|
|
|
|
|
|
|
alfred baramender Captain
|
 Posted: Wed Dec 20, 2006 2:11 am
Welcome to Marnkus, a sprawling, colourless and stern city just entering the industrial age. Think of tophats, and carriages - think of the time Corpse Bride is set in, and the like.
Then think fantasy, high fantasy, with Faes and spirits and the like. Magic and wizards, quests and swords.
What do you get when you mix the too together? You get the rp thread Marnkus. So create a character and go about your daily lives. Who knows, perhaps you'll become a hero.
Ahh, I know you're all gonna kill me (well, those of you who have fancy race ideas, but we'll get to that later), but since this thread started up, I've hammered out the detail of the world where Marnkus is set - Treed. This is Treed set later in it's future - gone are the medieval times. So ya, here's some more info.
____________________________________________________
Craft:
Craft is basically like magic, but it's more subtle and used for scientific purposes really than anything else. Ie. pretty much only THEmost experienced and powerful WeatherCrafters could call up a thunderstorm. Like, top notch stuff. Powerful WeatherWeavers like Raelin MIGHT be able to do that, if they had an already created raincloud somewhere close.
Craft is like mental magic - usually you're born with it, but it only developes if you're involved with something that makes it apparent, or a Crafter spots it. Craft is the more subtler magic on Treed, in any how.
Crafters, Weavers, Dancers and the various ranks:
Craft comes in many, many forms. Pretty much anything. Basically, your Craft has an "element" type thing, something that your good at and injoy might actually be a type of craft. Ie, Raelin has a combination of WeatherCraft, FrostCraft and a smidgen of PlantCraft. He's good at those things. And junk.
Depending on how developed your Craft power is, you're assigned a rank. Ranks are usually only actually taken notice of in the cities, and certaintly the University from which Raelin studies (more in the next chapers). Ranks are pretty basic, and at the moment are subject to change. At the moment, these are the current ranks, from worst to best:
(a few ranks back here, for the ones with hardly any craft), Callers, Dancers, Weavers and (another I don't have a name for yet).
On Races:
there are 4 main animal/human like races: the "humans"; the "Fae" (like Elves, fairys, mothmen, mythical pointy eared junk like that (a For'Fae is like.... a Frosty/Fog/common Fae); the "animalia" (animals and crap like that); and the Ether, which isn't really part of Treed - it's like heaven or the underworld, a swirling mass of chaos.
For the last few decades, the humans and Fae in the country and on the border have been in strife for some crime which I haven't bothered to come up with yet. (this shall take place in the prequel of WeatherCraft, a novel for which the characters and junk were planned for far before WeatherCraft). The Fae ended up killing this threat, and are so, blah blah blah, a decade or two later (in the time WeatherCraft is set), the Fae are no longer outlawed. You see alot lately, running about the place.
Rae come in hundred of different sub-races. Raelin, a For'Fae - his race decend from up north, in the frost pine forests or the polar Regions, Miad. They're the more common type of cold, frost related Fae. Others like the quickly vanishing and disreaspected Mo'Fae prefer to live in the more warming places down south. They're shadowy creature, based of the urban American myth of the mothman.
Another little insight - Fae are notorious for their weak metabolisums (sorry if that's spelt wrong). They catch diseases and virius much, much more easily than a human can - often just a plain cold can kill them. Because of this, most sensibel Fae take the time to make sure it is harder to catch something than humans.
The upside of the Fae, however is that mental disorders almost never effect them.
Most of the Fae races have fairly strange, short names, usually containing an apostrophe. Eg. Mo'Fae. So when naming (if you do want to name your own Fae races), thew starting word is usually short and odd sounding, like Carm'Fae, For'Fae, Mo'Fae, Liq'Fae, etc. etc. Always after the word you'll find "Fae".
Ether and Spirits:
The spirits of the planent come from the Ether, including Proxies (small, common spirits, they can be friendly or nasty, depending on their nature. They act like animals, in a semi-intelligent way), Protics (nasty, wraith-like things, they can be best associated with doppelgangers - Protics live painfully short lives, but in order to say in the material world, they need to inhabit some kind of living, senient being. It's basically like being possesed, but your whole body can be taken over by the Protic (o it can just bum around in one corner). The thing is that a Protic can only enter a person with their consent (and even then the recever has to have their mouth open for the Protic to enter). So the Protics offer things - power, knowledge, money, wealth - if only the person will let them in. Unfortunetly, two many accept their cons, and end up being mindless slaves. The saying goes, "they can trick a tree to give up its bark." The process of the spirit entering is painful and slow - you spend hours, writhering on the floor as it slowly consumes every cell, clogging up every pore. If you resist a Protics over, it's said you can resist everything (but Raelin has probably only turned down the Offers because he has everything he wants and he leads a happy life). And don't forget Proans - misty, sparkling beings with hardy any thought, they're pretty much just the souls of everyday living objects, from grass to a human or Fae.
