair complexion. He more often than not kept his heavy hood concealing his face when possible. Key was an oddity amongst both breeds, sporting the grace and mannerisms of an educated elves, but also donning the clothes and short haircut of a man.


    The only tell, besides his ears which rarely saw the sky, was the elven crafted bow strung upon his back. While the rest of his garb was stained and caked with thin layers of grime from his travels, the bow remained as fresh and clean as the day it had been crafted. It was, after all, Key's pride and joy. A near-full quiver of arrows of mixed makes and fletching sat loosely at his hip and a simple dagger rested at the other. He had no other visible processions on his person, if he held more, it was concealed by the large cloak that enveloped him.


    Key stuck to the edges of the town's clearing as he warily took in his foreign surroundings. It was a quaint little place and Key nearly felt as if he could relax as the townspeople went about their day following the storm. The half-elf refrained from approaching anyone just yet, and instead slowly moved moved in a gentle arc towards a central fountain where he could hear a bard of sorts playing a light little tune. Key smiled at the sound. It felt like it had been years since he had heard such a melody.


    "Lovely sound," Key commented quietly as he stopped beside the figure seated at the fountain. "Could you perhaps tell me the name of this town?" he inquired as he glanced around.


    Merric glanced up as someone approached him for what seemed like the first time all day---really approached him, that was, moving with intent. Most people had passed around, shadowy figures on the edge of his limited vision. This-- this was someone else. So when they sat down next to him on the stone fountain, he set down his flute and turned to face them, a smile already twitching at the corners of his lips. "Ah, thank you!" he said, taking in the newcomer. A cloak meant for heavier weather, a bow too fine to be meant for hunting. Well. This was easily the most interesting person he'd encountered all day. "I'm afraid I can't answer, though. I'm a bit of a stranger here myself---just blew in this morning, actually."


    To be quite honest, he had only the most general idea of where he was in relation to anything of note. The crumpled, travel-stained map in his pack proved more frustrating than anything, its use of color lost on him. He'd done his best to keep it marked with his current location, but more often than not he'd lost track of where the wind had taken him, particularly when he'd forgone the road in favor of a wilder path. It hadn't been updated recently.


    He screwed up his face in thought anyway, trying to measure the distance he'd walked and where he'd meant to go, and what towns he'd expected to be there on the way. "If I hazarded a guess, I'd imagine we're about halfway between Shestran and Melenir," he said at last, in reference to the mid-sized town where he'd last marked his location and the port city he'd been heading toward. "Although where that leaves us, I can't say." Another smile, bright and wide. "Merric Corellium, by the way. And you would be--?"

    Image result for lucky blue smith gif smile

    thallian keyruon

    The half-eld nodded silently as the curly-haired man attempted to describe their location. It wasn’t very helpful, Key thought as he mentally brought up the rough outline of a map he half remembered. His own goals were incredibly vague. As far as he was concerned, he ought to just keep moving as he had been for the past several months.


    As he listened to the man speak, Key perched at the edge of the fountain near the man him began to shake out his own cloak, beating away the days of dirt that had collected. He wrinkled his nose at the odor that had been clinging to him. In a town like this the chances of having a tidy bathhouse were slim to none, but Key figured that he’d have to clean up somehow if he expected to hang around this unknown place for more than a few hours to pick up supplies. A night in a real bed sounded woefully delightful, and then and there Key decided he would stay for perhaps a day or two.


    The man continued to speak beyond the half-elf’s question, and Key could barely contain his surprise at the stranger’s introduction. Often times the half-elf kept a low profile and refrained from making anything but the necessary discussion to find someplace to stay for the night or to grab some needed supplies. Rarely did anyone but drunkards at the tavern initiate conversation with him, never mind introduce themselves.


    Merric Corellium. Key rolled the unfamiliar name around in his head. It held no significance to him, but that was no surprise. "Key,” the half-eld responded tersely. He wasn’t quite sure of the intentions of this stranger, but he seemed to love to talk, and Key was satisfied with just that as long as he didn’t pry.


