#background rp

[the-enchanted-mistakes]

"Stuff I've done."

Donny- @askendborntraveler

Fish-boy- @chimerical-waters

Grace- @pixelizedgrace

Asher- @ask-seawolf

Vulcan- @ask-vulcan-and-toby

[menrva-wright]

She had arrived (pans a-flying)

“MENRVA PEITHARKHIA WRIGHT!” The screech was louder than a dragon roaring, capable of piercing the veil to the shadowlands itself, and absolutely belonged to Vera’s mother.

Vera snapped her head up from her book, her papers splayed around her on her desk. She fumbled to shove them all together - bits of research on the Light, Void, and emotional responses to both of them - and into her bookshelf, in an attempt to keep them out of her mother’s sight.

Besides who else would use her horrendous middle name except her mother? Vera often liked to pretend that it didn’t exist. The monk could hear the furious stomping up the path, and she shot a look towards her tiny kitchen in the other corner of her one room house. She was tempted to recite a prayer over it - it was doomed, now. Vera hastily began grabbing her paints and inks, dropping them into a chest. Best to get them out of the way before they were destroyed in the crossfire. 

Just as she finished closing the lid - having tossed the magically sealed jar of Sha-ling in there for good measure, ignoring the curses tossed at her in Shath-yar - Vera’s door slammed open with resounding force. For a second, Vera fancied it had shaken her entire house. 

The monk slowly turned on her heels, forcing a wide smile onto her face. “And a  wonderful evening to you as well, mother!”

Agnes Wright was a good two inches shorter than the already rather short Menrva. She was built exactly like her daughter, though slimmer for the lack of muscle. Her blonde hair had begun to turn grey, and wrinkles had begun to appear, though somehow it only made her look more elegant. She was also absolutely, positively furious. She swept into the house, robes swooshing behind her. 

“How dare you - my own daughter! First you leave the Church, join some sort of cult that rambles on about punching people, as if that’s any proper sort of combat, drown yourself in Void and change your HAIR - how COULD you! - and  then you don’t write, and when you finally come home, not only do you NOT come visit me, you start a PARISH about saving HERETICS with some hopped up, washed out SNIPER and a void-worshiping, alcoholic, elven BISHOP!?”

Agnes had stepped into the kitchen as she spoke, ripping open the cupboard and flinging a cups, plates, and pans in Vera’s direction, which Vera ducked, dodged, and weaved to avoid. They shattered on her wall and many broke to glass shards on the floor, which Vera stepped carefully around. As her mother took in a deep breath - no doubt to continue her tirade, Vera straightened, her lips curled back, revealing her teeth in a snarl.

“Do not insult either of them ever again - do you understand me? They are both  good men, intelligent and dedicated to a excellent cause, and I will not tolerate you slandering them in my home!”

Agnes hefted a pan, flinging it in Vera’s direction. Vera dodged to the slide, her feet sliding along her wooden floorboards, kicking some of the shards out of the way.

“A good CAUSE!? Saving heretics is a good CAUSE!?”

Vera’s lip curled. “Why mother, don’t make it seem that people you deem so beneath you are better are forgiveness than you are. After all, aren’t you a priestess? Unless you want to claim the Light doesn’t forgive at all, at which point I will happily agree.”

Agnes face - already red - morphed into purple. She mouthed silently, before hefting Vera’s baking bowl at her head. The monk snatched out her hand, catching it mid air as it flew over her shoulder, and placing it neatly on the table. That would have been too difficult to replace.

This, apparently, was the wrong move, as her mother stormed over to Vera’s book shelf, ripping out one of the sketchbooks from the wall. Vera took a step forward, hand out. “Don’t touch those-”

It fell open in her mother’s hand, just as she hefted it to toss it in Vera’s direction. Agnes snapped her gaze downwards to the picture, and her mother’s eyes widened. Vera glanced down.