Ether Magic:
Now, as you can see from above, Craft is pretty boring - not really all that useful, unless you're a scientist or some crap. So the people of Treed (starting with the old Fae ancestors), came up with the gateways to pull spirits from the Ether over into their "command". These spirits no longer roam free, either in Treed or the Ether, and through these spirits (depending on what kind is summoned), the summoners can produce real, much stronger magic, the kind with fireballs and junk. Big, flashy stuff.
Climate:
Treed is on a more noticeable angle than Earth, and because of that has more extreme weather and climates. The City of Marnkus (where the beginning is set) is situated in the North Hemisphere, around the middle of the hemisphere. Usually it's colder than at the present time in the story - snow, rains and storms frequent it.
I appologeise if this puts any restrants on your characters races, magic and origen, but meh. If you MUST have some strange creature, like an Anthro or Dragon.... come up with an excuse like a Fae and a lizard where merged by an angry spirit.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 1:43 am
Raelin tapped his black tophat with a finger. He'd taken it off earlier because it had started to make his pointed ears itch - now, resting on his lap, it was far more useful as something to fiddle with.
Raelin sighed, feeling desidedly lackluster - it was a feeling he was becoming all too familiar with these days, and it made him gloomy and irritable. Resting his hot head against the cool carridge window, he gazed out the glass.
The sky was a sullen, blinding white colour. It had been like that for days, yet no rain would fall. Even at night it hung suffocatingly across Marnkus, threatening the people who hurried below. It cast a nasty pale grey colour across everything. Smog and smoke rose up in thick bands from the Westen side of the city, darkening the sky with patches of black. At least, Raelin thought, mouth twisting into a lopsided smile, I don't have to smell all that junk.
Indeed, it was much more comfortable inside the loney carridge than outside in the hustle and bustle. Thick velvet curtains lined the wide clear windows, and the seats were comfortable and soft. He had everything to himself - nobody sat opposite him. It was dark, and small lantens on either side of the carridge cast a warm orange glow across the red velvet seats and curtains - indeed, it was rather homey. But Raelin was in too much of a slump to really notice the cosy beauty.
The carridge lurched to a stop suddenly, the clacking of horse hooves halting. Too obsobed in glaring at the sky, Raelin hadn't noticed he was at his desination. Now, realising, he started, gathering his satchel as a footman came to his door. The smart, silent servent grasped the carridge door handle, and Raelin, legs stiff, replaced his tophat as he carefully desended the tiny stairs onto the cobbled street. A cocktail of odours reached his sensitive nose - smoke, sewage, rotton food and stagnant water leaped on him. The strangely clean, cultured and sweet perfume of the building he stood before now coupled strangely with the downtown waste. Getting a better grip on his books and satchel, Raelin thanked the footman and the carridge driver politly, then set of into the imposing shadow of the Governers Office, stone statuesand gothic gargoyles glaring down their noses at him.
|
|
|
|
|
|
alfred baramender Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
alfred baramender Captain
|
Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 4:47 pm
Taking a long, deep breathe - and once again taking his tophat off to fiddle with it - Raelin ran a nervous hand through brown, curly hair. He ascended the wide, stone steps, trying to calm down. Everything was going to be fine. He’d show what he had, then leave as quickly as he had come. No big deal. Then why was he so nervous?
The Governor’s Office was a huge structure, made almost entirely of a cold, creamy stone. The enormous slabs of squared stone that served as steps were flanked by long stone columns. They merged to form a solid wall as they grew closer to the polished wooden door. It was before this door that Raelin stopped, running through everything in his mind. It wouldn’t do to stuff up, not now, not when he had been given a chance. Summoning up what courage and strength he had left, he placed a hand on the door’s handle and pulled.
It didn’t budge. Blushing scarlet, he realised what had happened, and instead pushed the door away from him. It opened smoothly.
Trying to slow his pulse, Raelin stepped quietly through, boots making no sound as they hit lush red carpet. The door creaked shut behind him. He was in.