    His throat felt rough from disuse and he cleared it deep in his chest as he rubbed slightly at his neck. “Where are you heading?” He asked, more to flex out his vocal cords than out of curiosity. Regardless, it would do for some nice change to talk with a fellow traveler. As much as Key enjoyed his solitude, he missed the well-enjoyed company of a friend.


    It had been ages since Merric had talked to someone properly. (Ages in this case meant the few days he'd spent on the road from Shestran to wherever he was now.) The whole thing could have been alleviated by finding someone to travel with him---ideally someone who was willing to talk or at least to listen---but he hadn't quite gotten around to that yet. Well, that, and the last time someone had offered to accompany him on the road, they'd tried to knife him shortly thereafter. It had been disappointing for everyone involved.


    The good news was that this man didn't seem interested in knifing him, although it was probably a bit too soon to know for sure. They did, however, seem regrettably reticent. Hells, even their name--


    "A man of mystery, I see." The words were out before he'd had more than a moment to think about them, at which point there was nothing to be done about it. It wasn't false, per se---he couldn't recall the last time he'd met someone who'd told him only a single syllable of a name, although he wasn't really keeping track. But the words were thoughtless, so he moved on, pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged on the fountain's edge.


    "I suppose I'm heading to Melenir eventually," Merric said with a bit of a shrug, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. "I've never been to a proper port city before, so it should be exciting." He wasn't fully sure what he hoped to find there, or even what he expected. New people, new experiences. The ocean, which he'd heard about but had never seen. (Not that seeing the ocean would mean much to him, he thought; more likely than not, he wouldn't be able to get the same sense of its largeness that others had spoken of.) "And what of yourself? What roads bring you here?"


    Image result for lucky blue smith gif smile

    thallian keyruon

    Key had appeared to have piqued this man's interested, he realised as the man pressed him for another answer as casually as he could. Merric was incredibly easy to talk to, despite the fact that Key knew his questions seemed to only get started. It was nice to listen to another voice, however, and Key didn't mind humouring the human for a bit. Despite being a half-elf, he found that he frequently preferred the company of men to elves.


    "I'm passing through," Key responded as simply as he could. It wasn't quite a lie, but it was certainly not the entire truth. "Bit of a wanderer lately," he admitted as he glanced around at the quaint life of the small town bustling around him. He felt a low ache in his chest, a sudden sadness he hadn't expected at seeing the bustle of activity swirl around them. He never knew quite what to do with his emotions bottled up inside him, especially the heart ache that never seemed to lessen. To combat this in the only way he could, Key continued to keep moving. It did him well to keep his mind away from his emotions and travel was an adequate solution to stopping and dwelling too much on the past.


    "I've heard Melenir can be lovely this time of year," Key continued on, feeding a bit more effort to keep the conversation running. In reality, he knew little of human establishments in this part of the land, but it would do him well to learn as much as he could. He knew he had heard of the city before, but any information on the place eluded him.


    From under his hood, Key took a brief moment to study the face of his new companion. The man looked simple enough, sporting the typical garb of traveller. Key noted the oddity of the cape that he wore, if it could be classified as such with its impracticality. But beyond his light curls and open smile, Key found himself focusing on the eyes of the man. His first assumption was that the man was blind, or seeing impaired of some sort, but seeing how Merric carried himself and acted with confidence, he wondered it there was more to his vision than just that.

    [ Tracking! I've used a D&D character of mine that I never got to finish a campaign with and have been looking for an opportunity to write, but if you'd prefer an entirely new character, let me know! ]

    Lieutenant Brinnaya Culynnian

    lawful good • twenty-four • homosexual

    "but there's a scream inside that we all try to hide, we hold on so tight, we cannot deny,"


    tumblr_inline_p3e5yyn0FU1qlt39u_400.gif


    Lieutenant Brinnaya Culynnian had been, and was still, in all ways that mattered, a soldier; she had more than once been so sticky with a cocktail of her own blood and her adversaries’ that some would briefly entertain the thought that she might have bathed in it. So used was she to the singing of steel through flesh, blood, and bone, that casual bardic tunes were — though a staple of the regular lives of most, if not all — nearly foreign to her. The only music she had heard in some time was that of her homeland's musicians when they came to bolster the morale and performance of its warriors. She had not set foot there in a long while, and part of her doubted she ever would again; though some revered her as a hero, others seemed to bleed pity whenever they surveyed her, and she could not bear to be looked upon as 'broken' because of what those men had done. Then, of course, there were the judgemental brand of pacifists. Dealing with them was the lot of any soldier. Those judgemental eyes that begged the question: how many people have you killed? Unfortunately, her own sister Ismene counted herself among their number, and between that and her uncle's attitude toward her sexuality and now-ended marriage, it seemed as though the streets she had run as a child were chasing her out; so, she — without the slightest regret — obeyed the omens, and left.


