the warlock

silvar venren, half elf prince. twenty-five years old. trans man, he/him. "then i will go to my ruin. yes i will, as soon as possible."

[sylvarvenren]

brenharrowood‌:

They don’t necessarily doubt Syvlar, but they don’t exactly believe the prophecy either: greater warriors, they know, have attempted to defeat the Great Bear and failed. And he looks nervous as he enters the cave, and all Bren can do is hope that the training they’ve done together will serve him well, or at the very least keep him alive.

It’s over sooner than they think it will be: he looks less out of sorts than they would have expected, not seriously injured unless he happens to be hiding it well, hiding it the way he’s hiding that he’s a little shaken up by it all.

They let out a laugh, when he speaks, admittedly impressed. A part of them wants to ask: how did it happen? how had he won? what had it been like, to stand in front of one of the Great Beasts of the Fade and live to tell the tale? what kind of magic had he used – for clearly, he had used some kind of magic, some gift from his goddess, to get out of that cave as physically in tact as he had. Bren knew what kind of a fighter Sylvar was, after all.

But instead, they don’t ask: they leave his story to tell if he wants to tell it. Instead, they say:

    “And your wish? You’ve got it?”

Their laughter brings a smile to his face, something genuine and sweet. It allows him to feel pride in himself. He had done it, after all. 

It’s with a triumphant flourish that he holds his palm out, the little stone resting there as innocent as anything else. Hope in the shape of something so innocuous. “As promised. One destiny fulfilled.” 

He gives Bren a look full of gratitude. He could never have found the bear without them, would never have had the bravery or strength to try. Without them, he would be fending for himself in this world, and he does not imagine that he would be doing a very good job of it. “You will have to let me repay you for your service, when I have the means again. Anything you wish, within reason, all you need to do is ask.” 

[sylvarvenren]

zanmyrdo‌:

There had been a wanted notice posted, looking for guards for this warehouse, when Zan had passed through Dalgren several weeks ago – they’d ignored it at the time, hoping to find better short-term work more in line with their skillsets, but… well, needs must and so they’d returned a few days before to throw their hat in the ring and earn what tal they could. Given the nightshift, they’d reported every evening at sundown to patrol the area, and it had been entirely uneventful so far. Their daggers sat untouched at their waist, their fingers itching for a good fight, or at least a decent conversation, but neither had made its way to them so far. 

Well– not yet.

The sudden moment of disorientation takes them by surprise, like a cloth passing over their eyes until suddenly they are, just slightly, far-away, a dazed kind of distance between them and the world, just for a moment, that they can’t explain. And then there is someone in front of them, someone with a hand on their shoulder to steady them, someone smiling and looking at them from much closer than they’d realized, and they blink, and the haziness seems to pass.

      “Ah–” they start, trying to find the words, but for a moment they find themself stunned again, this time not by whatever strangeness had passed over them, but by the graceful line of the man’s face, the way he looks at them through his long lashes as he looks up. “I, uh.”

They clear their throat, best they can, straightening up, and then nod. “Yes, yes, of course, just. Well, I’m not sure what came over me.” 

He couldn’t help it, the smile that spread across his face, both pleased and amused. He had been worried for a long moment that his spell-work might have been a little heavy handed. Dragging a half-lifeless person around town would have been sure to raise suspicions. 

No, this was much better. 

     “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve heard that its a natural reaction to my presence.” He says, voice still wry with the amusement and endearment that shows on his face. “But one can never be too careful, can they? I believe it must be my duty as a concerned citizen to see you recover fully.” 

He bites, for a moment, at the inside of his cheek. Thoughtful. It would be best to get them as far out of the way as possible, so that even if they snapped out of it, it would be hard for them to raise an alarm. 

      “Tell me, is there somewhere nice around here to get a drink? It might do you some good to sit down and gather your strength again in friendly company.” 

[sylvarvenren]

brenharrowood‌:

The tracks went far, loping in great strides across the frost-covered landscape, and it wasn’t hard to follow them, even in the places where grass gave way to stone and left the footprints faint water-marks drying rapidly in the rising son. They could practically see the bear in their mind’s eye, see the traces of him that lingered, raving towards the mountains. It took an hour, maybe more, to find where the tracks had stopped– they couldn’t tell, lost all sense of time in the focus, lost all sense of everything except the bear ahead of them and Sylvar behind them, following close.

And when the tracks stopped, they stopped at a cave. Wide-mouthed and dark, large enough for  something massive to fit inside. And as they stood at its mouth, they felt a kind of reverence take over: this had to be the place, had to be the home of a great and sacred beast of some kind, and they felt as certain as life itself that it was the bear. 