A doorman rested against the cold stone wall, dressed smartly. A wooden pedestal stood beside him, an open book resting on the top. Face devoid of any emotion, he stepped forward. “May I take your name, sir?”
“Err…. Raelin Brook.”
The doorman flashed a fake smile, and consulted his book. “Your name is listed. May I enquire about what you are here for, sir?” It was obvious that the term “enquire” meant force.
Raelin’s hands felt sweaty. He shifted the satchel he carried into the crook of his arm. “I-I’m here to consult the Mage Bishop with plans for the new defense system… If he’s not already busy at the moment, that is…” He took a deep breathe, forcing the words to sound calm and composed. “I have an appointment.”
The doorman nodded, white teeth still flashing. “Very good, sir. If you follow that corridor--“ He pointed absently. “--Down to the first fork, take the left. The Mage Bishop’s door is the forth on the right. Good luck sir.”
Raelin nodded, the knot in his stomach starting to unwind. “Thank you.” Nodding, feeling decidedly relieved, he flashed a smile and continued walking.
Inside the building, things were hectic. Raelin stared with intense interest as everybody walked past - there must have been dozens of sophisticated, cultured people, both male and female, all races. Each strode with a pompous air of importance, fine clothes and hats signaling out those who had too much money for their own good. Some of the more casual people leaned against walls or sat in the stiff back chairs that lined the stone walls, sipping from expensive glasses and chatting with friends.
Raelin stood, gaping at the long, horizontal hall that connected the entrance. There was a lot to take in, from the potted plants and wonderfully detailed paintings to the rich crimson carpet, threaded with exquisite patterns.
The hall sprouted left and right, leading to other corridors and rooms. Right in front, though, ran a long, thin passage, walls lined with tapestries. Raelin ran fingers over the rim of his hat. The passage was what the doorman had pointed to - at least, Raelin thought it was the right place.
He couldn’t just stand and gape anyway - he had to do something. So replacing his black hat and straightening his jacket with one had, he walked purposefully into the steady stream of important citizens.
For a moment he was pushed into the current, bumped around by busy populace of the hallway. Then, in an eye blink, he was through and into the less populated passageway that would - hopefully - lead him to his destination. He smiled. It was going quite well, even though he had only just started in reality.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 2:30 am
Xakei tapped his claws on the splintering door frame.
Movement caught his attention a few rooms down. At this time of night no one should be awake. No movement should be heard or seen. But tonight there is.
In the Dugg'ein Inn two strangers arrived just on closing time. They were draped in shadows and cloaks, one could only see their dark, entrancing eyes. The only room available left in the inn was three doors down from a young man named Xakei. He, was also new to this town and as well as these strangers, was not trusted by the local men, nor the women.
The air around Xakei seemed to grow more dense and shadows started roaming the room of their own accord. They started talking amongst themselves in strange tongues. And then the strangers entered the room. Their presence seeming to fill atmosphere of the whole inn. "Wvy are you up so lateee?" they hissed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
alfred baramender Captain
|
Posted: Wed Jan 03, 2007 1:39 am
Moria wasn't in a good mood. Aside from the headache bouncing around in her skull and the jarring pain in her joints, that was.
Two pints of ale hadn't done anything to her mood - in fact, it had just made everything worse. Moria had never been a big ale drinker - probably had something to do with the fact that she was only sixteen, and didn't even like alcohol very much - and too much always gave her a headache.
Of course, not having ale in a pub looked a bit odd. And besides, Raelin had said it would help her lighten up.
She was going to punch him when he got back.
Hard, too.
It was far too hot and stuffy in here. Smoke rose up to the crisscrossing rafters like ghosts, and there were far few grimy windows opened. The stale air had the sickening sweet combination of alcohol, sweat, smoke and the occasional sweetmeat. It was a nasty combination, one that Moria didn’t improve of in the slightest.
So here she sat, at the every far end from the door, perched on a barstool beside an open window. Nobody even looked at her twice… although a few drunken men had stumbled up asking if she wanted a ‘good time’. She’d given them a lesson or two, and went back to sipping from her glass, thankful that there was a slight breeze in the summer air.
Perhaps she would knee Raelin in a few painful spots, too.
And smack him silly around his pretty Fae head.
Through her musings, Moria didn’t spot the two shadowy figures enter the pub. But the other patrons did. Noise dwindled abruptly as everyone turned their heads to the unwelcome guests. A rumble of whispers swept the room, as people muttered and turned to neighbours.