    All six feet of the armoured woman appeared, ducking through the doorway of the inn where she had spent the night, her travelling cloak — black, and made of warm and quality material — neatly folded over her right arm just in case the storm deigned to reappear. A shield with a myriad of raised patterns upon it was worn on her back alongside a sheathed, shining one-and-a-half-sword she called Lígodónti, or 'little tooth'; upon a belt that hung in a slanted fashion across her mid-section there were two handaxes, a pair of daggers, and if one looked closely at the small bag — one which held far more than it seemed it would on the outside — one might just spot the handle of a scimitar she'd taken from a bandit captain a few towns back. The armour, shield and weaponry caught the light, sending sunspots dancing across the still-damp ground as she cracked her neck, a long, rushing breath of relief escaping her as the tension was relieved.


    Though dark tresses obscured both ears, from the composition of her visage it would be easy to tell she was human, and a battle-experienced, well-built one at that. For the past day and a half, the residents of the town of Alarnen had regarded her with a certain respect, and she wasn't sure if that was due to the look of her, her title, or perhaps even both. Perceptive dark eyes darted around the square. Brinnaya didn't like small towns; they were stifling, and very clique-ish in the way that if one person knew you, it was only a certain amount of time before the whole town did and you had a reputation to uphold or reject. In bigger settlements, one could enjoy a certain level of flying under the radar, at least until you did something reputable (or disreputable, though the woman would personally never dream of such things.) Not in her home city, of course, but when your uncle was the localised noble, could you help but to be noticed?


    (Unlike the man playing the flute, the most remarkable things about her, or at least the most significant, were not those you could observe from the outside. Though she held her appearance in high-esteem and high-maintenance, raised higher still were her titles: lieutenant, demon-huntress, any and all she had ever been handed.)


    The sound of the name 'Melenir' raised one eyebrow, the woman calmly walking over to the two men conversing by the...rather obsolete fountain, and offering both a courteous smile. "Did I hear mention of Melenir?" the lieutenant asked, arms rested at her sides. In this light, her irises seemed to play with the various shades of brown as she looked over the one with the flute, and then the half-elven archer. "I've been once — I was a child, so my memory of it might be a slight bit on the shabby side." After a brief pause for breath, the smile never leaving, she introduced: "Lieutenant Brinnaya Culynnian, by the way; apologies if I've ruined or barged in on your conversation, I have a habit of hearing things that pique my curiosity, as it were. I'm told I'm over-observant."

    // bees?! --- Oh, sure!//


    Well, if that wasn't an understandable situation. Merric himself had been on the road for a good while, drifting here and there. He'd occasionally stay somewhere long enough to get comfortable, but it never lasted. There was always the road, always the wind, pulling him off somewhere new. Never the same place twice. Never back to the beginning. It would have been nice to embark on with a friend, particularly given what had happened to his eyes---the way the colors had faded out to grey, the world disappearing altogether beyond twenty, thirty feet. It had been enough to navigate, at least, although never as well as he might have hoped. Cities were always more difficult, their roads more confusing, their dangers more immediate.


    "Well," he said. "In that case, I'll certainly have to be sure I get there safely." Merric raised his eyebrows, regarding Key with clouded eyes and a curious half-smile. "I don't suppose your wandering is taking you in that direction, is it? The road's always easier with a companion."