Of all the picture to have opened itself on, it was one of Ler himself, attempting to wrest a slice of lemon bread away from the voidling in his shoulder armor. She’d drawn it just last night.

Vera cringed, fingers curling, as her mother began frantically flipping through the notebook pages. The overwhelming majority of her recent sketches were of The Atoned - more than a few of Ler himself, a few dedicated to Gaz as she attempted to figure out his damn eye, and one or two of the newcomers that she’d done light pencil drawings of.

Agnes made a strangled noise, like someone had shoved a complete horse down her throat. “You’ve DRAWN THEM!”

“They’re my friends, of course I’ve drawn them!”

Agnes flung the notebook, which Vera dove to grab, snatching it from the air and stumbling as she did so. Agnes began waving her hands around. “How COULD YOU. You only ever draw about people when -” Agnes gasped, as if a thought had occurred to her. “Are you in bed with them? Is that why you got pulled into this nonsense!?” Her mother was hyperventilating now. 

Vera stared at her mother, mouthing dropping open. That was the conclusion her mother came to?

Unfortunately, Agnes seemed to take Vera’s stunned silence as agreement, because her eyes bugged out. “Oh by the LIGHT you are! Oh, my very own daughter - you’ve become a -” Agnes flung her hand outward, gripping a table to steady herself. “I can’t even say it! My heart!”

“Are...are you serious right now?” Vera finally managed to splutter. 

Agnes tossed her a look of utter venom. “You kissed that piss-poor excuse for a Bishop last night - don’t deny it! I’ve had people keeping an eye on you! I didn’t think it could possibly be true - not my daughter, I told him! But then you’ve gone and-” Agnes trailed off into a wail.

Vera turned bright red, grinding her teeth. “First of all, I told you to never insult Ler or Gaz - do it again and I’ll toss you out of my house. Secondly, what I do with my personal life is none of your damn business, thank you very much.”

Agnes squawked. “So you ARE in bed with them!”

Vera threw up her hands. “I can’t believe you’re serious.” She shook her head, voice turning sarcastic as she snapped, “Yes - we have an every other week arrangement and swap on Tuesdays.”

Agnes’s eyes grew wider than saucers. She squeaked, trembled, and her eyes promptly rolled into the back of her head, thunking to the floor.

Vera rubbed her eyes against her palms, wearily walking over, hefting her mother up, and dropping the priestess on her bed. Hopefully when she woke up, she’d be calmer.

[menrva-wright]

Ghost prophecies (of which are nonsense)

Vera woke to the void-ghost of her dead twin sister sitting on her chest. She scrambled to sit upwards from the shock of it, slamming hear head directly into her wooden headboard.

“FUCK!” Vera howled, hands clasped behind her head, hunched, glowering at the wraith, a pale approximation of what her twin had been. The Void-created lie smiled gently, sweetly, soft lips turned upwards, green eyes glittering. Finally, it spoke.

“They will tear out your heart at Ny’alotha.” Her voice was a whisper, a scream, a shudder down Vera’s spine.

The monk just stared. “...You have shit timing, Hina.”

It didn’t stop smiling. Vera rubbed the back of her head and stumbled out of bed into her tiny, one room house. She dragged her feet along the floorboards, stumbling to her chest of clothing, reaching in to grab one of her favorite purple shirts. 

“It’s far too early in the morning for this nonsense.” Vera muttered, turning around and nearly jumping out of her skin again. Ghost-Hina was not an inch away, their noses nearly touching, her faded out green eyes peering deeply into the violet of Vera’s own.

“Your blood will run down the altars of the Sleeping City.” Hina’s voice had turned airy, as if she were merely discussing the weather.

Vera dragged both hands down her face, rubbing her eyes. “Right, fine, since you’re clearly dedicated to your ‘lets be creepy’ morning routine, how about some tea and cookies?” 

The Void-wraith giggled. “Your work will mean nothing in the eternal war.”

