Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor
Rating: K+
Originally Written: 16 July 2020
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
The forest’s morning silence was shattered by the sound of stone being rent apart. Almost comically, Kireía stumbled back, flapping her bare arms to regain her balance before falling on her backside with a startlingly loud CAW.
Evren gasped, arching herself forwards and shaking away the pieces of stone, coughing as she tried to catch her breath, before looking back at Kireía.
“What happen?” Kireía demanded, getting to her feet as she brushed stone dust from her tunic, “It was dark, then bright light, now…” she glanced up at the sky, “Morning.”
“I don’t know,” Evren looked down at herself to see a garland of flowers, all pinks and blues and purples. “Did we sleep?”
“No, I sleep laying,” Kireía made a sweeping gesture, to clarify her statement of sleeping laying down. “Cannot sleep on feet.”
“Well, time’s clearly passed,” Evren pointed to the nearby trees, “They’re all bigger than five minutes ago. Older.”
Kireía looked around, recognising the effects of Time Magics. She had fallen victim to such a thing once before, and chirruped with concern. “Time has passed, but not for us.”
She crossed to one of the trees, inspecting it as she ran her hands over the bark. For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling that innate connection to Nature she possessed. After a few moments, she opened her eyes, stepping back.
“Tree is impossible old,” she stated, “Yet, too young to remember us.”
“How old?” Evren asked, joining her friend by the trunk. Kireía was staring at the roots, but looked up at Evren, concern etched across the human parts of her face.
“It has shed leaves over three hundred times,” she stated. Evren stared at her.
“Three hundred years? But we can’t have been asleep that long!”
“No, Evren,” Kireía turned to her, “Tree memory is passed from mother to child. This tree is three hundred – but its line is ten time that. And none of them remember us.”
Evren took a moment to realise what Kireía was trying to say. Three hundred ten times was…
“Three thousand?” She asked, incredulous. Kireía shook her head.
“More,” she stated simply, before noticing the flowers around Evren’s neck. “Why flower?”
Evren looked down, plucking at one of the leaves on the garland. “Oh, I don’t know. They’re quite nice looking though! It’s a bit of a shame yours look plainer.”
Kireía looked down to realise she, too, wore a garland – black, white, silver-grey, and purple flowers decorated hers, though. Despite Evren’s comment, she thought the colours looked striking all together.
“I keep it,” Kireía nodded to herself, before looking at the spot where they had stood. “Wait – someone give us fire?”
She moved over to the edge of the small winter fire pit. It had been cleared of ashes and filled instead with water, which upon inspection, Kireía discovered was rosewater. Other objects littered the ground around where they had stood, almost like offerings of a sort. Kireía looked at Evren.
“Wait, it’s like an alter, to the false gods, don’t you think?” Evren stated, “Does someone think we’re gods?”
“Gods not real,” Kireía shrugged. “Waste of time.”
“But people choose to believe in ‘em,” Evren replied, “Real or not, they’ll always find something to believe in.”
“We should find other Darken,” Kireía suggested, “Where was Town?”
“This way,” Evren stated, nodding her head in the direction from which they had come. “They shouldn’t have missed us yet. It’s only been a few hours.”
Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor
Rating: K+
Originally Written: 15 July 2020
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
An age passed, then another. As the small town of Mill expanded, cutting away the forest to create the needed space for more buildings, the memory of the freezing rains faded beyond legend, beyond myth, into nothing more than a fairy-tale, a tale told to youngsters that was forgotten by most as they aged.
Until one day, an herbalist stumbled across the statues.
She brushed aside the ivy covering the stonework, marvelling at the intricate detail of the two creatures. Whoever had carved it had a fanciful idea of combining humans with animals – the taller of the two bore the beak, feathers, and talons of a bird, carrying a bow in one hand and a quiver slung over her back. The shorter, more slender had fur, claws, teeth, and the ears of a cat, with a sword sheathed in her belt.
She carried the news back to the town, and more and more people ventured into the forest to stare at the two. They stood together in solidarity, staring at something high above as they seemed to hold each other. How ironic, the locals thought, that the sculptor might choose a bird and a cat to stand shoulder-to-shoulder against whatever event had so entranced them.