    This was not strictly true. The road was sometimes easier. Sometimes it just meant that someone else was interrupting his travel schedule with concerns about things like 'nighttime' and 'danger'. 'Ooh, Merric, why are we waking up at sunset and walking through the night? Merric, why are we traveling in the dark? Merric, what if there are bandits?' (The answers were simple enough: what remained of Merric's eyes functioned just as well in the dark as they did in the light, making night travel a legitimate possibility; days were warmer and therefore better for sleeping; and Merric himself was so sick and tired of any variety of banditry that he'd personally vowed to never move his schedule around for it again. Either they'd figure out that he had neither the time nor the patience to get robbed, or they wouldn't, or he'd die.)


    Any reverie was cut short, however, by the arrival of someone else, also cutting through the fog of his vision as they approached the fountain. In typical fashion, he turned to observe the newcomer, a bright smile already lighting up his face. "Merric Corellium. And you did hear Melenir---I happen to be heading that way myself. Anything particularly interesting that you remember about it?"


    Lady Ingrid Belacqua

    chaotic neutral | two hundred and twenty-six | homosexual


    tumblr_inline_nlkwda2c9Q1rifr4k.gif


    The animated chatter of the townsfolk became oh-so-suddenly hushed at the appearance of a prominent, if controversial among some, noblewoman. The controversy comes simply on account of her race, and relationship choices combined — the pointed tips of her ears are well-concealed by her hair and rarely see the light of day, but the high-elven woman married a human, Cliodhna, several decades ago, with nothing bar love in her eyes and mind; the inevitable problem (considerable lifespan difference) was by now making itself apparent, and thus she departed the spire she had called home since their wedding day, and embarked on a long-reaching adventure to seek an artefact of some kind that could increase her wife's longevity, buy them time. Only as much time as they needed such that one would never have to go on without the other, but it was time nonetheless, and if such a thing could not be found she would get upon her knees and pray to every god whilst apologising for spurning religion her entire life, because they say no force is greater than love, but there is a reason they say 'til death do us part.'


    Lady Ingrid Belacqua possessed the kind of fair skin that disagreed greatly with the sunlight, and often fought a losing battle beneath it — extended exposure would often leave her with a permanent blush on her cheeks, if not the skin-peeling sunburn that made her hiss in pain (she'd encountered that in many a desert.) Her hair fell in soft waves, changing as it reflected the light between brown and deepest black, halting only at the small of her back; likewise, said sunlight caught upon the patterns of her clothing, a long, elegant dress patterned in red and gold. The shades of crimson matched the colour of the sharpened ruby affixed onto the end of a staff with a winding brace of melded, precious metals, which she held tight in her right hand even as she nimbly swung herself down from her horse, a spectral blue-jay fluttering to land upon her shoulder. "What are you looking at?" she inquired to the locals, fingers whitening where they tightened around the staff, eyebrows raised in an imperious fashion. Ingrid knew she was riveting to look at, riveting to discuss, and riveting to have a discussion with, but she's been wearing the diamond sparkler on her left ring finger for almost fifty years now — you'd hope that sent a message of disinterest, but for some, that still didn't seem to work.


    A military woman, a man with a bow, and a man in an odd frayed cloak — and yet it seemed as though it was designed that way? — gathered around the focal point of the square, discussing Melerin. She did not go over just yet, preferring to hear rather than partake. Less expectations.


    Lieutenant Brinnaya Culynnian

    lawful good • twenty-four • homosexual

    "but there's a scream inside that we all try to hide, we hold on so tight, we cannot deny,"


    tumblr_inline_p3e5yyn0FU1qlt39u_400.gif


    "Only that it's incredibly inconvenient to get to by road," Brinnaya answered, offering the man a smile even though she was faintly considering the possibility he couldn't see it — it was courteous, at least, in the event that he could, and if he couldn't, well, she had lost nothing. "That and the seas are beautiful, although not particularly advisable for swimming, as my sister discovered quickly enough," When the man said his name, she spent a few moments lingering upon the rhythm of it, how it flowed and sounded. 'Merric.' One of her more bizarre penchant was her tendency to believe that names had a feeling; she got that from her mother, in spite of her uncle's attempts to affirm that they were nothing more than a label to make it easier for humanoids to communicate, nothing more than a set of noises. Yes, this man looked like a Merric. "It's a pleasure. I'm headed to Melerin myself — or through there, at least. I've made a habit of ridding places of their demons." Whether the former remained true, she supposed they would find out, but for the moment, it was.