But they also knew this: if Sylvar was to defeat him, he needed to do it alone. It was an honor to track the bear this far, but they wouldn’t be able to see him, not if Sylvar wanted to get his wish. 

     “He’s inside,” they said, turning to Sylvar finally, after a reverent moment of quiet stillness. “Are you ready?”

Sylvar fixes Bren with a slightly worried look, suddenly half uncertain about this entire course of action. In hind sight, tracking and fighting the Great Bear might have been a bit...rash. But no –– this was his quest, and he means to finish it. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He agrees, with a nod. Steeling himself, he takes his first cautious steps into the cave. 

He cannot be sure exactly how long he spends inside the depths of the cave. It has an ancient feeling to it, and he thinks he feels the same reverence that he saw in the eyes of his companion before he left them. Reverence or not, there was nothing to do but carry on. 

He had no wish to kill a beast, which seemed to work in his favor. He couldn’t, even if that was his intent. He had his knife and the power of a god at his fingertips, this was a hurtle that he could easily navigate his way around. In the end, after long minutes of fighting, he may only be minutes from death before a powerful Suggestion slips from his lips. I don’t want to hurt you, don’t you think you’d rather stop this fighting and give up? 

Perhaps using a charm such as that to end a fight is cheating, but Sylvar would never suggest such a thing. He merely uses all of the skills he has on his side, and in the end leaves the cave with his wish in hand –– a small and delicate ruby stone, a brilliant red that when crushed in the palm of its bearer will bestow one wish. 

He’s no worse for the wear, really, when he walks back out of the cave again. Hair mussed, a scratch on his cheek. In truth, he’s shaken at just having seen the beast, let alone having been pinned by it. But it doesn’t do for a future king to show weakness, so the grin he gives Bren is for the most part steady, tinged slightly with a wry sort of cockiness. “I was under the impression that that was going to be more difficult.” 

[sylvarvenren]

Location: The abandoned suburbs of Dalgren Mission: Distract the Guards. For: @zanmyrdo

There will be time to be nervous about this later, Sylvar thinks to himself, as he carefully observes the guard he will have to deal with. Now isn’t the time for feelings as frivolous as that. Confidence is key when it comes to pulling off a charm like he intends to. The spell-work is easy. Sylvar could charm a brick wall if he had to, but he knows how crucial it is that his spells stick and last in this particular case.  The Gambit is depending on him, and he does so hate to let them down. 

With his target locked in sight, he breathes out hushed incantations, fingers weaving a spell in front of him that settles over them, light as a feather and as warm as sunlight. He has faith that it will stick true, but all things such as this are best approached with a gentle hand and a beguiling smile. 

Sylvar’s steps are calm when he makes his way into the view of the guard, close enough that an un-charmed person would have jumped into action. It’s natural to reach out and press a light hand to a shoulder, to gaze into warm eyes and turn on his own, less magical charms. 

     “You looked dizzy on your feet for a moment there, my friend. Is all well?” 

[sylvarvenren]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Seamlessly, without thought, she slipped her arm through his and allowed him to guide her. Slowly, she admitted “Well, not really. I didn’t focus much on frivolous spells, and I’m honestly quite horrendous at illusions which tend to be the most harmless fun.” It was almost embarrassing to say, to so openly realize that she had an area of magic that she didn’t know well. It went against everything that she had learned, but this was Sylvar and he was not likely to use it against her. “That’s another reason I’d thought I’d ask you. You can dazzle them with your illusions, nothing too scary or dangerous of course.” 

They would need something beyond just some pretty spells and flourishes, something truly impressive. They also needed a good location that would be able to attract the most amount of people. As they walked through the festival, she looked around for a place that would work. “We could get nicer clothing? Something that screams magic.” It had been awhile since she had bought a new set of clothing considering that at the Conservatory her closet was overflowing. As it was, her current set of clothing had been dirtied by her time in the catacombs back and her time on the road.

He fights the urge to playfully roll his eyes. Frivolous spells seemed to be his speciality. Illusions, he could manage that well enough. “I do have the superior creativity required to spin a good tale.” With a rub of his hands together, he muses. “I haven’t had much of a cause to attempt it, but I could try my hand at a smattering of hallucinatory terrain. With that and a major image or two, we could put on quite the show indeed.” 