Vera grit her teeth, walking straight through the wraith, refusing to acknowledge the shudder that seized up her muscles. She wanted tea. Right now. She fumbled over, grabbing her new teakettle and some water, before lighting up the stove. “Are you just going to keep giving me one sentence nonsense prophecies or say something useful?”

“You are delusional-”

Vera cut her off this time. “Clearly, because otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” She slammed the teakettle onto the stove with perhaps more force than necessary. 

There was a brief silence.

“He will drive the Blade through your ribs.”

Vera reached over, grabbing a bright purple teacup. “Oh, excellent, we’ve moved on from creepy to bullshit.” She snapped, fumbling around for the little tea packets in another chest. She glanced over her shoulder at the Void-ghost, it’s hands clasped. “Are you done?”

The wraith simply smiled wide, before fading away from Vera’s sight. Vera let out a long, sputtering sigh, before snorting. Well, she had to admit - talking back was far more satisfying than simply ignoring it. Perhaps she’d just use Ler’s method from now on.

Vera glanced over at the jars that sat on her study table, the skin, bone, and muscle of the Old God herald unmoved from where she’d put them last night. Void-Hina didn’t usually do things like this, and Vera wondered briefly if the essence of the Herald could influence her, even in such small amounts. 

Probably. The answer was ‘probably’. Vera groaned, pouring out the hot water into the teacup, dropping the packet into it. She waited for her tea to steep, continuing to eye the jars. She should probably test for resistances last - on the off chance she did manage to destroy or harm the specimens, she wouldn’t be able to do anymore testing. What would she want to see first?

Vera drummed her fingers on the counter next to her tea. Perhaps how long it took for corruption to set in to the surrounding area, from burial to turning the water and ground into voidlings. She’d have to cut the samples into parts for that - it was quite possible it would take longer than Vera was alive. Somehow, she didn’t think that, but always good to plan for possibilities. She’d talk to Ler about it. It’d probably have to wait, though - they needed to study Light radiance due to having Simon’s necklace. The poor man wanted that back, and soon.

The monk sighed, taking the teacup and sipping from it deeply. Vera’s mouth lilted into a crooked grin as she recalled the eventual discussion her and Ler had last evening. He’d pulled her aside, concerned, and it had eventually become a discussion about the wraiths that haunted them both. It was nice to be able to tell someone things and not be looked at as if she were going insane, though it pained her to know, in turn, that Ler suffered from the same agony.

She smirked into her teacup, remembering the look on his face and his prompt falling into shadow when she’d kissed him on the nose, and informed him that when he was ready, she’d stay. 

A smack against the glass of the Jar forced Vera to flick her eyes towards Gloop, her pet Sha-ling. He yammered something at her in Shath’yar, too fast for her to catch, but no doubt rather insulting. Vera rolled her eyes, putting her teacup down.

“Shush you, before I toss you at the door.”

More indignant yammering, and Vera shook her head, laughing. It was time to get ready. There was work to be done. 

[epicofasaga-blog-blog]

You finally had a chance to get out of this damn town. It had brought you nothing but trouble for your whole stay. You even had the corpse of Lanwit to attest to the danger of this cursed cesspool of a town. The sooner you could get out, the better. Your companions had decided to return to Lepidstadt with the Seasage Effigy you had finally recovered and, while there, hopefully bring back your deceased friend. That was going to cost a hefty amount, but Flynn and Omari insisted it was the least the could do. You suspected Flynn felt guilty since he accidentally landed the final blow when Lanwit broke under the stresses of your excursions.

You were in your room in the inn, making a vain effort to clean the gore and filth from your gear and body. Going under the bay had been rougher than you would have liked, but at least you came out alive. A quick, loud knock came from your door. Opening the door found the same messenger from the previous day. "Sir. Another letter for you."

He held out another envelop for you with the family crest of Ariesir proudly displayed. Duristan had told the truth about this courier. He was quick. You easily broke the seal and read the page within.