    One of the lieutenant's other bizarre penchants made itself known when another man joined their conversation, casting a shadow over even Brinnaya herself — something she was not accustomed to. The second penchant was that she possessed an odd insecurity about people taller than her, which the 6'4", perhaps 6'5" male certainly qualified as. (Having another woman around certainly wouldn't go amiss, she thought, too. She preferred their company, though she could work well with most so long as they were serious enough about their aims. For dawdlers, she retained little patience.) Casting her gaze around as he pointed backward, she noted the newcomer's dishevelled feline companion, and the staff-wielding brunette who both hung back, seemingly reluctant.


    "Oh, my, Lady Belacqua? Aren't you just a sight for sore eyes!" Her smile grew as she watched the sorceress curse (amusedly) under her breath, spinning the staff in her left hand. Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she referenced an old tale from a previous encounter of theirs. "Burned anything recently?"


    Mostly, she spoke to her to avoid addressing the unnerving one for a moment, until she could come to terms with someone towering over her by some significant amount. Of course, it was nothing on how Ingrid must feel, standing at five feet, eight inches, but if you measured people's height by their self-confidence, there'd be nothing taller in this entire town, or anywhere else for that matter. Naturally, Brinnaya wondered what had brought the noble so far from the spire, and from her safety, and likewise she saw nothing of the del Bosque acolyte she'd been travelling with — the young thing with glasses and a book tucked into the crook of her right arm; maybe she'd only briefly assisted the elven woman, and then vanished back to her tree-home to recharge on a lifestyle of solitude, the forest floor, and animals? Then again, the red-headed, bull-headed, axe-wielding family lived there, too, so how much luck could she possibly have had?

    [ This is a big ol' WIP, but I thought I'd give you guys an insight into my characters by making bios for them, if you'd be interested in reading them. I've shortened Ingrid's backstory massively, I thought it'd be cruel to make you read that essay. Not that you even have to read this. ]

    Lady Ingrid Belacqua
    Lieutenant Brinnaya Culynnian


    Image result for lucky blue smith gif smile

    thallian keyruon

    Key found a small smile grace his lips as Merric continued to speak and regard him with a light, nearly carefree manner. Despite himself, Key found the atmosphere begin to grow relaxing. He did, hoever, pause at the offer that was given to him. He had been on his own for what seemed like so long, that now it felt odd to be compelled to travel alongside the civilisation he had nearly vowed to avoid. But Key pushed away those feeling and gave Merric a more thorough look and gave the cheery man a slight nod. “Yes,” he found himself agreeing after a moment of silence had passed. “It might to us both well to travel alongside each other for the time being."


    No sooner did the words leave his mouth then Key felt a sudden invasion on their easygoing chat. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise as the air seemed to subtly shift. In and instant Key had risen to his feet, his body growing tense in anticipation. He inwardly cursed himself for getting so distracted to leaving his guard down, and for always being so jumpy around unfamiliar situations.


    A woman had suddenly moved towards them, in a manner that practically radiated confidence and power. Key didn’t move as she began to speak, only standing frozen beside Merric as his body waited for some cue to either fight or flee. None came, however, which shouldn’t have surprised Key in this small town. Instead the pair was offered a name, Lieutenant Brinnaya Culynnin The woman spoke it with a sense of authority, but Key didn’t have the slightest idea of what exactly those terms meant together. He’d figured the first was a title, but beyond that, the name was lost on him. The woman, as obviously as she had intruded on the conversation, seemed polite and respectful to a degree as she apologised for the intrusion and seemed to give them space.


    Merric, of course, naturally took everything in stride with a reassured manner that Key couldn’t help but admire. As the two began to exchange words, Key felt another, very powerful presence enter his grasp of the area. Tilting his head ever so slightly, Key could make out the figure of another woman standing on the edge of the town’s centre, likely close enough to listen in on their conversation. Key found his chest tightening as he noted the staff she wielded, as well as the general air that encompassed her that felt like an aura of power and the long dress that stood out like a sore thumb in this kind of settlement. She held herself like she had been to ends of the world and back, and was much, much older than the rest of them.