He could see the cogs of her brain turning, working out details, and from the way her eyes moved around the town, he imagined that she was likely looking for the perfect stage for their act. He let her think, though he did let out a delighted sound at her suggestion. “Oh, now you’ve really got my attention.” Perhaps he was a little too happy at the concept of shopping for the good of the Gambit, new clothes and some fun that could be explained away by their con. “Wasn’t there a stall around here somewhere with some interesting pieces?” 

[sylvarvenren]

brenharrowood‌:

 Fate was not a guide that Bren usually trusted, certainly not for something like this; they preferred the concrete, even if it was just rumors or stories. And yet, it seemed they had little choice, and so the two half-elves make their way through the quiet streets of Farthorpe, deserted now that the sun was up and the festival-goers were resting for the day, preparing for the festivities to come. To the north side of town, and out, into the fields, still covered with just a thin layer of rime: already lucky, as the frost would make footprints obvious, especially ones as large as the Great Bear’s were meant to be.

They scout the area for about a quarter of a mile to the north of town, quiet and focused, eyes sharp and feet silent, not expecting to find much, and yet– tracks, just there, huge ones, and they wouldn’t have thought the Bear would come so close to a populated settlement, but these had to be them. Larger than the tracks of the owlbears rumored to be terrorizing travelers along the road, and distinctly bear-shaped. 

     “Here,” they say, quietly, crouching down to get a closer look, the way the blades of grass, already heavy with rime, have bent and snapped where the paw hit the ground. “This, here, see? What do you think, look like a Great Bear to you?”

Sylvar keeps himself just behind Bren as they walk together, his footsteps falling quietly along the fields. They’re an amazing think to watch when they get like this, when they’re tracking. Sylvar doesn’t want to distract them, doesn’t want to make a noise that might momentarily disturb their hunt. 

When they stop, he follows their lead, crouching down beside them to train his eyes on the tracks. Excitement bubbles inside his stomach, the feeling of being on the edge of accomplishment. Years ago, he would have never even attempted to fight a beast like the Great Bear, but now he knew he had to. They had to do it, and they had to win. 

With a breathless sound, he nods. “Looks like a Great Bear to me.” His eyes flick in the direction that the tracks are heading, trying to shove down the excitement and nervousness. Let him feel when this is done, when they’re achieved their goal. “That way.” And after a moment. “I wonder why its here, where its going.” And another beat. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it? Lead on, my friend.” 

[sylvarvenren]

brenharrowood‌:

It was impossible to be a ranger anywhere on the continent of Haelion and not know the legend of the Great Bear. Hell, even before they’d left Lolander they had heard to the Great Bear, the stories that said whoever bested it would be grated any one wish, whatever their heart desired. Bren had thought about going after the Bear themself, once, but with nothing even approaching a lead as to where one might find the Bear, aside from the vaguest mention in stories that were more legend than fact, and you couldn’t track something with nothing. There were more concrete ways of getting what they wanted than chasing an impossible dream.

And yet– It seemed terribly specific for a festival fortune. To promise someone that they would beat the Great Bear was more than just a vague guess that could be true for anyone given enough time. Sylvar wasn’t exactly the great and noble warrior Bren would have pictured given the phrase whoever can best the beast in battle, but he wasn’t nearly as weak as he made himself out to be, either, not with that goddess’ magic behind him and enough determination to get what he wanted. And if Sylvar was going after it… he was right, he needed them if he wanted to track down any kind of beast, legendary or not.

     “Did he give you anything other than that? Where you might find the Great Bear?” they ask, suddenly serious, a note of disbelief still in their voice but none of the mockery. There was plenty to be told, all the stories they had gathered, but Sylvar could hear all of that as they traveled, headed in whichever direction the Bear was said to be.

Sylvar lets himself smile, pleased with Bren’s newfound attentions. Hearing the mockery drain out of their voice is great, seeing the seriousness in their eyes is a bonus. The fact that they were playing along with this comforted him somewhat –– he didn’t seem the bear besting type, if he stopped to think about it. But they wouldn’t humor him if they thought he was going to get himself killed. 

With Bren, they might really manage it. 

Might. He wouldn’t count his wishes yet. But he couldn’t help feeling hopeful. He could wish for his Kingdom back, wish for anything he desired, and it would be his. In the wrong hands, that could be dangerous, but he vowed to himself that his hands would be the right ones. 

“We should come across tracks north of town, I imagine. Though it wasn’t that specific. It has to be close enough that we can manage it by the end of the solstice.” A thumb running over the line of his jaw, another thoughtful smile in their direction. “Perhaps fate will guide our feet to the beginning of the trail, and you can lead us from there.” 