An old man with bleary eyes turned to Moria. He was the closest person to her in the pub, but he seemed happy to sigh into his glass, so she was a bit startled when he spoke to her.
“Not lik’ the old days now, no-sir-y. We never had Protics coming an’ going through town.” He glanced around, and looked back to her, eyes dark and morbid. “Tha governments turning bad, I tell you.” He nodded once, and turned back to his glass.
Moria stared at him for a moment. Protics? She shivered - the stories of them generally didn’t end up happy. Nasty, ethereal ghost-like creatures from the Ether who tended to follow a certain person their whole life, offering riches and power for the poor soul’s life and body. Unfortunately, it turned out a lot of people accepted their offers.
Moria watched the two cloaked figures carefully, tapping her nails on her glass. She sipped the ale. It had turned warm. Scowling, she wrapped her hand firmly around it, eye narrowing. A soft, moist layer of cold spread quickly up the glass sides. She sipped again, and permitted herself a small smile - the previously warm drink was now chilly, perfect against the stuffy heat. Droplets of water trickled over her palm - perhaps she’d over done it with the frost a little.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jan 06, 2007 2:43 am
The Protics, shrouded in heavy black cloaks, their strange eyes dancing from the darkness, almost floated across the dirty wooden floorboard, heading into the middle of the room. When trying to look past their cloaks and robes, it was like looking into an attic with no light. Their graceful heads swept around on stooping shoulders.
"Why are you up so lateee?" one hissed. Its voice couldn't be placed with any sound, but to Moria it echoed like ribbons and fabric running across dead leaves.
She shuddered, her lips closing tight around her mouth. Raelin had once said, while recounting old mythology, that Protics could only enter your body via the mouth, and if it was closed, well, then there was nothing they could do. Of course, unless you invited them in, they couldn’t do anything anyway - not even enter through the mouth. But Protics were known for their notorious trickery - an old saying went somewhere along the lines of, “They can trick a tree to give up its bark.”
The faceless hoods swept their glittering eyes across the room, landing on each patron for a moment. Moria shuddered as one looked straight at her - but she started to seriously tremble when it suddenly started to glide towards her. She bit her lip so hard metallic-tasting blood dribbled onto her tongue.
It stopped perhaps a meter or two away, shapeless head cocked to one side. “Who are yooouuu?” it asked hollowly.
The other joined it, head cocking the same way as its companion. “Is it herrr?”
The other leaned forward. “Nooo.” It stepped closer, towering above the tremulous Moria. “I have an offer you, girlllll.”
Moria snapped out of her dangerous trance at those words. She scooted backwards, as far as her barstool would allow, and faced them. “I don’t want no offer,” she replied, lapsing into street-slang. Raelin would be ashamed of her grammar, but nothing could be done now. “Bugger off. Con someone else.” She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice. Chuckling, the Protic reached out with an invisible hand, light seemingly drawn to it.
Moria gasped - as his freezing cold fingers touched her arm, there was a bright, icy-blue flash. A jarring shock ran down her body from head to toes. The Protic screeched, an agonizing, unearthly sound that grated on the ears, and backed away from the light, robed arms held defensively in front of its face.
Moria felt like she was on fire - white hot, burning cold fire. But, strangely, even though it blazed across her skin and mind, she didn’t feel any pain. Her head arched back, a frost breath flowing from her mouth.
If only Raelin was here to see this, she thought absently as her body wracked itself with spasms. That was a strange feeling - finding your body doing something you didn’t ask it to do. She pondered on it for awhile, dimly aware of shouts and screams echoing around her. Peering through the thick, icy-blue fog like light, she could see patrons and customers climbing out of their seats in such a hurry that chairs were knocked over and glasses smashed to the floor. Some people were walking quickly out the door, or running frantically around. The Protics in front of her had vanished, but an eerie tendril or deep purple smoke drifted uncannily out the door.
