TsaTsa
Committed
Roleplay posts: 81
Age: 176
Physical Description: TsaTsa is 7' 1", with extremely pale skin. Despite being a Dullahan, she keeps her head attached and attempts to blend in with humans.
Clothes and Equipment: She wears magical plate armor, colored black, which leaves her arms, thighs and head remain mostly unarmored. She carries a completely normal Fangtian Ji and can conjure and control several other magical weapons, notably a whip styled like a spine.
Player's online availability : Notify me and I'll be there
Registered: Jan 15, 2018 10:01:11 GMT -8
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Post by TsaTsa on Jan 16, 2018 17:52:49 GMT -8
She pauses before answering, considering how to do so. "Just a fey, most of which are able to cast low level magic such as this. What are you?" "Myself? I'm a bit more exotic. You've heard of chimera, I assume?" "The magical beasts? Yes, I've heard of them."
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Mordred
Committed
Roleplay posts: 64
Physical Description: Tall, dark haired, unnaturally slim. Long fingers, blue eyes.
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Clothes and Equipment: Bright and flamboyant golden robes.
Registered: Jan 11, 2018 17:50:04 GMT -8
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Post by Mordred on Jan 16, 2018 18:11:54 GMT -8
"Myself? I'm a bit more exotic. You've heard of chimera, I assume?" "The magical beasts? Yes, I've heard of them." "Well, I'm quite the same in concept." He yawns, stretching a little. My, it has been a long day... "Say, TsaTsa, where are you headed? I myself am off for Tawakoshi, doing a favor for a friend of mine."
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TsaTsa
Committed
Roleplay posts: 81
Age: 176
Physical Description: TsaTsa is 7' 1", with extremely pale skin. Despite being a Dullahan, she keeps her head attached and attempts to blend in with humans.
Clothes and Equipment: She wears magical plate armor, colored black, which leaves her arms, thighs and head remain mostly unarmored. She carries a completely normal Fangtian Ji and can conjure and control several other magical weapons, notably a whip styled like a spine.
Player's online availability : Notify me and I'll be there
Registered: Jan 15, 2018 10:01:11 GMT -8
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Post by TsaTsa on Jan 16, 2018 18:26:46 GMT -8
"The magical beasts? Yes, I've heard of them." "Well, I'm quite the same in concept." He yawns, stretching a little. My, it has been a long day... "Say, TsaTsa, where are you headed? I myself am off for Tawakoshi, doing a favor for a friend of mine." "I have no destination in mind. Nonetheless I end up where I'm supposed to be when the time is right." They reach the end of the thick miasma. "Looks like we are out of the toxic fog now."
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Mordred
Committed
Roleplay posts: 64
Physical Description: Tall, dark haired, unnaturally slim. Long fingers, blue eyes.
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Clothes and Equipment: Bright and flamboyant golden robes.
Registered: Jan 11, 2018 17:50:04 GMT -8
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Post by Mordred on Jan 16, 2018 18:30:30 GMT -8
"Well, I'm quite the same in concept." He yawns, stretching a little. My, it has been a long day... "Say, TsaTsa, where are you headed? I myself am off for Tawakoshi, doing a favor for a friend of mine." "I have no destination in mind. Nonetheless I end up where I'm supposed to be when the time is right." They reach the end of the thick miasma. "Looks like we are out of the toxic fog now." "Very well. I suppose our paths must part here... unless you'd like to join me?"
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TsaTsa
Committed
Roleplay posts: 81
Age: 176
Physical Description: TsaTsa is 7' 1", with extremely pale skin. Despite being a Dullahan, she keeps her head attached and attempts to blend in with humans.
Clothes and Equipment: She wears magical plate armor, colored black, which leaves her arms, thighs and head remain mostly unarmored. She carries a completely normal Fangtian Ji and can conjure and control several other magical weapons, notably a whip styled like a spine.
Player's online availability : Notify me and I'll be there
Registered: Jan 15, 2018 10:01:11 GMT -8
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Post by TsaTsa on Jan 16, 2018 18:35:27 GMT -8
"I have no destination in mind. Nonetheless I end up where I'm supposed to be when the time is right." They reach the end of the thick miasma. "Looks like we are out of the toxic fog now." "Very well. I suppose our paths must part here... unless you'd like to join me?" She considers it briefly. "I will take you up on the offer."
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Mordred
Committed
Roleplay posts: 64
Physical Description: Tall, dark haired, unnaturally slim. Long fingers, blue eyes.
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Clothes and Equipment: Bright and flamboyant golden robes.