[sylvarvenren]

brenharrowood‌:

     “Your fortune?” they all but scoff; it’s not that they don’t believe in divination, or anything like that, but the whole fortune teller thing as struck them, since coming to Farthorpe, as more overblown showmanship than anything else. A line wrapped halfway round the festival waiting for this so called fortune teller to tell each and every person something about their future for the year to come? There was no way anyone had the kind of energy it would take to do that much real magic. 

He’s pacing around the place, like a child after too much sugar, practically jumping out of his skin with excitement: whatever his fortune was, real or imagined, it must be good, they think, as they watch him.

     “And what did your fortune tell you? Let me guess: Endless riches? A handsome stranger crossing your path? A difficult choice, coming soon, that will decide the fate of the rest of your life?”

His features school themselves into a pout, more for show than anything else. Granted, he had never expected to take the fortune teller seriously. He’d had his fortune told before, and they had always just told him what he thought they wanted to hear. But this time –– well, he mainly puts stock in it for how unexpected it was. 

     “Don’t be flippant, I already know all of that is on the horizon, so telling me would have been rather a big waste of time.” He tucks his hair behind his cheek as the words come out. At least, he would like to daydream about endless riches and handsome strangers making their way into his life. For the time being, it looked like things were going to stay as dull as they currently were. Unless his fortune did come true. 

     “Bren, what do you know about...” a brief pause, because well, it does sound a little silly now, “...I think he called it the Great Bear? Something along those lines.” He reaches out, putting a hand on their shoulder. “He said that I would best it in battle. And if i’m going to do that, I need your help.” 

[sylvarvenren]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

A full grin broke out of her face, “I thought so.” She let out a half laugh, “No, nothing like that I promise, though that would be amusing to see. I leave that too our more dexterous friends.” She made a follow me gesture, and led him towards the area she saw the kids talking earlier. As they walked she proposed her plan, “I heard two kids discussing a rumor about some great sorcerer coming to the festival, and while I don’t know what they are talking about, I do know you. So, I was thinking that we could make a coin or two and make a couple children’s day by performing a magic trick or too. I mean we certainly have the flair for it.” Even something as simple as cantrips could be deeply amusing and impressive to those uneducated about magic. 

“We could put on a show of sorts. All we’d need is a space to perform and someway to collect money, nothing too complex.” Part of her knew she should feel degraded by using the gifts she had studied and sacrificed herself for to earn a pretty penny, and in a way she was, but money was money and she would do whatever it took to earn it. Once they hit Lodorwind she was sure she would find something that she would want to buy, and things didn’t exactly run cheap. “Your natural showmanship would attract hoards of people.”

Sylvar fixes his friend with a thoughtful gaze, listening quietly as she sets her plan out before him. For a moment he found himself ill at ease with tricking small children into letting go of their coin. They were so innocent, pure at heart and pure of mind, telling excited tales to one another of magic and mystery. But then again, him and Ophelia would never be selling lies. They were grand and talented magicians, after all, blessed with knowledge or blessed by the God’s in one way or another. They would make the children happy, and maybe he could get himself something nice to ease the stress of this new lifestyle. 

He runs at his jaw, a thoughtful gesture, standing up straighter as he offers her his arm once again, a familiar movement now. Better to take a turn around the marketplace while they talk. “Well,” he muses, “You’re right about that. I am quite enthralling. And children most of all should be easy to impress. Some prestidigitation, dancing lights, a minor illusion perhaps.” A beat, “Though you probably know more spells than that that are, how do I put it...” He huffs out a small breath, raising an eyebrow at her, “...child friendly?” 

[sylvarvenren]

brenharrowood‌:

     location: a tent just outside of town      time: towards the end of the first night of the festival           ( @sylvarvenren​ ) 

The tents were cheap to rent for the length of the festival, and plentiful – easier than finding a place to stay in Balgud had been. They’d payed for three, out of the small pool of money the group had made in Balgud, and let the others divide them up however they pleased. Bren didn’t much mind, just grateful that the tents were far enough away from the festivities that they hadn’t had to leave Andesite behind again.

They’re just finished setting their things down inside – with a golem to protect the tents, they aren’t terribly worried about thieves making off with their bedroll or anything like that – when they see Sylvar making his way over, and even from this far away they can see that there is an energy to him that’s been rare, lately, something replacing the exhaustion they’re so used to seeing in him.

     “What, did you find the silver orb?” they ask, as he gets close enough to hear, half teasing him, half mocking the idea of the orb-hunt in itself. “I thought that wasn’t until after the solstice.” 

