A couple of years ago a dark sorcerer, with the power to tap into the minds of others and drive them mad, usurped the native monarchy of the content of Eros in a near bloodless attack. Driving them mad and driving the land into a period of darkness. So a hero, the brave Dimitri was chosen from amongst the people to lead a revolution and save them all! And he was greatly successful, dethroning the mage or madness, and the realm celebrated. Over time however, he started to act arrogant. Even mad himself, creating absurd laws and demanding odd things! Yet one thing remained with him...for he knew that the mage he had so courageously defeated was not dead.
At the same time, there was born to a traveling group of gypsy fae, a young faun named Corninth. And he grew with an extraordinary power, to mend and heal the wounds on the minds and souls of others. As such he gained much fam amongst the caravan, as he was seen as being blessed by the gods. With a rebellion growing in the shadows of the nation, might he find himself swept up somehow in a war? And what of the mad magician, would be once more rear his ugly head upon the world.
( looking for people who can write two or more paragraphs, but I do appreciate quality over quantity. I apologize for the quality as I wrote this at five thirty in the morning and have yet to sleep. Yes I do have a predetermined plot in mind for this, and it’s loosely based off of a game I fell in love with recently. Other than that, I just hope to have fun.)
At the same time, there was born to a traveling group of gypsy fae, a young faun named Corninth. And he grew with an extraordinary power, to mend and heal the wounds on the minds and souls of others. As such he gained much fam amongst the caravan, as he was seen as being blessed by the gods. With a rebellion growing in the shadows of the nation, might he find himself swept up somehow in a war? And what of the mad magician, would be once more rear his ugly head upon the world.
( looking for people who can write two or more paragraphs, but I do appreciate quality over quantity. I apologize for the quality as I wrote this at five thirty in the morning and have yet to sleep. Yes I do have a predetermined plot in mind for this, and it’s loosely based off of a game I fell in love with recently. Other than that, I just hope to have fun.)
The market was bustling that morning, voices buzzing in a steady stream of conversation, vendors calling out specials upon their wares, animals bleating as their owners haggled for a deal. Children laughed as they ran underfoot, driving vendors to cursing and chasing them from their stalls, and in the midst of the chaos, a woman no taller than the eldest of the children, walked through the center of the market square. A gigantic, pointed hat of felted black wool sat upon her head, matching the black of her waist length cloak. Beneath it she wore a simple robe of green, embroidered with the traditional moon emblem upon her chest. In her hand, she carried a large staff with a blue stone at it's top and upon her waist, a belt with several, heavy looking books strapped and hanging at her hips.
She smiled at the vendors, offering a good morning, only to be met with frowns. Clearly, this particular town was not friendly to outsiders. An herbal stall caught her attention and she stopped to browse. Mugwort, lavender, marjoram, she smiled.
"How much?" she asked, smiling politely at the vendor.
"Not for sale, Mage. You best get along."
Delphi Balmora, Mage Scholar of the Sisters of the Waxing Moon, frowned for the first time in what must have been months. Life was difficult on the road, but she was used to the struggle, the ebb and flow of life outside the Guild's walls. She'd gone hungry on occasion, patched holes in her shoes instead of buying new- but that was expected. Delphi could certainly handle a little poverty, she'd known it before. What she hadn't known, was that her very self, the life path she had chosen, was not welcome just anywhere in the outside world.
"Yes sir." she replied weakly, her spirits momentarily dampened.
She was a good mage. Never cursed or hexed anyone. Had always offered aid...Delphi sighed as she turned from the stall and caught some curious and stony glances in the crowd. Perhaps she should just keep moving...
She smiled at the vendors, offering a good morning, only to be met with frowns. Clearly, this particular town was not friendly to outsiders. An herbal stall caught her attention and she stopped to browse. Mugwort, lavender, marjoram, she smiled.
"How much?" she asked, smiling politely at the vendor.
"Not for sale, Mage. You best get along."
