A Wayfarer Abreeze

[Malaise 1570]

 

"Looming overhead

Whimsycal, of mystery

The didact wanders"

- A bard's excerpt 

 

 

A tower aloft could be spotted on a cloudless day, looming over the forests of northern Vailor, its precarious island host oft' gifting the foliage below with the occasional falling rock. It rests still, moving but only when the strongest of breezes rush past it. The spires that compose the mysterious structure are of no grandeur, save but their questionable stability. Its caps are of a violet shade, paved in a design not unlike that of Rivel, the floating magistracy of Athera. To all guests who near it, they find no welcome. A flight of stone stairs hang from its precipice,showing proof that entry is indeed possible - but when, and where, are nigh uncertain. 

 

Those of keen sight may observe its mannerisms, noting that it and its master drift ever closer to the war torn realm of Oren, in search of activity and life. 

 

Those that are truly curious pursue it in search of answers.

 

((Small, fun series of events incoming. Magic users may be especially interested. Non-Magic players will find just as much enjoyment I hope.  This will be the first of varied posts. Feel free to role-play having seen the tower all you like. Happy role-playing, dude/dudettes.))

[Ford 1996]

Archibald gazes up at the construct with an inquisitive yet greedy flame arising underneath his hazel eyes.

 

"I want to steal something from that place."

[_Jandy_ 3519]

Andwise hopes this will be more entertaining than whatever the **** happened in Athera with flying islands.

[ARCHITECUS 4788]

"THUMP."

 

Jimena jumps.

 

He rubs his head, feeling the light stubble surrounding his grand forelock. Some jarring force had shaken the soil above him in his dim mushroom burrow. Shooting an annoyed glare at his unorthodox crops, he creeps out out to the crisp surface air, bent double under the low roots composing the ceiling. The man turns himself about, hands gripping the lively roots; fingers dug into the rich, black soil and pulls himself over the humble cave's entrance.

 

A rock. A brick? Jimena squints at the stone that seems to have apparated two feet above his stooped neck. Nestled in the vibrant turf, it must not have been rolled there. The man curiously glances over to the low walls surrounding the tents of his brothers. "Yakov throws not that far, no." he muses to himself with a smirk, but a new lead pushes Jimena's mind on. A few pine needles fluttered down by the rock as he stood and swam through his thoughts. He glances up, retracing their path with careful eyes. The boughs of the proud tree shading him were punched aside, cracked, hanging limp into a vertical chasm of needles.

 

He takes up his short saber and a modest spear, the former in his belt; the latter in his hand. In a small pack slung across his shoulders rests a dark bottle of ale and a loaf of bread, just as rich. Scampering back over the earth ramparts, away from his fellow free men, he curses his readiness. The island was moving nowhere, for now.

[Malaise 1570]

To the weary pursuers of the monolith above, respite has been granted. An arcane trail, wispy and ethereal has been cast over the towers path. Ley-lines below guide its trek, soon bringing it to a familiar location to some, and to others, a place of memory - Barrowyk, now host to d'Amaury and its Marshal lordling.

It was soon to make landfall, lingering just beyond the reach of the repurposed holding.

[Malaise 1570]

Deep into the black of eve a great, eldritch thrumming resounds across the north of Summerhall. Seen upon the horizon, awash in the inky blackness of midnight flicker a rainbow of color - eldritch hues illuminating the night sky as the silhouette of a towering monolith tore asunder the clouds and began its descent into the  Aardwen Mountains.

Frigid winds carrying arcane echoes gave tell of its arrival in the snowcapped mountains. How long it was to stay was known only to its masters. A frame of marble descended from the floating island above, making landfall below. Swirling arcane energy enveloped it, allowing the curious unmarred entry to the citadel that shadowed the peaks.

The Violet Circle has opened their doors the world.

 

[Malaise 1570]

"The tower, as depicted by a skilled roadside artist!"

((These new forums are the worst. I could not edit my post above. This is the image that was INTENDED to work. Fix them please. 

This is at X: 1200 Z: -2900 ))

 

[Monomakhos 1849]

Upon the back of clouds comes the eldritch thrumming of Ronae; the Isle Abreeze. Sailing across the breadth of Vailor, it comes to begin its foray into the arid plains to the south of Urguan. Emergent from a thick layer of clouds, a rainbow of color washes over the countryside near to the City of Al-Wakhrah as it anchors itself in the shadow of a lone mountain. With purpose unknown, the Violet Circle has found its way south.

 

((-1657, 120, 1043))

 

 

Edited September 7, 2015 by Bagley

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.