Sylvar was overwhelmed with some strange combination of excitement and anxiety. It’s been coursing through his veins since he sat down in the fortune tellers tent, and as baffling and confusing as the experience had been, it thrilled him with its implications. You could do a lot of things with a guaranteed wish come true. 

He spots the tents belonging to the Gambit easily, their position marked by Andesite. And who would have thought that Sylvar would be used to the presence of such a large thing. He gives the creature a small bow as he nears it, an excited hello as he rushes past and closer to Bren. They were exactly who he needed. Someone...competent. 

      “It isn’t.” He says, half pouting at their teasing. “Hello to you too, yes, I’m doing very well. No orbs yet, but don’t count me out, and all that.” He begins pacing the small space as he speaks, anticipation giving him new bursts of energy. “I’ve had a very exciting day. I got my fortune told.” 

[sylvarvenren]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

location: Farthorpe time: early-afternoon mission: a test of illusions ( @sylvarvenren )

Balgud was everything she could have hoped for, and much, much more, but there a certain peace found in relaxation periods that she could find in Balgud. It was the first thing akin to a break the Gambit had had in awhile, and yet, she found herself restless. Historically, she was rather atrocious at relaxation, never one to just sit around while there were vital things to be done. Everything was an opportunity and even a festival like this could become advantageous. Small, worthless towns like this were particularly easy to impress with the arcane arts and that could earn her a pretty penny. After hearing two children whispering to each other excitedly about the imminent appearance of some amazing sorcerer or other, her plan was solidified. Regrettably she didn’t have the….showmanship for such a task, but she knew who did. The question was, where was he? 

Ophelia slipped through the crowds, music pleasantly surrounding her as she walked. Merchants called out, trying to entice people into to buy their wares, their voices being barely heard over the mumblings of the crowd. Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to spot the illusive half-elf. Finally, after ten minutes of searching, her eyes caught onto him. With more confident steps, she darting between the two festival goers, quickly making her way over to him. “Sylvar.” Her hand came to rest gently on his shoulder and with smile that hid promises, she questioned,  How would you like to be the center of attention and make some money?” 

Sylvar thinks that Farthorpe is a wonderful place. Not as stunning, perhaps, as Balgud had been. But the atmosphere here reminds him of home, despite being so far removed from it. The people are happy in the solstice season, chatting to each other and to tourists, happily worshipping their gods. He finds some joy in his heart as he wanders through the streets, moving through the crowds of people and stopping to look at the stalls. Jewellery. Perfumes. Ornate masks that make him sigh out with a touch of longing. All things he could have purchased for himself without a second thought, a lifetime ago. Now he had to hold more weight in the worth of a few tal. 

He’s still gazing at the masks when he feels the gentle touch on his shoulder. The sound of her voice is familiar, so he’s already smiling when he turns to lock gazes with her. It becomes slightly baffled and slightly excited in turn as he processes what she’s saying. “You had me at center of attention.” he says, wry and amused, a joke at his own expense. He did so love to be looked at, to be fawned over, to impress people. “Though I reserve the right to laugh in your face if you expect me to get up on a rope or something like that. I don’t have the skill, as graceful as I may seem.” 

[sylvarvenren]

llyrbxnes‌:

Llyr’s heart has hardly settled from the first beast, from his quick-fingered magic. Sylvar’s appreciation rushes past him like a buzzing in his ears and he can do nothing but stare at the monster. He’s expecting it to rise again, to pull itself up and attack again. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t breathe. He only just registers that there’s a roar, though. Another thing readying its attack.

Sylvar makes quick work of it, launching a dagger. But not before the thing gets its acid over his friend’s arm. Llyr turns on the other in a rush, shaking his head at the comment. “I think they’ll crown us gods,” he jokes back. But his heart isn’t in it, clearly, as he reaches for Sylvar’s arm, careful not to touch the substance. “Does it hurt much?” he asks. Which is a stupid question. He can hear the sizzle and pop of the stuff.

“I think it’s time for us to head back,” he says, taking Sylvar’s hand and steering them back toward the Temple. “Perhaps we can add a bit of healing to the payment.”

With a panting breath, Sylvar wrinkles his nose up at the question. Does it hurt much? He wasn’t sure it was the most painful thing he’d ever felt, but it did hurt like a bitch and would only get worse. He gives a nod, contemplating ripping his tunic to wrap it, and then deciding against it. “A bit,” he admits instead. 