Registered: Jan 11, 2018 17:50:04 GMT -8
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Post by Mordred on Jan 16, 2018 18:41:01 GMT -8
"Very well. I suppose our paths must part here... unless you'd like to join me?" She considers it briefly. "I will take you up on the offer." "Excellent!" Mordred seems genuinely delighted. "Off we go then!" [Exit]
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TsaTsa
Committed
Roleplay posts: 81
Age: 176
Physical Description: TsaTsa is 7' 1", with extremely pale skin. Despite being a Dullahan, she keeps her head attached and attempts to blend in with humans.
Clothes and Equipment: She wears magical plate armor, colored black, which leaves her arms, thighs and head remain mostly unarmored. She carries a completely normal Fangtian Ji and can conjure and control several other magical weapons, notably a whip styled like a spine.
Player's online availability : Notify me and I'll be there
Registered: Jan 15, 2018 10:01:11 GMT -8
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Post by TsaTsa on Jan 16, 2018 18:53:25 GMT -8
She considers it briefly. "I will take you up on the offer." "Excellent!" Mordred seems genuinely delighted. "Off we go then!" [Exit] Tsatsa nods, and follows. [Exit]
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Nineteen (The Crimson Book)
Established
Hahahahahahaha
Roleplay posts: 46
Age: Unknown, doesn't really matter.
Physical Description: It varies, currently the profile picture covers it for now though.
Clothes and Equipment: Grey Cloak.
Razor bladed knives.
Razors that extend from the bones that he has taken the form of.
Crimson Book of Spells
Player's online availability : I check periodically throughout most days.
Registered: Jan 12, 2018 14:22:34 GMT -8
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Post by Nineteen (The Crimson Book) on Jan 18, 2018 4:54:55 GMT -8
Nineteen stops being stagnant as his cape burns off revealing a white skeleton with razors embedded in the hands.
"Ow, retcons are the worst! So apparently I have to charge my shapeshifting skills before I charge into glorious conflict! This is me charging my miraculous abilities. Whatever that's supposed to mean...I suppose I have to abide by this reality's ridiculous rules after all, else the hammers start swinging."
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Nineteen (The Crimson Book)
Established
Hahahahahahaha
Roleplay posts: 46
Age: Unknown, doesn't really matter.
Physical Description: It varies, currently the profile picture covers it for now though.
Clothes and Equipment: Grey Cloak.
Razor bladed knives.
Razors that extend from the bones that he has taken the form of.
Crimson Book of Spells
Player's online availability : I check periodically throughout most days.
Registered: Jan 12, 2018 14:22:34 GMT -8
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Post by Nineteen (The Crimson Book) on Jan 19, 2018 11:03:42 GMT -8
Nineteen stops being stagnant as his cape burns off revealing a white skeleton with razors embedded in the hands. "Ow, retcons are the worst! So apparently I have to charge my shapeshifting skills before I charge into glorious conflict! This is me charging my miraculous abilities. Whatever that's supposed to mean...I suppose I have to abide by this reality's ridiculous rules after all, else the hammers start swinging." "Hello? Anyone? They all left didn't they...Heh." [Exit]
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Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
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Post by Falcon Cultain on Jun 28, 2019 18:06:54 GMT -8
Falcon looked up to the late evening sun, watching the golden reddish hues diminish ever so slowly beneath the horizon. The breeze carried with it the scent of distant flowers, and the quiet man lifted his face to it, breathing deeply. For the past several days, the man had been traveling across the nigh-endless plains, enjoying the serene atmosphere lent by the gently swaying grasses and peaceful wildlife, here in one of the most settled corners of the realm that he'd ventured through thus far. The utter tranquility reminded Falcon greatly of the untouched, gentle idylls of home, and for a long moment, he paused at the crest of a hill, gazing down into the valley below.
"...As good a place to make camp as any..." he murmured to himself, absentmindedly brushing his hair back into place as the longer locks poised carefully in an artful wave above his brow. In a few silent, dedicated minutes, Falcon had erected a rough wayfarer's camp, complete with a tent, fire pit, and setup of cooking supplies handy. He went about chopping vegetables, cutting up meat, and throwing in seasoning to create a rough, homespun stew that carried a surprising amount of flavor (at least, according to the man himself). He dumped it into the cooking pot, lit a small fire, and retired to sit on a nearby rock for a few moments.
"...Vanorius...good Centurion, what do I do without you..." Falcon murmured, voice thick with emotion. He ground his fingers into the rock, tensing for a moment, before letting loose an explosive breath.