Of course, the people of Mill were a rather simple group, so it didn’t take long for a more creative mind to suggest they were sisters, standing together against a foe they could not defeat, yet refusing to back down in the face of such threat. Over time, stories were passed to neighbours, shared drunkenly by writers on their mead, and eventually forming into one, cohesive story that painted the pair as greater beings – not quite goddesses, but not entirely mortal, representative of the duality of nature – at odds with itself, but united against threat.
As one age slid into the next, people began to worship the pair, leaving offerings of flower wreaths and garlands, food that might appease the pair. If a hunter wished for bountiful ventures, it became custom to lay their first kill at the feet of the Sisters, while a mother awaiting a newborn might weave a flowery garland for both to receive their blessing for a safe birth. In the months approaching winter, a fire was lit before the pair and kept stoked, while warm clothing might be draped around the two, asking them to keep the freezing cold at bay for the most of the winters.
Of course, with Mill being such a secluded town, these customs were mainly only local, rarely spreading beyond the edge of the forest Mill was located within. But over time, the legends of the two stuck, with some storytellers even daring to describe exploits of the Sisters in great detail. Naturally, these stories were relegated to the same category as the legends of Domina and Tumpkee, Ravengard and the Jinn; revered, beloved, but not necessarily true.
Of course, when the cracks began to appear in the stonework, Mill became afraid. Had they angered the Sisters? Had they turned their benevolence to a town in more need? Would the statues fall apart, to return in another location? Rumours began to circulate, none of them based in fact – for, if anyone had dared to probe any of the many crevices appearing around the joints of the girls, they would have found that something lay beneath the stonework…
Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor
Rating: K+
Originally Written: 15 July 2020
A/N: Oh boy, it’s been a while. Update post soon to follow, but for now these are the posts I wrote with my friend Tarin, who plays Evren. LARP is back now and there’s been some changes to Kireia’s kit, so hopefully photos will follow.
Also, I’m not sure if it was mentioned before, but the old house of Ismara joined with the house Rammikade, and the two became Darken. Technically it’s still the same mob and all, just... different leadership. Anyways, enjoy!
They were considered by their allies and friends to be an odd pairing, but the cat and the crow had formed a close friendship since choosing to venture from their island home of Ismara.
Kireía was a Rachdhan, one of the Birdfolk of the island’s native Ainmhí, and a mischievous, rebellious adolescent of her people. Evren was a Fiachat, a catfolk of the Ainmhí with a mischievous streak so wide that she would have made Tumpkee proud. Despite the more basic corresponding animals being constantly at odds, however, Kireía and Evren had forged a strong friendship that would prove to last against even Time itself.
As was their way, the pair split away from the rest of the Darken group one evening, preferring to hunt their meal rather than accept the prepared food offered at a small inn. The pair had been raised on wild meat, and the overly-spiced, often well-cooked portions of meat were sometimes a little too much for their simpler tastes. Not to mention the social expectations to dine with cutlery and carry oneself with a degree of decorum at a dinner table – this, for the pair of Ainmhí, was even worse than the food itself.
Kireía, as usual, had found a perch in a tree, an arrow nocked to her bowstring as she tracked the movements of a small rabbit. While the more bird-like instincts in her demanded she throw herself upon the prey, her form was more similar in shape to the less-stealthy humans, making hunting difficult enough.
While Kireía tracked her rabbit, Evren was stalking her own prey – a small fox that had paused by the creek for a drink. Unlike Kireía, Evren had been gifted with a cat’s stealth despite her more humanoid appearance, so approaching prey on foot was far easier.
She hadn’t made any sound, and the wind was still blowing her scent away from the prey – yet, the small creature froze, raising its head in alarm as it first listened, then sniffed at the air tentatively, before leaping over the creek and racing into the forestry on the other side. Evren began to give chase, before stopping dead at the river’s edge and hissing in frustration. She hadn’t made a single sound, so what idiotic beast had disturbed her hunt?
Kireía had drawn her bow, still tracking the rabbit’s movements, but the creature immediately turned around, darting away. Kireía huffed in irritation as she relaxed her draw and lowered the bow, scowling as she looked around. Something had made that rabbit flee, and that “something” was going to be very sorry for the blunder.