A nod, then, letting Llyr take his hand and lead him without much thought. “Yes, yeah.” And a ragged laugh, because he understands that this was a ridiculous way to get injured on their travels. “Remind me to learn some sort of healing spell, the next time we settle down to relax.” He breathes. 

He keeps his steps close to Llyr as they move, letting the other boy take the lead and keeping his own eyes sharp for any more danger. A method, if nothing else, of keeping his mind of the sizzling and burning pain he feels. 

[sylvarvenren]

khxvakri‌:

Khovakri let out a booming laugh that was too loud and out of place for such a quiet, tense place like the catacombs. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect the dead, quite the contrary, but the fact that people were so put off by spirits always surprised him. No wonder he never spoke of what he was. If people reacted so poorly to the dead, those who walked amongst them and cared about their families and loved ones as they did before, how would they react to a spirit that - although benevolent in its nature - could be corrupted and turned to evil when not careful? It was easier to pass as human. “Thank you, Sylvar. Perhaps the spirits might recognize me after this run. Or they’ll want me gone. Either way, I promise to return and bring you something nice,” he chuckled softly as to not loose focus on their task. 

They followed the path down the catacombs, through corridors that seemed like a labyrinth and stretched wide and far. It didn’t take long for Sylvar to stop in his tracks. It was faint, but it they could hear a lament in the distance. A soft, childish voice weep. It wasn’t unheard of that evil spirits chose trickery to lure their victims, but they had to trust their guts. With a life at stake, they would have to risk the chance of a fight. 

This time, Khovakri took the lead, walking slowly with his hand twitching to hold his greataxe. Several minutes went by, the sounds of their breaths, their steps, and the weeping making the whole moment tense but eventually they reached the end of the hall and there, sitting on the dirty ground, was a crying child. “Hello,” he murmured softly to alert her of their arrival but the girl reeled back in fear, eyes wide and crying turning louder. “Hey, don’t be scared. We’re here to help you. My name’s Khovakri and that is my good friend, Sylvar. You’re Mina, right?”

Making such a tall man seem small and not threatening was difficult, specially to a dwarf, but still Khovakri kneeled down next to her and smiled, showing her his empty hands. Finally, she looked up and nodded with tearful eyes. “Your momma sent for you. She’s very worried. How about you sit on my shoulders and we go back home? Or you can ride on my friend’s shoulders, too. Elves have very cool ears. Whatever you want, little one.” That, at least, got the girl to chuckle.  

He won’t deny that he feels some small amount of relief when Khovakri takes the lead. He suspects that the other man is the one with the keener ears and the keener eyes. He keeps quiet, tries to reign in his breathing and stay perfectly calm.

But he’s never liked places like this, nerves creeping in around him like the walls of the catacombs pressing close. If the stakes were lower, he would try and distract himself with the fascinating history of the place, with how hallowed it is to stand among history. But he can’t, all he can focus on is the child.

She looks so small before them, a pitiful and fragile thing that makes Sylvar’s heart ache. It makes him want to swaddle her close and protect her from all harm. He is charmed, perhaps more than she is, by the way Khovakri is behaving with her. Gentle and calm, with a softness almost indescribable. It makes a smile cross Sylvar’s own face.

It is easier for him to make himself seem small, not a threat to a child. He crouches down to her level to smile at her, an attempt to more fully coax her out. “I can make us a light to lead the way back home. Wouldn’t that be nice, my dove?” He says, slow and calm, his fingers working the charm before her and working a golden light into existence. The small gasp the girl lets out is delightful, lets his own little breath of laughter come out. “You stick close to my dear friend here, and we’ll lead you straight back to your mama. You needn’t be scared.” 

Hoping that his own surety will be contagious, he raises back to his full height. With a turn of his head, he’s looking back the way they came, already mentally re-tracing their steps. 

[sylvarvenren]

The kingdom of Kredia, a small but beautiful paradise by the sea, a place weaved by dreamers from golden sunlight. They say that this Kingdom was built by the Goddess Raanee, for her most beloved follower, who as a reward for her dedication and unending service to the Goddess of life and death deserved a throne and a land bathed in beauty and sunlight. To this day she remains their most beloved of God’s, their eternal patron who blesses them in all things. 

Kredia was always a prosperous land, its people hard-working but blessed with bountiful treasures both from the sea and the fertile land that surrounded it. The water on this coast is a gentle thing, deep blue and plentifully populated by bright and colourful wildlife, with crashing waves designed to lull sweet Princes to sleep at night. Life in Kredia can only be described as loud and boisterous. Merchants stalls fill the city streets, its people in their colourful clothing delight in mingling with one another at every chance they get. It is a land of merchants, a land of stories, and a land of friendship.