"No. Too much to do. I...I should train," he mouthed breathlessly, rising in one fluid motion and discarding his shirt effortlessly. Shirtless and in only loose, comfortable pants, Falcon began to move through a series of exercises to clear his mind. As the dance took hold, the man's troubled expression began to fade, replaced with one of contentment. Stretches, then strength training, then strikes, then the battle...movement after movement blended together. At one point he'd acquired his sword, beginning to flow through one form after another, seeking to forestall the inevitable night alone. Sweat dripped down his frame as he panted, forcing his thoughts to order.
Again. Alone.
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Khepri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 173
Physical Description: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings spread outward from her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame.
Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features.
Though the woman seems like a nubile goddess, fingers that end in claws and feet ending in talons do add a frighteningly harsh reality to her image.
When the sun vanishes from the sky, all that is not human about the woman departs, leaving a small, defenseless dame behind.
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Clothes and Equipment: Khepri carries little, save for the string around her neck that holds a round gemstone absorbing sunlight.
When out of sunlight and without the gem, her wings become a heavy cloak.
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Registered: Nov 20, 2017 18:28:46 GMT -8
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Post by Khepri on Jun 30, 2019 9:02:39 GMT -8
Just when a sliver of the sun was left hovering on the horizon, a black dot appeared in its center. The figure took a sharp left and skimmed just inches above the flower field. From so far away, one could decipher it to be a large bird. As it got closer, it began to shape into something different, much less like a bird more like-
fwoosh
The figure dipped into the fields as suddenly as the sun sank below the earth. For a long moment, the only evidence of its presence was the rustle of the lavender around it. Then, just as quickly as it had disappeared, a small figure popped up and began to sprint right toward the lit fire and the tent beyond.
Behind it, the lavender continued to rustle in its direction, like a fox sprinting after a vole. As the figure came closer, it was easy now to see what it was, and as it stumbled into camp, tripping onto its knees-
A young lady with skin like bronze and hair like a nighttime river looked up at the man with panicked eyes. A cloak draped over her frail body, one that certainly didn't belong to a warrior, and uttered one small word:
"Help!"
Bursting from the fields was a massive, slithery creature with no less than a dozen legs, all too short to keep its belly from the ground but swift enough to give it haste. It snapped a wicked beak and let out a sound that was something between a scream and a cackle before aiming to gobble up the poor damsel.
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Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
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Post by Falcon Cultain on Jun 30, 2019 9:41:32 GMT -8
Falcon's training continued unabated. Strike after strike blended together into the strange Avalonian style the man exhibited, full of brutal, close-range blows and twisting, lithe maneuvers that ended in harsh steps - a dancer whose pirouette completes with a heavy, aggressive stomp, full of the energy of his momentum. Every thought was focused now, Falcon's distance vision blurring as details within a short distance filled with razor-sharp clarity. Through his combat haze, the last rays of the setting sun appeared as a soft, golden glow, their gentle radiance slowly slipping away beneath the endless vale. As the dance continued, magic began to swell in his veins, roaring through his bloodstream and highlighting his presence to anyone with the ability to sense such arcana for miles around. The rush was giddy, full of pounding excitement and short, hungry breaths as Falcon's feet blurred over the now-flattened grass.
Legionnaire to the left. He's hard-pressed. Turn and bash. Spin. Dodge Autocrat blast. Man's wounded. Pull him back. Shield. SHIELD. Step into the breach. You're their man. Their hero. Their idol. Duck the psionic lance. Don't get hit by that. Shield the men behind you. You die first. Not them.
You always die first.
Although the man was loathe to devastate such beautiful land, the magic in him risked boiling over. He'd done this to himself, he knew - invoked his enchantment, called his power, and it answered. Hungrily. Growling, Falcon launched himself into a series of strikes and blocks punctuated with short, controlled bursts of arcana - raw, magical energy that would harm anyone not attuned to the caster's energy. Efficient, effective, and utterly trivial to channel through his magically-attuned body, Falcon smiled as he watched the beauty - the weave of the threads, blue and silver, arcana twisting into shapes that would defy all earthly attempt to grasp the true nature of magic. Breathtaking...and terrifying.
Show them the might of Avalon's Imperator.
--
Although Falcon did not notice the flitting of what could be a large bird - the man was not known for his awareness, to any extent - he certainly noticed the arrival of a panting young woman, panicked and shivering. His magical sense rolled over her, giving him details which he would sort through later, when he had overcome his initial surprise. For a heartbeat, the two stared at each other - Falcon's dark brown eyes gazing unblinkingly into the woman's exotic irises. Before he could utter a word, she cried out.
"Help!"
