The Isran Empire
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 105 
Registered: May 23, 2017 16:46:10 GMT -8
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Post by The Isran Empire on Dec 24, 2018 23:29:39 GMT -8
 The Ice MineAccessible only by a small, nondescript tunnel in the Isran countryside, this cave exhibits a most unusual phenomenon: It is cold enough for ice to form inside, even on the hottest days of the summer. This has led many enterprising locals to crawl through the cave to leave buckets of water inside, bringing them back out when frozen to create a refreshing treat of crushed ice and fruit juices to be sold on small roadside stands. |
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Whir
Committed
Roleplay posts: 95
Age: 23
Physical Description: Whir stands approximately six feet and five inches (nearly two meters) tall. His skin ranges from pale to dark blue and is lined with bright markings that do not appear to be tattoos. Dark blue crystals shoot back from his scalp where hair would be on a pure blooded human. He is lithe and corded, muscles defined, but not pronounced.
Clothes and Equipment: ...
Simple clothing hangs from Whir's slim body. The only apparent armor a banded chest plate made of what appears to be some dark wood. Resting on a loop attached to the back of this chest piece is a long and narrow sword. To the untrained observer it almost appears as a needle, with the eye replaced by a pommel set with some light blue gem. The sword is in fact, made from a single crystal of orichalcum. The rapier-like double edged blade is nearly indestructible despite its thin profile. A leather wrap starts at the pommel and runs about eighteen inches up the body of the sword, where immediately after, the five foot long blade takes an edge.
Registered: Feb 24, 2016 19:59:25 GMT -8
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Post by Whir on Dec 25, 2018 1:12:06 GMT -8
Whir lay on the icy floor of the mine, half propped against a wall and half splayed across the floor. Anyone who had stumbled in on his repose might assume him a corpse, the way his blue skin closely matched that of the iced cave's interior.
Groggy eyes opened slowly, consciousness spreading through his body like warm whiskey through a gullet. "Another cave," he mumbled to himself. "Why?" He shook his head at himself. The last thing he could recall, he had just woken up on a boat drifting towards what looked like a city on a glacier. Once again he reached for his sword and found it beside him, half frozen in the ice, almost as if it had melted into the sheet and then frozen over again.
His pack, too, was within reach. Any contents it may have had after this latest unrememberable adventure were long since gone -- including the gems he had tucked away under the concealed flap.
Thanks to his lineage, the cold air didn't bother him. But how would he get his sword out of the ice? No fires burned here and he had nothing to start one with, or anything to chip away at the ice with. Leaving it and coming back wasn't an option: if it was found and removed by someone else, nothing good would come of it.
He tried to pry the sword out of the ice using brute strength first. The sword wouldn't break under such leverage, but the strength of the ice far outmatched his own. Next he tried to scrape it away with the heel of his boot. Made for travel and lacking any metal traction devices, it simply slid along the surface, making no progress. Finally, he remember the buckles on his pack were of some metal alloy, prized for its low weight but high strength. After about an hour of scraping, the blade finally came loose.
Gathering what little belongings he still had, both of them in fact, he finally set to make his way out of the cave. Light seemed to come from one direction, and he decided to hope on that being an entrance. On the way out, he came across several buckets of what looked like plain water ice. Quite clever of the folk, probably using the cave to make ice. It was rare to see chilled anything outside of cities after all.
Finally exiting through the mouth of the frozen cave, the sun in his eyes made him sneeze. How long had it been since he'd seen sun? It seemed like years. However, the landscape before him was also cold and snow-covered. "I guess those buckets are leftovers from summer," he said to no one in particular.
Far off in a direction, a line of smoke rose from the horizon. With any luck, it wouldn't be more than a half day's walk. His stomach was growing less patient by the minute, and walking through snow covered grass was going to use up a lot of energy.
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