Kredia was always a prosperous place, but there are whispers in the world that that has changed. They have angered their Gods and they will be punished for their hubris, for a Queen who believed that she could meddle in matters of life and death, for a new King that very well may follow in her footsteps. The fish come in fewer numbers, an unusual amount of rain has put the crops at risk, and a strange aura of gloom has made its way inside the walls of the city and the palace. With a life of uncertainty ahead of them, the people are not as happy as they once were, plagued by a constant fear of becoming a kingdom of the dead. 

aesthetics: the clattering caws of sea birds, the crashing of waves against ornate walls, glittering gowns and twinkling laughter, stone made scorching hot by the sun, hope turned sour in your mouth and the magic of the undead creeping up behind you. (PINTEREST BOARD)

[sylvarvenren]

brenharrowood‌:

They look over at him for a moment, trying to assess if he’s telling the truth or not. Bren had been doing their best to teach Sylvar how to defend himself with a blade since he first joined the Gambit, when he was nowhere near as prepared to handle the rougher parts of the continent as he was now. His technique still hadn’t improved much, but at the very least his attitude had. Whether or not he had the disposition for daggers, he at least had developed the disposition for traveling the way they did.

     “Hopefully you won’t need to use it, then,” they say, and they mean it: Sylvar could hold his own with his magic, most of the time, but exiled or not, he was still a prince, with the kind of air about him that could get him mugged in the streets for tal he may or may not have, in certain places. There was no telling when you’d need to defend yourself, and no shortage of ways to ensure you could do so. They’d hate to see magic fail him and him unable to escape because he was inexperienced with a blade. 

Still, the world was hard for people like them, and a group like the Gambit only did so much to protect them from it. 

     “And when you do, your drive to live will take over.”

He fixes Bren with a soft smile, trying as he so often does not to seem morose about the entire situation. But still, he is plagued by dreams, and aware of his own shortcomings in ways he has never had to be before. Someday, if he wants to reclaim his Kingdom, he may have to spill the blood of a brother he never knew to hate until recently. He hopes that what Bren says is true, that his strength will come to him when he needs it the most. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” He says to them, and with a slightly cheeky expression. “Regardless, I should listen to all of your advice, oh wise and powerful one.” 

His eyes flick down to the fire, then, his bone tiredness settling in. “Either that or leave you to your peace and quiet.” 

[sylvarvenren]

llyrbxnes‌:

“Very boring,” Llyr corrected, smiling. “I like the idea of not dying in any manner. At least not for quite some time.” Adventure and exploration, yes. Monsters and death-defying feats? Not so much. Not for Llyr. He watched carefully as his friend strained forward, reaching for the plant. As Sylvar emerged from the crevice, Llyr straightened to give him room. “Very well done!” he congratulated.

But there was something on his companion’s face that was close to pure terror. Just then, Llyr could hear it as well. At Sylvar’s comment, he turned and found the monster there. Something scaly and armored, with claw-like arms and pincer-like teeth. They appeared both sharp and strong.  “Faxaet,” he blurted, swearing in his native tongue. “Stand back.”

Without much thought, Llyr summoned up one of his spells – well-worn and effective. He cast his hands out and muttered the incantation. Not a moment later, an ear-splitting noise ripple forward. It barely lasted a second for Llyr and Sylvar, but the full intensity of the Shatter hit the imposing creature head-on.

Theres a shame that rises up in him at the way he slightly freezes. He stands back quickly once its commanded of him, watches with a breath frozen in his throat as Llyr unleashes his magic. A powerful spell, impressive when Sylvar stops to think about it. He wishes he could think so fast. His hand flies to one of his daggers while his mind scrambles for an offensive spell of his own, and yet it seems he doesn’t need one right now. 

Llyr is an impressive man, when you see him in action, something Sylvar hasn’t contemplated fully until now. “A good shot.” he breathes out, eyes carefully glued to the seemingly lifeless body before them. “Really, quite a very good shot.”  

With another sigh of relief, he turns back. Once again, he has something to say, an urging wish that they should carry on and get this over with as soon as possible. Another beast, however, looks back at him from its perch on the rock. Smaller than the last, and Sylvar really hopes it isn’t some kind of child. Once again, he isn’t proud of the way he jumps. But at least this time, he doesn’t quite freeze up. Somehow, Bren’s instructions are in his head, and because his dagger is already in hand, he throws it quickly in a moment of panic. Perhaps a moment too late, it lands true just as the creature spits some kind of acid at him. 