Falcon reacted adequately to what happened next; the slavering beast crested the hill, attention still fixed on its prey - the young woman who'd stumbled to the ground in front of his small camp site. Having had little time to think of a strategy, and even less to digest what was really going on, he did the only thing he could possibly think of in the situation.
He clawed at his naked chest, ripping the emblem hanging from his neck from its chain - a stylized, golden falcon, wings spread in mid-flight - and hurled the icon at the monstrosity with considerable force. Although such a small projectile would normally mean nothing to a focused hunter, as luck would have it, the missile struck the brute straight in one of its four small eyes, set in pairs over its long, drooling beak. The brute roared in outrage, angered more than threatened, and reoriented its full attention onto him.
Perfect.
Falcon defiantly took two steps forward, leveling his blade in a cross-wise guard over his body - and also positioning himself in front of the woman, who even now tried to scramble back to her feet.
The initial, stinging insult, combined with the fact that this gangly being was now attempting to deny the creature its long-sought prey, was too much for the monstrosity. It gave an unearthly shriek, full of fury and promising violence, and charged straight at Falcon. For his part, the man looked back towards the woman now shivering behind him, and spoke in a well-modulated, cultured tone.
"So. You do this often?"
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Khepri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 173
Physical Description: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings spread outward from her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame.
Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features.
Though the woman seems like a nubile goddess, fingers that end in claws and feet ending in talons do add a frighteningly harsh reality to her image.
When the sun vanishes from the sky, all that is not human about the woman departs, leaving a small, defenseless dame behind.
________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: Khepri carries little, save for the string around her neck that holds a round gemstone absorbing sunlight.
When out of sunlight and without the gem, her wings become a heavy cloak.
_________________________________________________
Registered: Nov 20, 2017 18:28:46 GMT -8
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Post by Khepri on Jul 1, 2019 15:21:02 GMT -8
Though she had been cowering in fear, convinced that her life was coming to an end before all her grandeur plans could come to a close, before she was able to give the world even one child, before she was able to explore the Lands Below and all its funny little people fully-
Well, before any of that could come to an end, this man showed up. Her despair lifted from her face like the night from the dawn sky, turning into a grin filled with all of her hopes for the future.
"...only when there's a hero nearby," she laughed, just as the creature was upon them again, lashing out faster than a viper, with a strike like a war hammer.
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Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
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Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 1, 2019 18:12:25 GMT -8
Falcon had trained for decades to become a peerless warrior. Constant combat, wars on the scale of nations, and brutal, violent fights with the most powerful beings to stalk the land had developed him into a virtual monstrosity on the battlefield. Although Falcon had also been trained in statecraft, diplomacy, wilderness survival, the study and theory of magic, and any other number of oddities, ultimately, when tensions mounted, and fists were raised, Falcon was the foremost of his men in almost any engagement. Put simply, in a straight-up fight, Falcon was your man.
Despite all of this, nothing prepared him for the smile that lit up like the sun when he turned around. The man's face went slack with surprise for a half-instant, a slow blush starting low on his neck just before he was slammed by the enraged beast, all slavering teeth and keening fury. Instantly, Falcon berated himself for the slip even while he shoved back with his sword, the only thing between himself and (likely) a large chest cavity. As he went careening into the dirt, the monstrosity leaving him no quarter, he wrestled to gain some space even while he focused his mind upon the creature, his senses washing over it like an ocean wave.
Falcon did not like what he sensed. And, in traditional Falcon fashion, was quite vocal about it.
"Necromantic energy...this thing was gods-damned summoned here by someone...and when I--urgh--when I get...gods above, get the fuck off me--when I get over to them, I'm going to drive them into the dirt hard enough that they can't get themselves out!" As he finished speaking, Falcon finally kicked the thing full in the face, the entire weight of his body behind the blow as his back drove a burrow into the dirt. As Falcon slid away from the momentarily-stunned beast, he raised his blade with a furious war cry that echoed across the valley for miles. Bright blue flame enveloped the sword in an instant...and then the real fight commenced.
--
Several long minutes later, the creature lay steaming in two halves, sliced to death at last by Falcon's blade. The man had displayed considerable combat prowess, from his command of magic to his grasp of swordplay, and even more than a passing familiarity fighting inhuman enemies. It seemed that only the late hour, Falcon's relative exhaustion after such intense training leading into the fight, and total surprise had combined to give the man a real challenge.
In other words, something would have strongly hinted to Khepri that either Falcon was either the perfect, born-and-bred warrior...or not entirely human.
Still, his smile was real enough, and as he bent to pick up a rag with which to clean the rapidly-evaporating black blood from his sword - more out of personal disgust than any real need, as it quickly began to fade away into base magical energy - it displayed heavily rippled muscle that was also...quite real. Falcon looked to Khepri for a moment, then began to speak as he worked.