Vermont,

  I am glad to hear you gave that paladin the trouble he deserved for trying to kill me. The servants of the gods have always struck me as surprisingly bloodthirsty for how much the claim to have righteousness on their side, particularly in this country. I am surprised he let a single werewolf escape Feldgrau that day. For what its worth, though, I have recovered quite well. Nothing but scars remain now, though I suspect I will carry them the rest of my life.

  I certainly don't blame you for ridding me of my lycanthropy. You had no choice in the matter if I was to live. I certainly wish I could have remained that way. Such beastly power was invigorating, to say the least. I had hoped to reclaim that power after my escape, and even found a new werewolf willing to bless me with his might, but it would seem that my body has developed some kind of tolerance for it. I was unable to make the change.

  It is a shame to hear that Illmarsh is as bad as it sounded. Caliphas has been surprisingly kind to me so far. I used the coins you sent me to send for part of my family's wealth to make my stay more pleasant. I have included a token of my appreciation for your help. Its a magic cloth that most of my family carries. It will clean anything you need perfectly, and never soils itself. I hope it will make traveling more comfortable for you. 

   As for the new pursuits, I recently married a young woman here, and she has a few ideas how I may get back some of my glory as a lyncathrope or, if that is not possible, perhaps find some other ways to unlock new abilities for ourselves. Silke tells me you may be able to help us some with your experience in the arcane arts, particularly in your summoning arts. If you were interested in helping us, we would be willing to help find a way to perhaps enhance your abilities as well. If not, I would still be happy to introduce you to her should you be coming through Caliphas anytime soon.

      -Duristan Silvio Ariesir

-------------------

As for the cloth, here it is

Item:Cleaning cloth

Market Value:7000g

Caster Level:1

Aura:faint illusion

Description:The cleaning cloth is a square foot of fine white silk. If the owner wishes, it can generate a simple design, usually initials of the owner or a family crest so that it may be identified easily. When rubbed on any surface, either living or nonliving, the cloth cleans the surface as perfectly as though it were thoroughly cleaned and sanitized through normal means though the cloth itself does not retain any of the filth it removes. If it is used to clean a magic item, it hides the magical aura of the item for 1 day as though a magic auraspell were cast upon it. The cleaning cloth may be used as often as the owner wishes, though it cannot be used to purify food or drink, but it can hide the aura of a potion or similar magic item by cleaning the container of the item. The cleaning cloth will not remove any intentional writing on normal writing surfaces, such as paper, but it does not necessarily make the writing readable should it be obscured through damage to the paper rather than filth on top of it.

[epicofasaga-blog-blog]

Vermont regarded the letter with surprise, pursing his lips as he read it. Duristan. How could he forget? Duristan had only been the most interesting individual they had come across on this gods-forsaken journey. He reached into his bag and withdrew the paper on which to pen his reply.

Duristan,

Imagine my surprise, hearing from you. I suppose that I shouldn't be half as shocked as I am, being that it was indeed I who spared my companions from murdering you in cold blood. For a group of light-sucking mollycoddlers, they can certainly be vicious; it is characteristic, however, for such people to be completely and utterly incompetent both physically and mentally. I have never in my life travelled with a more idiotic group of misfits.

Our scuffle indeed left me with no ill will towards you; how could I possibly think any less of such a man? I only regret that it came to blows, and I was so concerned with your welfare that I made sure to make the paladin's life a miserable level of hell for no less than a week. Mind, I would have done as much anyway, but I took it to greater lengths than normal on your behalf. How are you? Have your wounds healed? Most importantly, have you forgiven me for suggesting the cure to your lycanthropy?

I would not have done it; you were very clearly happy in your new state, and I was thusly happy for you. Unfortunately, there was no other way the paladin would have let you leave alive. I must confess, there are some days when I should like to cure him of everything that's wrong with him--his mere existence, for one. Perhaps I shall take care of that in time.