It’s pure luck that the hit was good, and even luckier still that the acidic substance only hits his arm and not the rest of his body. It hurts more than anything, but its something he can ignore for the time being. He takes a moment to breathe as he watches the small creature fall, almost sad that he’s had to kill it. “Perhaps our friends will be proud of us after all.” 

[sylvarvenren]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

With almost a wistful tone, she readily agreed, “I would have been magnificent.” She looked over at him and gave him a delighted smile, something rarely seen on her face. With a light laugh, she ruefully admitted, “I was a monster in my youth, all unrefined ambition and teeth. We would have been disastrous together, if you were anything like what I imagine the twenty year old you would be. So yes, it would have been entertaining for us, though perhaps not for the nobles around us.” In another life perhaps. Still though, the thought made her warm on the inside. 

With another laugh she teasingly countered, “Oh, I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed, it must be a rather recent development.” It wasn’t hard to see what he meant though, despite her playful jab. Even without magic Sylvar had a certain magnetic quality to his personality that not even Ophelia, marble and steel Ophelia, could quite resist. It was the type of natural charm that a person was either born with or without, something that drew people in despite their best efforts, so unlike her own. Hers was a learned thing, another subject she had studied, practiced, and eventually grew into. If she was ten, or maybe even just five, years younger, she would have killed to have that sort of ability; now though, her confidence had on compounded on itself, making her deeply confident in herself and her abilities to the point where envy was a rarity. 

A kind offer, one she may very well take up in the future, but first thing was first, “Are you suggesting we commit a crime? As the future First Enchanter of Lodorwind I could never condone such illegal acts.” Her face and tone didn’t betray the fact that she was simply being sarcastic, but anybody who knew her knew that she believed laws were….flexible, fallible, and malleable, made by imperfect humans. “A shame our visit is so short, how I would have loved to stay long enough to work my way into a dinner party or something. I’ve desperately missed five course meals.”

Her eyes flickered towards him, taking in his excited reaction. Who would have thought that she’d find a kindred spirit in an charming exiled prince, a fact that just made her heart brighter. An excitement for knowledge was something she desperately missed since leaving the academy as so few of the Gambit actually enjoyed talking about archaic dining practices and ancient architecture. Calling her my lady was the quickest way to her heart, and she gladly responded, “As you wish my prince.” Without slowing her pace, she closed her eyes briefly, trying to revisualize the map she had seen. “Just follow me.” Assuredly, she walked through the maze of streets, towards their destination. “It does.” Explaining things to those who were genuinely curious brought her a level of familiarity and comfort she had not experienced in quite some time, “It was originally built nearly six-hundred years ago, but around a hundred years ago a new facade was rebuilt over it to ‘update’ the building and likely to rebrand it after some …unpleasant events shall we say. A shame if you ask me, but I assume it much looks much more aesthetically pleasing now. ”

He found something like glee sparking in his heart at the idea of Ophelia in her youth. A monster and a terror, with ferocity and sharp edges. She had, somewhere along the way, forged herself into a refined and beautiful lady. But Sylvar would have liked to know here then, when he himself was wilder and had no god to dictate his actions. They would have grabbed the attention in every room, they would have made those around them rue their friendship. 

He held back a snort at her objection. He didn’t truly believe that she would be wholeheartedly against it. Perhaps he should, but he couldn’t believe that someone with her spirit would follow every rule laid out before her. “Ah, my mistake then, my lady. I shall put the thought behind me.” He said, sincerity in his own voice, though he did chance a wink in her direction. A cheeky thing, something lighthearted and whimsical before he gazed away, the picture of grace and refinery. 

A soft sigh then, full of longing. “Oh, how I miss dinner parties.” A lifetime ago, he would have whined for one. Something lavish and beautiful, heavy food to gorge himself on, beautiful people in stunning clothes, spoiling themselves. “I don’t suppose we’d be lucky enough to wander our way into a dwarves feast of some kind? I bet they have delicious food, when you mingle with the higher classes.”

Sylvar felt awe then as she went on, discussing the building they headed to. He supposed it would look stunning, but part of him was sad to have missed the way it was before. Such a long life he had before him, and yet it seemed that all the best things had passed him by. “No, I agree with you.” A soft sigh, once again. “It seems that when something is so old, so full of history, so unique, that you should leave it untouched? If only we could travel back there and see it in its original form.”