It took a moment for Moria to relies that she was the reason everybody was hurriedly retreating. Well, I guess people don’t often see somebody spewing fog often, she thought wryly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
alfred baramender Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jan 12, 2007 2:21 am
Talia fingered her pendant that hung around her neck as she watched the scene (the scene took place in the last post.) from the darkest corner of the pub. A mage perhaps, or a trainee? she thought. Talia was an AlterWeaver and could turn into a cat. this is what she changed into now after deciding that trailing and talking to the girl, to make her understand, that with Talia's help, (or rather, the cats) that she hone her abilities for the better. so she followed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jan 15, 2007 1:53 am
The day before had been interesting. the sky was glimmering with brilliance as he walked beneath its rays. it was the day when he first entered this new town, many a person stared at his dark figure. His skin was tanned and strange tattoos slithered across his body. out from his black hair sprouted pionted ears, he appears to be a Fae. his white shirt sat baggily across him, one sleeve rolled above his elbow. his dark pants seemed strange in contrast with is light shirt and a katana lain across his back. He seemed to travel with nothing except a pouch attached to his belt.
he walked down the street, hands in pockets, studying the new streets surrounding him. Children playing amongst themselves and adults glaring nervously under their brow. this is where he met Kirra.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
alfred baramender Captain
|
Posted: Sat Jan 20, 2007 2:33 am
Smiling to himself, Raelin padded back down the wide stone stairs from the Governors Office. There was an obvious skip to his quick stride, and he whistled as he replaced his black tophat on his head.
Indeed, it had been a good visit, and the result was that most of his documents where now in the safe hands of the Craft Bishop. Hopefully they really did plan to put at least some of them to use, as they had said. But you never really could tell with the officials.
Checking the sun and its whereabouts in the sky, Raelin was shocked to see that, really, there was no sun to be seen. It had sunken behind the hills and valleys of the country side, disappearing in a halo of pink and pale yellow light. Inky blueness of the night stained the clouds like running paint.
He smiled (to no body in particular), enjoying the sunset for a moment or two, then started down the steps again. Moria would murder him if he turned up late. Murder him with a pencil, or something other equally fearsome.
The street was fairly deserted, save a carriage or two and some classy women and men strutting their stuff. Walking up to the curb, considerably lighter folder under the crook of his arm, Raelin flung out a hand to hail a carriage.
The trip downtown had taken somewhere around half an hour. The streets were a blur of people and horses, and there were more than many times when the carriage Raelin occupied had to stop. It ended with him getting out a street or so away from the pub where he had left Moria.
He thanked the driver, handed over some coins, and settled his collar. His boots rung out on the pavement as he walked at a leisurely pace down the side walk.
He was but a few metres away from the open pub door, when suddenly two dark figures appeared in front of him; silhouette cutouts against the light spilling out from the door. Raelin froze, and regarded them with a frosty gaze. “You’re still after me?”
One of the Protics - the one of the left - gave a throaty chuckle and waved a black hand in recognition. “Hello, Raelin. Still going to deny me the pleeeasure?”
The Fae gave a wry smile. “Unless you have something to add, yes.”
The Protic laughed, a hollow sound. “Actually, yesss, I do have something to add this time.” It rubbed its hands together and leaned forward. “… Love”
Raelin stared at him, eyes narrowed. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was icy cold.
The Protic laughed again and waved a hand in farewell. “I know you toooo well. Think about it anyway.” Suddenly its hands and shapeless head started to flake away, purple wisps of smoke, steadily being drawn down into the earth in a corkscrew.
Raelin gave a menacing scowl to the other - it shrugged its shoulders and followed its companion down into the earth, leaving a faintly sour smell in the air.
Raelin took a deep breath, then at last smiled faintly. Well, that wasn’t so bad. No coxing or begging or threats.
He rested a hand on his chest, breathing in deeply, then strolled the last few feet, and entered the pub.
It didn’t to good. When he had left it last, it was rapidly attracting more patrons - now, he could count the number of customers on one hand. They were all looking fairly shaken, too.
His eyes swept the room. The bartender raised his eyebrows at Raelin, and jerked the glass he was cleaning at a prone figure. “She’s yours, right? You have no idea how much money she made me loose.” His pale eyes glinted in the half-light.
Raelin followed his gaze. His folder dropped from his arm.
There was Moria, head resting on her arm and, in turn, arm resting on the bar counter. Her eyes were closed, but as her chest rose and fell, her breath came out as a wisp of pale blue. Her dark red hair fell like a curtain around her face - her lips were blue.
As Raelin tentatively came closer, he could feel the hum in the air. He ignored the folder, and walked up to perch on the bar stool, heart thumping painfully. His stomach did a number of various jumps and twists as he brushed Moria’s dark red hair from her face. She stirred, hers eye opening a slit. “Raelin… the Protics…” She gave a tired sigh, lip quivering.