Delphi Balmora, Mage Scholar of the Sisters of the Waxing Moon, frowned for the first time in what must have been months. Life was difficult on the road, but she was used to the struggle, the ebb and flow of life outside the Guild's walls. She'd gone hungry on occasion, patched holes in her shoes instead of buying new- but that was expected. Delphi could certainly handle a little poverty, she'd known it before. What she hadn't known, was that her very self, the life path she had chosen, was not welcome just anywhere in the outside world.
"Yes sir." she replied weakly, her spirits momentarily dampened.
She was a good mage. Never cursed or hexed anyone. Had always offered aid...Delphi sighed as she turned from the stall and caught some curious and stony glances in the crowd. Perhaps she should just keep moving...
It was no secret in Eros that those of the craft, otherwise known by the derogatory term of ‘Magi’, were not well liked amongst the every day people of the surrounding realm. Not since the days of the “Mad Mage”. Largely because the citizens blamed magic for all of their troubles. From the withering of crops, to loosing at the gambling tables in the local tavern.
Down the way, near the fountain square. Cheers erupted, men and women alike crowded the square as the sound of hundreds of small jingling bells became louder and closer. For down the road came a company of “Wytches”, priestesses of the faith, whom came down the road to their now adoring crowds. Each of them wearing purple robes of satin and silk, purple being the color of the mother, which covered their heads yet exposed their hands and feet.
Which were decorated in beautiful dark blue Henna designs which decorated their fair skin.
Resting on their pale foreheads though, a crescent moon which laid upon its side. The procession seemed to have a clear order, first came the acolytes. Whom carried each a short paddle like object from which hung five bells. With every step they would strike their hands against the paddle and cause the bells to ring in sync with the rhythm of their steps. Then came the dancers, whom wore instead a scarlet cloth for their robes and bore deep orange henna as their markings. It was they who summoned fire from their lips who called the adoration of many men, and some women, to them. A trick that seemed entertaining enough to these people.
Lastly was the grand palanquin, made of a dark oaken wood, it was carried on the backs of four enslaved men who struggled under the weight of the burden. It was decorated with the colors of twilight, various shades of purpled and blues which were embroidered with silver that depicted images of the goddess and the moon. One could hardly make out the soft cream and navy blue colors of the cushions inside. Let alone the heavily veiled figure at its center.
“The sisters are here!” Whispered one older heavy set gentleman, the butcher judging by his garb. “They must be looking for new members! With any luck my Elysia will get in”.
“You old fool!” Starts a younger and much thinner man. “It’ll be my niece Connacht who gets picked, always meant for the sisterhood that one!” The two men begin to bicker shortly after. For a town so hostile to practitioners, they seemed oddly excited about this.
Down the way, near the fountain square. Cheers erupted, men and women alike crowded the square as the sound of hundreds of small jingling bells became louder and closer. For down the road came a company of “Wytches”, priestesses of the faith, whom came down the road to their now adoring crowds. Each of them wearing purple robes of satin and silk, purple being the color of the mother, which covered their heads yet exposed their hands and feet.
Which were decorated in beautiful dark blue Henna designs which decorated their fair skin.
Resting on their pale foreheads though, a crescent moon which laid upon its side. The procession seemed to have a clear order, first came the acolytes. Whom carried each a short paddle like object from which hung five bells. With every step they would strike their hands against the paddle and cause the bells to ring in sync with the rhythm of their steps. Then came the dancers, whom wore instead a scarlet cloth for their robes and bore deep orange henna as their markings. It was they who summoned fire from their lips who called the adoration of many men, and some women, to them. A trick that seemed entertaining enough to these people.
Lastly was the grand palanquin, made of a dark oaken wood, it was carried on the backs of four enslaved men who struggled under the weight of the burden. It was decorated with the colors of twilight, various shades of purpled and blues which were embroidered with silver that depicted images of the goddess and the moon. One could hardly make out the soft cream and navy blue colors of the cushions inside. Let alone the heavily veiled figure at its center.
“The sisters are here!” Whispered one older heavy set gentleman, the butcher judging by his garb. “They must be looking for new members! With any luck my Elysia will get in”.