"Apologies. I should have dealt with that damned thing far quicker than I did. Now that you've watched...all of that...you're likely curious. I am called Falcon; Falcon Cultain. Wanderer, occasional mercenary, not anyone in particular." Although Falcon's face was hidden by brief shadow, the lilting, casual tone would indicate he'd neglected the whole truth during the last part of his explanation. "Bit of an interesting introduction, admittedly...stumbling into my camp in the middle of the night chased by a necromancer's spawn. You're either foolish, lucky, or a pawn, meant to lure me into a trap." He paused for a moment, inspecting the beautifully master-worked sword - clearly a family heirloom, one passed down for generations. When he spoke again, he looked Khepri in the eyes, his dark brown orbs laced with both serious, deadly intent, and a bit of personal amusement.
"Thankfully, I'm also foolish, rather lucky, and...rather enjoy fighting my way out of traps."
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Khepri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 173
Physical Description: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings spread outward from her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame.
Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features.
Though the woman seems like a nubile goddess, fingers that end in claws and feet ending in talons do add a frighteningly harsh reality to her image.
When the sun vanishes from the sky, all that is not human about the woman departs, leaving a small, defenseless dame behind.
________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: Khepri carries little, save for the string around her neck that holds a round gemstone absorbing sunlight.
When out of sunlight and without the gem, her wings become a heavy cloak.
_________________________________________________
Registered: Nov 20, 2017 18:28:46 GMT -8
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Post by Khepri on Jul 2, 2019 16:07:59 GMT -8
The woman scrambled over to the edge of the clearing as this strapping stranger battled the enraged monstrosity. Now completely out of the way, she observed the warrior's dance, the way his blade whipped through the air, how his feet glided across the ground, how his muscles rippled as they tightened and loosened. Unlike many she had observed in the past, his struggle didn't seem desperate, but artful. He went about a butcher's task with a stylus and made a scene so mesmerizing that the damsel couldn't rip her eyes away.
Seeing the beast cleaved in half did churn her stomach, causing her to lurch forward and gag into her palm. Such sights didn't befit the woman, and neither did such behavior. Doing her best to recover, she rocked back onto her feet and stood up to meet him, her hand curled at her lips.
Thankfully, the corpse was dissipating into something much less offensive, and she was able to regain her facilities in time for his approach. She listened to his words carefully. When he said he wasn't a significant character, her cheeks lifted and pushed up her eyelids, signaling the humor she found in his introduction. Her eyebrows slowly moved upward when his tone changed.
"Oh," she breathed, the grin behind her hand growing. As she dropped her arm, she wiped it from her face with her fingers and began to move towards the man. "So this is supposed to frighten me, perhaps-" Her fingers fluttered toward the sword. "After all, I've seen what you can do with it. So what would you like me to do to reassure you? Would you like to search my cloak?" She pulled the robe from her shoulders and motioned in in front of her in such a way that she hid behind it. "Or maybe it's me you're curious about?"
The cloak dropped.
Brazen and smirking, she quickened her pace, almond eyes grasping his own. "Oh, but now I'm trying to seduce you, it's all part of the trap!" She wiggled her long nails at his bare chest mockingly. "Stab you in the back as you moan in the throes of passion. How clever! Or maybe I should lure you to the dark village nearby where the dark powers lurking there conscripted me, having consumed all its people, now hungry for more."
With a sigh and a shrug, she turned heel and bent over at her hips to snatch her cloak. She threw a glance at the warrior as she slid it over her shoulders.
"Or maybe there's a monster inside me waiting to burst forth and devour you. If you feel so threatened, why don't you try opening me up to find out?"
A wink.
A laugh.
She sat down next to the fire and brought her knees to her chest, curling her arms around her legs. "My name is Khepri. A pleasure to meet you, Sir Falcon Cultain."
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Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
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Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 2, 2019 17:52:01 GMT -8
Falcon couldn't resist a small smirk as the woman asked about his sword, though his eyes widened in slight disbelief - and a more than healthy amount of interest - as her cloak fell to the ground. Again, the warrior found himself overwhelmed on a front he hadn't expected, and for it was defeated soundly by a thorough blush which spread up his neck and over his face until his skin matched the reddish color of the fire he'd kept stoked throughout the late evening and into the dusk. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts that had suddenly gathered there - pressing, buzzing, clamoring for attention. Khepri watched the man shiver for a brief moment, eyes closing as gooseflesh rippling over his arms and chest before he took a small breath, nodding to himself once - reasserting control, it seemed.