As she glared into the forest, searching for signs of movement, she began to feel it. Something was wrong – something was very wrong.
“Eirbhach? What is?” She said aloud, using her innate ability to speak with Nature to try and understand what Nature had witnessed for her. However, where Nature had responded in the past, this time it did not.
There was no shake of an errant branch, no rustle of leaves or creaking of trees, not even the echo of wind – the forest had fallen silent.
The unease Kireía felt only seemed to grow within her, and she slipped from her precarious perch to the ground below, landing in a light crouch. Evren was also Sensitive; she could confirm Kireía’s feelings if they were true.
“Did you scare away my prey?” Evren demanded, crashing through the undergrowth as the two women neared each other. Kireía, still frowning, shook her head.
“No – I have prey of own, but it run away.”
“Run away? Sounds like someone’s playing silly buggers with us!” Evren snapped, whirling around and glaring into the encroaching darkness. “Hey, you think it’s fun to scare off someone’s dinner, why don’t you come share your own!”
“Evren,” Kireía clipped her gently, “You feel it?”
“Feel what?” Evren turned back to Kireía, who held up her taloned hand to see it shaking. Her hands NEVER shook.
“Something…” Kireía turned, looking around the area, expecting the threat. “Something VERY bad happen.”
Evren paused, reading her own feelings as the crow-girl’s words sunk in. Yes, she felt it too – a strange, gut-wrenching feeling of distances growing, as if existence itself was falling apart at the seams. Instinctively, she hissed at this unseen threat, her fur standing on end as her spine arched into a defensive stance.
“Nature is silent,” Kireía said ominously, “It is never silent. Something VERY wrong is happen.”
“Turach bheir niouradh,” Kireía hissed, translating as she remembered Evren didn’t speak her tribal language. “Edges tearing apart.”
A brilliant, dazzling light appeared overhead, bathing the forest and surrounds, and indeed the entire world, in a bright glow. At the same time, the tearing sensation the pair had experienced began to mend, as if something were patching all realms back together. The pair reached for each other, their physical senses overriding their intuition. While they felt, inside, that everything would be fine, the sudden light seemed to carry with it a shattering sound. Evren raised her clawed hand, pointing up at it as the freezing rain began to drench them.
The nearby town of Mill recovered, and the citizens eventually returned to their daily lives. The Darken servants swept through shortly after the cataclysmic rain, collecting the statues that had been frozen in place within the town and returning them to safety in Ismara. However, as per usual, the two Ainmhí were overlooked…
Kinda fucked it by not wearing my lip rings, but you get the picture on what she looks like. She’s growing more feathers over this break, and will be making a return on-field in the new year...
And maybe by then, I’ll have gotten used to wearing purple contacts...
Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara
Rating: T
Warning/s: N/A
Originally Written: 16th October 2019
These events actually happened over the course of my first couple of months at Heroes Odyssey, and the events of Not’ere happened during our July Games Weekend. Big shout out to Jordan and Troy for letting me feature their characters, Kaito and Wolfgang (respectively), because the interactions Kireia had with them weren’t planned, and they’re just great fun to roleplay and biff with.
Since first setting out on her adventure, Kireía had not intended to make enemies. Indeed, it had been the need for unity within the world that had called her from her comfortable lifestyle.
She had quickly learned, however, that not all others shared that same view. Looking back on her self of several months ago, she realised that, though knowledgeable about those of her homeland, she was embarrassingly naïve about the various other peoples of Vantacor and beyond.
Her first encounter with the Mugen had been brief, one that she could not recall herself, but had been informed about by witnesses - apparently, the curse that preserved her from True Death came at the cost of a few minutes of memory immediately preceding her demise. In her opinion, this was an acceptable trade.
She had been curious about the warriors of afar, sensing the mystical energies of their Kami and admiring their discipline and combative skill - but they were not an enemy she wished to face. In her earlier weeks of adventuring, many a time they had stood between her and her allies' goals, executing anybody who dared cross them. So, despite her admiration and respect for their skill, she had become resentful. Nature had whispered to her, knowing that she knew she could not act in vengeance, informing her when her death had come at the hands of one of the Mugen.