“You old fool!” Starts a younger and much thinner man. “It’ll be my niece Connacht who gets picked, always meant for the sisterhood that one!” The two men begin to bicker shortly after. For a town so hostile to practitioners, they seemed oddly excited about this.
"Pardon me! Apologies!"
Kiros shuffled through the crowd, her way of walking peculiar and drawing attention from many she passed. She huffed and held her head high, understanding that she wasn't sauntering correctly. She was playing off as a human, afterall. Her balance was going to be odd and her stance unusual, but she didn't seem to mind nor care. Her knees were always bent at the slightest, and she took fairly large steps with each movement. Towering over most, the woman turned in curiosity to peer at what was going on in the streets. With narrowing eyes and a sharp gaze, she silently exhaled in slight confusion. "What the..?" She furrowed her brows, drifting to the left to avoid a man who pushed past her. She shook her head and told herself to focus, continuing to stumble through the sea of crowded people.
Readjusting her hat, which was in the shape of a witch's and the color of fertile soil, she continued marching until she found a somewhat empty lot. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her satchel, which hung over her flowing, sable black cloak. She pulled the hood away from her eyes, untucking her hair and allowing it to flow freely in the soft breeze. She was told this town was bustling with excitement, but she wasn't expecting this. Perhaps friendlier folk would make her feel more welcomed and not like an outsider, but she couldn't change how people acted without getting to know them, and she could barely speak to others without them or herself making judgemental or insulting comments.
She gazed at the unfamiliar faces of the people, wishing she knew at least one of them. Perhaps she wouldn't be so awkward if she did. She shrugged to herself with a click of her tongue, coming to an understanding she wasn't the type to have many allies, anyways. She overheard such simple conversations about the sisters from where she stood, and she couldn't help but scoff. Who were they? And why in Orion why they making folk this excited upon their arrival? Krios wondered if anyone was perhaps watching her, but when she saw no eyes on her at the moment, she took off the oversized hat with a sigh of relief as the ears of a deer's perked. Running a hand through her tousled waves of hair, she smiled lightly as two children passed her while playing a game of chase.
She quickly returned her attention to the racket happening in front of her, the questions still floating through her mind every one in awhile.
Kiros shuffled through the crowd, her way of walking peculiar and drawing attention from many she passed. She huffed and held her head high, understanding that she wasn't sauntering correctly. She was playing off as a human, afterall. Her balance was going to be odd and her stance unusual, but she didn't seem to mind nor care. Her knees were always bent at the slightest, and she took fairly large steps with each movement. Towering over most, the woman turned in curiosity to peer at what was going on in the streets. With narrowing eyes and a sharp gaze, she silently exhaled in slight confusion. "What the..?" She furrowed her brows, drifting to the left to avoid a man who pushed past her. She shook her head and told herself to focus, continuing to stumble through the sea of crowded people.
Readjusting her hat, which was in the shape of a witch's and the color of fertile soil, she continued marching until she found a somewhat empty lot. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her satchel, which hung over her flowing, sable black cloak. She pulled the hood away from her eyes, untucking her hair and allowing it to flow freely in the soft breeze. She was told this town was bustling with excitement, but she wasn't expecting this. Perhaps friendlier folk would make her feel more welcomed and not like an outsider, but she couldn't change how people acted without getting to know them, and she could barely speak to others without them or herself making judgemental or insulting comments.
She gazed at the unfamiliar faces of the people, wishing she knew at least one of them. Perhaps she wouldn't be so awkward if she did. She shrugged to herself with a click of her tongue, coming to an understanding she wasn't the type to have many allies, anyways. She overheard such simple conversations about the sisters from where she stood, and she couldn't help but scoff. Who were they? And why in Orion why they making folk this excited upon their arrival? Krios wondered if anyone was perhaps watching her, but when she saw no eyes on her at the moment, she took off the oversized hat with a sigh of relief as the ears of a deer's perked. Running a hand through her tousled waves of hair, she smiled lightly as two children passed her while playing a game of chase.
She quickly returned her attention to the racket happening in front of her, the questions still floating through her mind every one in awhile.
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