"Mh. I appreciate the display," Falcon murmured quietly as he went about tidying up the rest of the camp, occasionally glancing to the woman seated next to the flickering firelight, "but it may not avail you as you hope." He gave her a long look, the flames dancing in his serious, unblinking eyes, as for several moments only the crackle of the campfire punctuated the silence. At last, he looked away, finishing the remainder of his tasks in easy tranquility. Falcon laid his forgotten meal - now cold - back on the fire, supplementing it with more wood before settling down next to Khepri. The man seemed totally at ease without a shirt, sporting only the simple, loose, dark pants he wore that covered to just above his ankles. He brushed at his raven-black hair, clearing it from his forehead while openly studying Khepri from his position at her side, expression alight with amusement, interest, and raw curiosity. As his eyes locked with hers, his head tilted to one side in a rather birdlike gesture of curio.
"I would know more of you," he spoke in a low, smooth tone. "I do not know you, nor whom you serve. Both are of great import. It is as you say - you may be a pawn of some greater power. Yet..." Falcon trailed off, expression shifting, growing more reserved, as his gaze drifted to the dark, quiet valley beyond. When he spoke again, it was after a long pause - something which the man appeared to inject rather frequently into his speech, as he searched for precisely the right words to say.
"...Yet I place trust in what is said to me. I have been betrayed, yes, stabbed in the back, yes, lured, entranced, trapped. But were I to allow this to influence my every thought and action, to change who I am, to treat those whom I have never even heard speak with suspicion and mistrust..."
He paused again.
"I would no longer be Falcon. And I would not - will not - allow it."
For a quiet moment, again only the flames spoke.
"So, speak. Tell me of you. And know that what you say to me - I believe it. It is a great burden to bear, the belief of those who listen," he added with a small, knowing smile - something that hinted at a long, long history.
"But bear it you shall."
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Khepri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 173
Physical Description: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings spread outward from her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame.
Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features.
Though the woman seems like a nubile goddess, fingers that end in claws and feet ending in talons do add a frighteningly harsh reality to her image.
When the sun vanishes from the sky, all that is not human about the woman departs, leaving a small, defenseless dame behind.
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Clothes and Equipment: Khepri carries little, save for the string around her neck that holds a round gemstone absorbing sunlight.
When out of sunlight and without the gem, her wings become a heavy cloak.
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Registered: Nov 20, 2017 18:28:46 GMT -8
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Post by Khepri on Jul 2, 2019 20:51:48 GMT -8
She turned her head to gaze at the man as he joined her, fire dancing in her eyes. As he spoke, she laid her cheek against her knees and gave him her ears, only to learn that he was going to provide her with his own. Khepri bit her lips to hold back another smile straining at the edges of her mouth. The burden of belief, hm?
"Not a burden I'm very familiar with," she began. "But one I will bear."
The woman stretched her legs out in front of her and ran her hands down her shins. Her stare returned to the flames as her jaw chewed over her words. Eventually, she tossed her arms up with a huff of air through her nose.
"I am a courtesan," she admitted. "And the child of a god."
Letting that sink in, she held up a finger to silence him should he try to speak.
"There are none who I serve, but a few who serve me. Servents, I thought of them, but I may be wrong now. They are my keepers. Even so, they have families, duchies, friends... they cannot be there for me as much as I need them." She gestured outward at the empty air. "I do believe that they will be there in my time of need." She faced him again, holding her hand out to point to him. "As you were."
She combed her long hair over her shoulder, letting the curtain drape her small body. "I am on a journey home, but the path is not straight. There are many branching roads that I must take before I am to return. They carry with them incredible discoveries, odd allies, and eventually... redemption. Today, my journey led me here, where I met two of my guards for the first time. I visited the town before coming here." On fire, chased after a knight errant that broke her wrist, with a woman who was charmed by her spell and an archer who was firing arrows half-blind. The memory almost made her laugh.
"I went there to find lodging for sundown. I found the village to be cursed when that foul abomination attacked me. You slew it, and now we are here."
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Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
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Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 3, 2019 8:26:12 GMT -8
As Falcon listened to Khepri's story, many emotions flickered across his expression - surprise, amusement, grief, pain...hope. It appeared that in most cases, or at least when alone, Falcon either had no skill in hiding his feelings, or simply chose to make no effort - displaying a startling amount of personal honesty. The man could not help his reaction to Khepri's story, however; as she fell silent, the corners of his mouth turned up, teeth showing in a highly-entertained smile. He shook in place, snorting, struggling to contain himself. Finally, he broke out into great peals of laughter that had him bent over, dark hair breaking loose for a moment to fall over his forehead and cover his face with shadow. As he straightened himself after a few moments, brushing his hair back into place, Khepri noticed a flicker of emotion across his still-amused face entirely at odds with the rest of his humor - a grim, purposeful seriousness that vanished as soon as it appeared.