Illmarsh is dreadful, and I do not suggest you ever make a trip here. It stinks of fish and inbreeding; I am most certain that every person who makes his home here is his own cousin thrice over. It would not be to your refined taste. It is not to mine, either. I cannot wait to get out of this place and scrub my skin raw. I think Ophelia likes it, though. I envy your stay in Caliphas and have half a mind to ditch my party and come to meet you now. I have enclosed a small pouch of gold, should you need it to fund your comforts.

What sort of prospects have you found for us to pursue? I am eager to find something interesting to occupy myself with.

--Vermont Stormlock

P.S. The ladies are always happy to lend a helping hand.

Vermont folded his letter and lit a candle from one of the lanterns nearby, dripping wax onto the fold and pressing his family seal into it. This was more like it--he was a rich man from a rich family; he ought to have been rubbing elbows with the nobles.

Even if they were a bit mad.

He pressed the letter into the courier's hands. "Make it quick."

[epicofasaga-blog-blog]

It was a cold night in Illmarsh. You sat outside the inn with Leena and Ophelia in a vain attempt to get away from Flynn and Lanwit. They were both tense from the impending descent into the bay in the morning and had taken to arguing once more. Flynn was enough trouble with his "oaths" and pretenses of Justice before the pale detective started at him. Omari had retired to his room early. The quiet musketeer never really made much small talk, but he seemed a likeable fellow. You found yourself wishing for his company more than once over the course of the day just to have someone different to talk to. Ophelia hadn't had much new to say since you first learned to pull her from the nether that she was made of. Leena was cunning at times, and a surprising conversationalist, but you spoke to her every day at great length. The one thing this town hadn't brought with it, unlike many of the other places you had been, was someone interesting to meet.

A roll of thunder broke the silence of the now sleeping fishing village. You looked up to the sound to see a young man carrying a lantern. He was moving towards the inn purposely and by the look of him was as out of place as you were. Upon reaching you, you called out in a rough voice "I'm looking for a man named Vermont. You wouldn't happen to know where I would find him, would you?"

Ah, and here was something interesting at last. "I am Vermont. What can I do for you?" You stood and gave him your classic smile and offered a hand to shake.

The man reached into his satchel and produced a letter before placing it in your outstretched hand. "This is for you. I was told to wait no later than dawn for a reply, though if its all the same to you, Id like to get headed back as soon as I can. Treacherous out here, and my ride back won't wait that long."

You took the letter and saw that on the front was just a single word: your name, "Vermont". The envelope was sealed with wax. Imprinted was the seal of the noble house of Ariesir of Ardeal. This was certainly a surprise.

"Give me a moment to read it. I should be able to get you a reply soon enough I would think." You carefully broke the seal and removed the parchment inside. The letter was penned in a impatient hand and occasional small splotches of ink dotted the paper.

Vermont,

   How are you my friend? I hope you made it out of Feldgrau without too much trouble. I know how treacherous that area can be. After all, I had to get out too, and I hardly had the experience or equipment you did. I hope our little scuffle there hasn't left any ill will between us. It was nothing personal. I just wish your compatriots hadn't left me in such a state as they did. I get the feeling I have you to thank for them leaving me alive, though. I did not expect to live to see another day.

   I heard you were headed to Illmarsh after you left Feldgrau. Seems like a strange place to go. Just a little fishing village as far as I have heard. Nothing to attract a fine adventurer such as yourself. I hope that whatever troubles you find yourself in there we can someday share over a hot meal. I am in Caliphas myself, as I feel I am sorely in need of a clean set of clothes and some well cooked food.

   I hired the fastest messenger I could to bring you this message. Please, take advantage to reply. I have some new prospects I would like to discuss with you, but I want to make sure there is no bad blood between us. You always seemed a friendly type, and I think we could do a great deal for each other.

        -Duristan Silvio Ariesir