    Key himself was practically still a youngling. The ages of half-elves was tricky, but Key figured he was roughly the equivalent of a seventeen or eighteen year old man. He felt like a child in the presence of this woman, and it didn’t sit well with him. The other woman, the lieutenant appeared to know her and threw out another name, another title that Key once again had no knowledge of.


    His discomfort only increased tenfold when a huge, lumbering figure of a man approached them. Standing at roughly 6’1” himself, Key had always considered himself fairly tall, but this man was something else. He towered over the small crowd that was beginning to gather and Key certainly was not fond of the increasing company.


    “Merric,” he said lowly as he attempted to kept his eyes on the dark-haired women as well as the two other figures approaching. He had known the man for just a few minutes, but already felt some tug of loyalty to the happy-go-lucky human. He didn’t exactly know what was going on, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be in the middle of it all.



    Lady Ingrid Belacqua

    chaotic neutral | two hundred and twenty-six | homosexual

    "i request another dream, i need a forest fire, to burn it like cedar"


    tumblr_inline_nm9g28ec911rrrkde.gif


    "You're never the Culynnians' girl!" Dark eyes widened in surprise as she regarded the lieutenant up and down — a searching gaze to establish whether her hunch was, indeed, correct. Whatever were the odds they'd run into one another? Ingrid had been out of favour with Cicero Culynnian for a fair while now, or perhaps she always had been and he just wanted to get close to the political power she could wield, so she hadn't seen the nieces he raised since the youngest one — Ismene — was roughly a year old, and what was that, sixteen years? Honestly, the woman was unsure. Time that felt significant to humans often passed elves by, those sixteen years a scant portion of Ingrid's life by comparison, but she stepped slightly closer to look at the woman more clearly, the bottom of her staff creating small circles in ground softened by the storm."You've done well for yourself, haven't you, Brinnaya? A lieutenant, you said?"


    Even as she conversed with the brunette, her attentions wandered over the bard-esque male, the tall, imposing one that seemed to bother the lieutenant just with his height (she'd always had a thing about it, even as an eight-year-old, Ingrid recalled) his feline companion, and lastly, the half-elven, grey-white haired teen who seemed...unsettled by the sudden surge in company. Though she could tell that for most it would take two glances to discern the man's race, as one of elven descent herself, she intuitively knew what to look for. His gauging of her was unnervingly accurate, not that she knew of it — she had indeed been to the ends of the earth, and back again, but also knew what it was to be confined in the same place for years, and years, and years, without a breath of fresh air. Such an experience aged someone in a whole new way and that, alongside her age itself, was apparent within her irises.


    Though Ingrid was, indeed, a mother — one biological (a terrible, torturous, experience) and one adoptive — she did not exactly exude a motherly aura, so anyone could be excused for being intimidated by her, neither is she a 'teamwork makes the dream work' brand of woman. She radiated nobility, a certain degree of ego-centrism, and a clear tendency to play the devil's advocate — she looked and played the part of one who has navigated courts for longer than any of the others have lived, and it was an odd thing to look upon a group so completely more youthful than she. The most perceptive may spy the slightest softness beneath her layers, but that is reserved for her darling Cliodhna, and her children, now; both her wife and daughter will die before her, though her ex-husband and son may live to be buried with her. These emotions are enough for her heart, so she guards it from the sizeable majority of others.


    "Might I inquire why you all are headed to Melerin?" she asked, curiosity ringing true in her clipped and measured tone. "I am Lady Ingrid Belacqua. The lieutenant and I are...family acquaintances," she'd leave it at that. "Just my name is fine, the title is unnecessary — though I know this one is fairly fond of hers,"

    Things were escalating a good deal faster than Merric himself was comfortable with, although he was doing his level best not to show it. After a while, one got used to people suddenly appearing nearby---even if this time, one of them was a lieutenant, one apparently was a noblewoman, one was deeply imposing, and one might have been a cat. (He wasn't entirely certain on the last one; they were lurking on the edges of his vision, where it clouded out to mist, and he might have been mistaken.) That said, some of them seemed to know one another already, which added another factor. Less than ideal.