Yet, she still attempted to bridge the gap. Among them was a Wolfkin, and she had briefly enjoyed peaceful words with the Kami, so she knew that amidst the storm of their violence, there was a certain calmness.
It wasn't until her adventures in the strange land of Not'ere that she began to truly see the peace within the storm. For fun, she had asked and received bounties over her time there, one first for a man named Kaito. He had walked into a trap that had been so obvious and simply laid out that she hadn't expected it to work.
Though he had known he was stronger, capable of escape, and they'd been confronted by his Mugen brothers, he had still agreed with her to split the bounty, whatever it may be, for turning him in. She still wasn't certain what had driven him to make such an agreement with her - the Mugen, as far as she had known, weren't motivated by money.
The second bounty she had received had been one that had unsettled her. The Wolfkin among the Mugen was, in her mind, a Cousin of sorts - though not Ismaran, he still bore all the features of a fully-grown male Wolfkin, and her own birth mother was of their people. Attacking the Mugen Wolf was, to her, like betraying one of her own.
But the bounty demanded to be acted upon, and so she had hovered close to him throughout the day, trying to find an opportunity to capture him. Unfortunately, Kaito stood by his side most of the time, and he was not as lenient as he'd been the day before. It had only taken her two attempts to realise that she was not going to be able to collect on the bounty, even though it so deeply unsettled her to even attempt it.
But Kireía had been gifted with the Corvid mind. She had learned the previous day that the Mugen weren't as unreasonable as she had once thought, that they were open to conversation and persuasion. She herself had been beginning to doubt the things others had said about them - so diplomacy was her next best tact.
During her time in Not'ere, she had won for herself a sword, which she had no idea how to use but was ready to try. Her companions all used the sword, and most of her foes on the battlefield carried one, so surely learning to use their weapons against then would be of benefit? Except that she was horribly inept.
But the Mugen weren't. In fact, she had watched and decided they were likely the best warriors in Vantacor, perhaps even in Solendium - and who better to learn from than a master?
"You teach me to use this," she said in her heavily-accented Common Speech, indicating the new weapon at her hip, "And you may have this," she stated, showing the bounty slip to the Wolfkin.
"What is to stop me from killing you and taking it anyway?" He asked. Most struggled to understand her through her accent, but he seemed to have no difficulty - whether because he himself was foreign or because of a distant blood relation, she was uncertain.
"You have honour," she pointed out. "I am not attacking. I offer fair trade. To kill me for a piece of paper when I offer no threat is not honourable to your people. Is that not correct?"
Of course, in her broken speech, the words didn't come out exactly as that, but that was the message she was trying to get across to him.
The Wolfkin seemed to think for a moment, turning to Kaito before returning his attention to Kireia. "Okay," he agreed, "You have a deal."
His name was Wolfgang, he told her, as he led her to an open space just beyond the edge of town - a space where they could practice uninterrupted. He seemed far friendlier than she had expected of a Mugen; but then, Kireia realised, this was one of the first times she had actually spoken to a Mugen outside of conflict.
Wolfgang was patient as she began with some of the most basic drills to strengthen the muscles in her arms. As an archer, most of her strength came from her shoulders, and it was awkward at first for her to move the new sword about using only her wrist motions.
“Keep practising every day and you’ll build up the strength in your arms in no time,” he reassured her.
They both looked up as a figure approached, and Kireia immediately assessed the man as being rather wealthy - he was well-dressed, wearing many things of various metals, and held himself with an air of self-importance that she immediately disliked.
The male tossed a triangular bar of silver on the ground between Kireia and Wolfgang, looking between the two.
“Fight for my entertainment.” He declared. Kireia looked at Wolfgang, almost expecting him to attack and utterly destroy her in a matter of seconds; they both knew he was capable of it, after all. Wolfgang, however, was eyeing the bar.
“Split it?” He suggested to her. Kireia looked at the bar, before shrugging and nodding. The concept of currency had only just been introduced to her, and she was learning that things of copper, silver, and gold held value to all people of Solendium - which meant this bar was currency.