Falcon settled himself, chuckling once more. "I apologize, friend. Your story...is...fanciful. Not entirely unbelievable. But fanciful indeed. And, were it true..." He stared off into the distance for a moment before continuing. "...why, there would be, perhaps, much more in common between yourself and I than you might ever believe." His tone darkened, growing more reserved as he spoke, and finally, he heaved a great sigh. Now, Khepri could see the deeper emotions well up in the man, and when he spoke, his smooth tone carried the weight of decades. At length, Falcon began to explain to her some of his past in a mesmerizing, polished voice.
"I am called Falcon Cultain, yes. Falcon Cultain, Imperator of the Blessed Land of Avalon, half of the nation of Akkadia in a recent alliance - one that will shake the very foundations of my homeland of Alancria to its core. I have served many years as leader of my people, my nation, and my fair land, and it is only in the past few months that I have deigned to wander, seeking answers to questions that plague me even from my bed across the world's many great oceans. I have fought, wept, and bled for those who follow me. I carry the weight of half a continent on my shoulders."
He took a long breath.
"I am also called Falcon Cultain, son of a blacksmith and a tailor, no one of importance; driven to seek refuge from forces beyond my control, and bound out of desperation to an entity that dwells in the higher planes - one might say a deity." He winked slowly, but his grave visage did not waver as he continued. "I have fought and slain gods, kings, and men; I have lived a war my entire life. I was once hunted, chased by vile powers that sought to drown our world in sorrow. I am Legio Praenuntius, Harbinger of the Platinum Legion, Avalon's finest military. I am a horrific saint of battle, driven by sheer willpower."
Another long breath.
"I am also called Falcon Cultain, the stubborn oak. When every aching muscle and ragged wound cries out for release; when you have not slept or eaten in days; when you are alone, outnumbered, and outmatched; when there is nothing you may do but fight on with every ragged gasp of breath you drag through your injured lungs - that is when you know your measure. Take a step when you know that you cannot, and forge your own path. Happiness is there, for those who have the will to reach out and grasp it."
One final breath.
"Thus am I Falcon Cultain. Foolish, brash, brave, devoted. It is my loyalty to those around me that keeps me alive. It is their faith in me that sustains me. On the day I breath my last, I shall do so gladly, knowing that my life has been spent in service."
Falcon reached out to Khepri slowly, coiling a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her so that their eyes were just a few inches apart.
"Now that I've told you just enough of the highlights to make you curious...do you have any questions?" He murmured quietly, firelight dancing in his gaze.
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Khepri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 173
Physical Description: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings spread outward from her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame.
Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features.
Though the woman seems like a nubile goddess, fingers that end in claws and feet ending in talons do add a frighteningly harsh reality to her image.
When the sun vanishes from the sky, all that is not human about the woman departs, leaving a small, defenseless dame behind.
________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: Khepri carries little, save for the string around her neck that holds a round gemstone absorbing sunlight.
When out of sunlight and without the gem, her wings become a heavy cloak.
_________________________________________________
Registered: Nov 20, 2017 18:28:46 GMT -8
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Post by Khepri on Jul 7, 2019 13:25:30 GMT -8
When the young man began to laugh, Khepri wasn't sure if she was insulted or equally amused. Her brows pinched tightly together with her hand covering her lips as he dissolved into little chuckles. Just as she readied herself to come back with a wise remark, he began his own story.
She observed him as he spoke, studying those little expressions on his face, reading him like a scholar would decipher pages of text. He honestly wore his heart on his sleeve. She looked for any inkling of lies, embellishments, half-truths, and thought that either this man was an incredible weaver or tales or a goldmine that happened to stumble right in her path.
The guiding hand of the sun god knew precisely where to lead her.
Rising her brows at the end of his lengthy introduction, the woman raised her eyebrows and took all of the information in with a breath. What was she to say? From her toes to her head, she felt as though she had been handed her destiny free of cost, right on a silver platter.
Her bubble popped when he put his hands on her, pulling her towards him a little more brashly than she expected for a first meeting. Still, it's all she could expect of any man from the Lands Below; the first one she ever met broke her wrist, after all.
With a little grin, she leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee. "Oh there's quite a lot I'd like to know..." she hummed as she smoothed her hand down his pants toward his thigh-
-then pinched.