    Key had at least agreed to travel with him for a while, which was good. Right. Well. First things first, then. Merric shot a quick glance and what he hoped was a reassuring smile toward the half-elf before looking back up at the lieutenant and the tall man looming over him. He resisted the urge to stand, at least for the moment. It wouldn't have done any good; he'd still have been significantly shorter than either of them, and feeling small standing up wouldn't provide much of a benefit over feeling small sitting down.


    "Inconvenient by road, you say?" he asked, summoning up his most amiable tone and hoping this wouldn't go south. Not that he thought it would, but it was quite a few more people than he'd bargained for. "That's unfortunate. What would make it so?"


    Ah, but the noblewoman had asked a question as well, hadn't she? "As for what takes me there," he said, "it is nothing of importance. A wandering urge. It may be that I'm swept off somewhere else before I ever reach Melenir." That was how it was, how it had been for a while. Wherever he was going was little more than a destination, seized upon when he heard of a place that sounded interesting.


    And now, he supposed, the time had come to stand and move a bit. They were all causing a bit of a commotion, and it wouldn't do to be in the way. (Besides which, he was decently sure that Key was wary of the newcomers and their proximity, which in turn gave Merric reason to be cautious.) "But perhaps we should move somewhere else to continue this," he said, standing, scooping up his pack as he did so. The breeze through the square caught the long tassels of his cloak, sending the strips of cloth fluttering about him. "I do believe people are starting to stare."


    He had no idea if it was true---he couldn't actually see any of the people of Alarnen, as they seemed to be giving everyone involved a rather wide berth. But he suspected that they'd begun to attract attention.


    Lieutenant Brinnaya Culynnian

    lawful good • twenty-four • homosexual

    "but there's a scream inside that we all try to hide, we hold on so tight, we cannot deny,"


    tumblr_inline_p3e5yyn0FU1qlt39u_400.gif


    Privately, Brinnaya itched for the outdoors — for free air, where it was certain (for now at least) that she could not be confined — where mental evocations, against her will, could not possess her mind with such ferocity they seemed to grip her body whole, and she could not get out. If she allowed her eyes to unfocus from her surroundings, it might all blur and feel like dying; it would be the same as it had been then, small enough to be a coffin with the cold and dirty floor, the ceiling that barely accommodated her, and while the other walls offered more space, they still encroached enough to itch at her skin as though they were pressing in — yes, it felt the same as the underground room in which she had resigned herself to never seeing the outside world again. How many things could be twisted and ruined by those people, made in excruciating moments to feel like death itself?


    But that was, of course, privately. She would never share such intimate details with strangers, especially not given that those who should have offered her the most comfort (her wife, her mother, her uncle, her sisters) had all rejected her trauma, refused to take it seriously or listen to her pain. They said it was 'all in her head' — stark memories of captivity spoke volumes to the contrary. They had taken her to pieces, and after she escaped them they schemed to continue her ruination through small rooms and sleepless nights, shooting awake covered in a thin sheen of sweat, breathing heavier than she ought to need. And besides, she'd been inside earlier, she had to go on, she had to live. Time had passed since that ordeal, though a lack of progress didn't show it, and she had to be strong, didn't she? She had to prove herself worthy of the lieutenant title she bore, didn't she? (Of course, neither of these were necessarily healthy approaches to take, but they had been drilled into her by her unsympathetic friends and family and now, she couldn't let them go, they were how she put one foot in front of each other.)


    "Yes, okay, let us move," the woman said instead of any of that, her smile tentative now, left hand rubbing at her upper right arm to chase away prickles. "As for the road, I do recall there being incredibly organised bandit circles, and the terrain toward the end isn't the most travel friendly, either. Nor the most sleep friendly if you're in a cart — and I don't remember this myself, but I've heard the climate is just a little scalding." Brinnaya paused, amusement playing across her lips as she exchanged a look with the brunette noblewoman — Ingrid — reaching around to braid her hair back and keep it away from the skin of her neck. "Any people may just be staring at Lady Belacqua, as she has a ... reputation, but I agree the risk that people think oddly of us shouldn't be one so wilfully taken."


    [Hello! Are you guys still accepting new folk? I ask mostly because I'm a huge fan of D&D and fantasy roleplays, and this seems quite interesting!! It's alright if you've hit capacity, but do let me know if there's room for one more!]