Bird and wolf turned to the wealthy male, who had apparently been expecting to see them turn on each other. He swore as they, seemingly in unison, decided he was a more interesting target. Both charged forward, and he was only barely able to draw his own sword as Kireia reached him first. He struck faster than she had expected, striking her three times before Wolfgang was on him.
One of the strikes had cut deeply into her thigh, and Kireia pressed her palms over the wound as she looked up, watching Wolfgang force the rich male into defence. The wound was too deep for her to survive, and with Wolfgang distracted, she knew he would be unable to heal her before she bled out.
And if she died, she would lose her memory of those last moments before the death - the moments in which she had learned those very simple yet crucial drills.
A figure in red and black raced past, followed by another, and she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she recognised Kaito as he spoke a hasty incantation. The magic that he commanded was different to that most other Vantacorians were able to wield, and it took her a moment to realise - he was healing her.
“Why are you attacking?” The stranger demanded indignantly, as Kireia realised the other two figures that had raced past her beforehand were also Mugen. He was on his knees, beaten down, and Wolfgang stood over him, a few small marks in his fur indicating that he hadn’t come through unscathed.
Kireia had to agree; it was no surprise the others had raced to Wolfgang’s aid, but they had helped her as well, despite her never having had any allegiance with them.
“We were training,” Wolfgang replied, “You had no right to interrupt that.”
Kireia didn’t flinch as they finished off the stranger. Her leg still felt strange from the foreign healing magic the Mugen apparently commanded, and she glanced down, the healed skin visible through the tear in her clothing.
“Well, then,” Wolfgang turned to Kireia, and she realised he was holding the silver bar the stranger had thrown between them. “Shall we cash this in?”
As the events of Vantacor seemed to force them on opposing sides more often than not, Kireia became uncertain of the friendship she had apparently struck with Wolfgang - and, by extension, with the rest of his clan. She was certain, however, that the afternoon events in Not’ere had changed her view of the Mugen - for the better. Many of the other adventurers of Vantacor and beyond often scorned the Mugen, but having interacted with them so amicably, Kireia was granted another view of the warriors.
Where others claimed that they were cowards for never attacking alone, she recognised solidarity within their ranks. Where others insisted they were backstabbers, she saw a common combat technique that had been spurned by those who valued bragging rights and had never learned not to turn their backs to an enemy. Where others saw an unreasonable, treacherous, lethal enemy, she began to see a powerful, selective group that was more than a simple House or clan - a group of people with shared belief, who were prepared to support each other in order to support the entire group.
After all, a flock was only as fast as the slowest member, and the Mugen ensured that their least-skilled were still protected enough that they would not fall easily.
Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara
Rating: T
Warning/s: N/A
Originally Written: 22 August 2019
Kireia receives a guest in the night, to whom she vents her frustrations and from whom she receives an important gift.
The sun had slunk below the horizon once again, and the darkness was chasing the remnants of light across the sky as night settled. Most of the travelling adventurers had found an inn with a hearth and warm beds to sleep in, while others had been offered shelter by locals who had enjoyed the stories of lands afar.
Kireía, as usual, had sat and eaten with the troupe and watched as they drank the bitter or sweet drinks that made their words slur and their voices rise. And when they had begun to retire, each making various excuses, she had taken some leftover food, thanked the tavernkeep, and quietly slipped away.
The best thing about being the outsider, Kireía had learned, was the fact that nobody seemed to notice when she was missing, nor did they question her disappearance. She liked this, but sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be missed.
She passed the edge of the town, disappearing into the darkened forest surroundings, and tracked her way to a distance where both her human mind and her instinctive mind were at ease. There, she began scuffig at the heather with the tie of her boot, kicking aside twigs and stones. She found a low branch and stripped it of green, scattering the fresh leaves across the small dip she had just made for herself. Shedding her weapons, she tucked them in to her side as she settled into the hollow, curling up into a ball.
This was how she had slept for twenty-three years, and she wasn't going to change just because of the people she now travelled with. In fact, it was how most of her people slept - in nests they made on the floors of their small hafods, huts made of bark, branches, and mud, illuminated and warmed by the firestones they had collected from the volcanic mountain.