Once she was released, she combed her fingers through her hair and huffed. "But first I think you need to learn a thing or two about manners. Do not take my profession as a gateway to a free ride. I perform only from dawn to dusk." She peered over at him with her lips twisting in barely contained laughter. In the end, she couldn't hold back, one eye closing as she placed a hand on her stomach and roared.
"... your story is crazier than my own! You're one to talk. I do believe you, as I've seen you fight. That creature was no frail summon and to take it on alone, well-" She splayed her hands out. "Though I do have to wonder what you're doing now. Perhaps just adventuring. Perhaps looking for work? I'm in the market for another keeper."
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Falcon Cultain
Established
Most likely training.
Roleplay posts: 31
Age: 26
Physical Description: Falcon is a man of medium (5'7") height, with dark, intense eyes, black hair, and fair skin. Lithe in build, he’s powerful for his size, deadly quick, and possesses a glittering charisma set in his proud jawline and quirked half-smile. His body is well-toned from years of intense training, and his steady demeanor marks him easily as one who is used to command. With a well-modulated voice that seems accustomed to speeches, an enthralling temperament, and an aura of absolute confidence in himself and those around him, Falcon cuts a path through most crowds and demands attention from all who hear him speak.
Clothes and Equipment: Falcon sports fine garb - dark silk pants and fine black leather shoes, a white silk shirt, and a blue and gold stole. Over this his light, ornate armor rests, though the man frequently avoids wearing it due to his relative lack of use compared to his defensive magics. Finally, a blue and silver cloak wraps about his shoulders, clasped in the front by a silver amulet stylized after his personal crest - a falcon mid-flight, wings and claws extended.
Some circumstances will cause Falcon to change his garb entirely from such finery. When sparring or training, he'll frequently remove everything but a simple, close-fitting pair of pants, opting to wear as little as possible. When "skulking" (a 'necessary but reprehensible' act, as the man puts it), he'll don a set of woodsman's green-and-grey clothes that show heavy use, hinting at long months spent in the wilderness in the distant past.
Allegiances: The Blessed Land of Avalon
Player's online availability : Fairly often
Registered: Jun 25, 2019 11:52:01 GMT -8
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Post by Falcon Cultain on Jul 7, 2019 14:43:22 GMT -8
Falcon's face was quite a study as he watched Khepri slide her hand up his leg. Flushing red, the man let loose a low, dangerous growl - that completely halted as she pinched him, transforming instead into a small, satisfied grin. He nodded as she spoke to him about manners - apparently readily agreeing with her admonishment. Quickly recovering, Falcon began to speak congenially.
"Understoody, lady," he murmured. "In truth, I wished to see how you might react, and I offer apology." He gave her a small nod before continuing. "Now that my own curiosity has been sated...yes, perhaps my story is rather insane, isn't it?" He tilted his head, his eyes containing a glint of challenge. "Yet it is the truth...just as what I seem to hear from your own lips." He leaned back, idly massaging his thigh where she'd pinched him. "...The child of a god, eh. Hm. You must be powerful in your own right, to have so many following you..."keepers", though, you call them. An interesting title. A god beholden to its followers? For once, perhaps."
After a few more seconds of quiet musing, Falcon stretched, muscles flexing in the firelight, before he seemed to remember his half-clothed state. The man politely excused himself, returning a moment later with a rough, homespun shirt of soft wool. Reclaiming his seat next to the fire and letting out a contented growl, Falcon looked over Khepri again. His gaze, and his magical sense, scrutinized her openly - his calm gaze inviting her to examine him as well, as though sizing each other up for a battle. Finally, he spoke again.
"My...business...in this land is complex. For one, I seek allies, of a sort. For another...well. I've always enjoyed adventuring. There is naught like the freedom one might experience roaming the countryside, saving the innocent and slaying evil where one might find it. For a third..." The man trailed off into silence, resuming after a long pause. "...I have a rather raging headache. A story that we do not have time for at the moment," he murmured, looking out into the pitch black that seemed to have crept from the valley floor to consume all but the mote of light presented by their campfire. The gentle swish of the wind and the pale illumination of the moonlight were the only indicators that the two figures seated in the firelight existed in a world that extended beyond the reach of the gentle, flickering flames.
"We should rest," Falcon spoke into that darkness, face turned from the fire. "Both of us have traveled far, and endured much more excitement than would be common in a day...one might imagine," he half-turned, crooking his mouth in a smirk for a moment. He gestured with his chin towards his bedroll, tucked away under his pack against a large rock adjacent to his tent. "I presume you have carried little, on your frightened journey. Take my place; I will rest by the fire. It was common enough for me throughout my Legion days; it shall not trouble me for a night."
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