Raelin wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. He could feel the Craft pulsing through her body, her little shivers as it ran down arms and side. Was she having an overload? He lifted her chin up with a hand, ignoring her murmurs of protest, and checked her eyes carefully. The whites had turned an unhealthy blue-grey colour. Perhaps all she needed was some tea and lots of bed rest. He tried to keep the uncomfortable pang of his heart out.
Turning to the barkeep, Raelin loaded out a scattering of heavy coins from his pocket, ignoring the wide eyes of the unsavory man. With a quick sorry, he flung his arm around Moria’s waist and almost dragged her to the door.
Just as he was about to leave, a cat bounded out from the shadows, eyes glinting in the half-light. It pawed at Raelin, claws catching on his pants. He could feel the Craft seep from its eyes, pushing at its skin.
What was an AlterCrafter doing in this part of town? He shrugged, and said to the cat, “Tag along if you like, as long as I don’t have to carry you too.”
With that, he was out the door and ready to hail another carriage, while the barkeep strained his neck to see the strange young Fae and his even stranger girl.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jan 23, 2007 9:57 pm
Talia (as the cat) sat at the mans feet and waited untill he had sucessfully hailed a carriage and lept in after he had gotten himself and the girl in. the man started to pat Talia absent mindedly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
alfred baramender Captain
|
Posted: Thu Jan 25, 2007 2:08 am
When Moria awoke, the sun was streaming through a window set up high in the wooden wall. It fell across the sheets bed in shafts of gold.
She yawned, and rolling onto her back, rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She blinked a couple of times, then sat up.
Indeed, Moria was lying in a soft, comfortable bed - her own. The sheets were tangled around her body. Thankfully, the clothes she had been wearing last night were still on.
Last night.... She frowned, chewing her lip. What had happened last night? She looked around the small room. So, this was her bed, and her own room. How had she gotten here?
Too many thoughts. She could hardly remember anything, so why bother until somebody told her. Raelin was bound to some by some time - she’d ask him.
She was just about to reach over for the book on her bedside table, when suddenly, a silky black cat leapt up onto the bed. After sitting down between her legs, it gave a load miaow and proceeded to wash itself.
Moria stared at it. This was getting weirder and weirder. She tugged at her bottom lip, and retrieved her book. She was just opening
g the cover, when Raelin suddenly entered to room
via the large door.
His eyes lit up. “I thought I heard something.”
Moria grinned, placing the book in her lap. “So you are here!”
He have a small smile - his eyes, usually open and honest, were strangely guarded. “I wouldn’t leave you here in this condition.”
She stared at him. “What condition?” Her heart started to beat faster with an awful dread. It clawed at her stomach.
He blinked at her. “Oh dear. You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” Moria relaxed slightly - if Raelin didn’t sound worried, then usually nothing was wrong.
Raelin sat down on her bed (after she had made room for him), and picked at the sheets. “Do you remember anything?”
Moria ponder for a minute, organising and re-tracing her steps. “I know there were Protics, and something weird happened when it tried to touch me...”
Raelin nodded, staring out the window for a moment at the grey city of Marnkus. “That would make sense then.” He turned back to her. “You had a minor overload of Craft, I imagine. Some kind of backfire. You remember the time with those Proans, up near Miad, in the pine forests? I’d guess something like that happened.” He smiled at her again, that strange kind of smile.
Moria frowned, staring at the cat on the bed. She did remember the Proans. “I guess this has something to do with the Ether map again. I thought we were rid of it...” She sighed, then erased bitter-sweet thoughts from her memory. “How long have I been like this?” She gestured at the bed.
Raelin shrugged, gazing out the window. “I brought you back last night, and its early afternoon now, so that that long. I suspect it wasn’t that much of an overload.”
Moria stretched, and flicked her fingers at the black cat. It blinked lazily at her, then padded across her lap to sit on the book. She stroked its head absently. “That’s not that bad then. Where did this fellow come from?”
“That lady just came by. She’s an AlterCrafter, you know? Hasn’t bothere
d to show herself yet, though.” He slapped his hand on his thighs. “
Gods, you must be hungry! Shall I fix you something to eat?”
Moria nodded, and touched his hand lightly. “I’d love that.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 01, 2007 2:13 am
[[posting this for Fairy]]
Talia walked after Raelin to the kitchen, changed back to a person and said, "She has lots of promise, that girl. And don't deny it."
"i know. thats why i chose her as my student."
talia waited for a while, raelin not really getting anywhere on the food.
"Do u want me to get the food for her so you can spend some with her?" she asked after a while.
|
|
|
|
|
|
alfred baramender Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