Primitive, the others called it. Simple. Like animals. But she looked at the way they lived, the way they conducted themselves, and wondered why they believed these things to be so bad. Murder was bad, yet they engaged in this. War was bad, yet they often engaged in this, too. But in their opinion, living a life of simplicity and peace was worse than murder and war and greed.
Kireía opened her eyes, sitting up as she heard the leaves of the tree above her shifting.
"Yes, I am," she admitted, answering Nature's query aloud. She settled on her backside, sighing deeply and replying. Words came far more easily to her in her native tongue, and Nature was able to understand all tongues, so she felt no restriction.
"I continue to struggle with their words," she explained to Nature, "It's enough to drive an Oxman mad, but I have to remind myself to be kind to them, to be gentle. The Dawn Ones are harder to reason with, and the Vikings do not trust me simply because I am Ismaran! I have not wronged them, but they act like I have."
She paused, listening and translating the sounds around her, mentally discarding those that were not Nature's response.
"So they lack faith in me because of the flag I carry?" Kireia asked, her eyes darting to the red and blue flag that usually hung from her belt, which was now wrapped around her weapons. "So I, an individual, have to overcome the prejudice against a full group? If that is how all vikings conduct themselves, it's a wonder they're even welcome in Vantacor at all!"
The leaves ceased their murmurings for a moment, but a soft rattling sounded from the nearby ground. Some of the damp heather was kicked up with a breeze, and Kireia listened further, her expression of disdain changing to a thoughtful one.
"Yes, all the Dawn Ones seem to want is fighting," she remarked. "But then, perhaps that is the only life they know, one of war and battle, of taking their winnings from the corpses of their enemies. Their Kami seem kinder, and they've been reasonable to me outside of combat, but for the most part they seem to, well," she sighed, glancing at her weapons. The bow was relatively new, but it was a weapon she knew well and had been using for years. The sword, however, often felt strange and graceless in her grip. Although they were often her battle enemies, Kireia had admiration for the way the Dawn Ones seemed to make their weapons dance. A skill she doubted she would ever master.
"To know your enemies, treat them as friends," she murmured softly, before rolling her eyes. "Yes, I know this. It was a lesson I learned as nestling. But would others allow me to know them so well? You say it yourself, I carry a flag that some don't like. How can I overcome that prejudice in order to befriend those I may one day oppose?"
The wind picked up, whipping around her for a moment before settling, but Kireia had only heard the movements of the trees around her, the rustling of leaves and creaking of branches. She huffed irritably.
"But I am Ismaran! I am from the island, and that is why I wear the flag. It is not my connection to the people - it is my connection to the land. My land."
She knew, though, that Nature's words were true - while ever she carried the flag, people would know she was Ismaran. If she was truly to explore and discover, learn all she was meant to in order to follow the path she had chosen, she would have to discard the flag.
“I cannot abandon my ties to the land that birthed me,” she announced finally, “If I do not stand with the others of my home, how am I to remember where my home is? To many, it is a flag, but to me it is more. A symbol. A reminder. How can I communicate this to others I approach? How am I expected to explain to them that I bring peace, if I can’t share their tongue?”
She had the sudden sense that the wind was laughing at her, and scowled as it began to sing to her again. The scowl smoothed, however, as she listened to the words. Once it was finished, Nature repeated itself, singing the song over and over.
Kireia, being Rachdhan, could go without sleep so long as she rested, and that night she did not sleep. By the time the sky in the east was lightening, she had learned the spell, a song borne of deep and powerful magic that extended beyond the lifespans of the current gods themselves. A spell that would help her communicate with the Strangers, so long as she had something worth communicating.
So the first two were pictures of my Birbgirl, Kireía (I swear, the camera and furs make me look 20kg heavier than I actually am). The second two are pictures of the earpieces that I (finally) got finished and will be able to wear tonight. I've also resized the rings for her talons, but I can't wear them on field or during combat because they are sharp and metal and... Yeah, not ideal for contact/combat sports.
I will hopefully have some better pictures of her full getup soon, and the next step in updating kit is to get the armour designs down. I like the fur aesthetic (gives her a more barbarian vibe) but it would be nice to have higher defense 😂
