Balmakka
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Posts posted by Balmakka
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Why you so cute though
3 -
Silas comes home to a crow bearing a letter. But this crow...wasn't just any normal avian.
It was a memory. It was regret. It was the bittersweet sorrow that cooed in the back of his mind all these years.
Upon the sight of the bird, Silas slowly slips his helmet from his head, a fresh-bladed dent in the side of it, tossing it aside.
He kneels down, extending one hand slowly to the creature as if it were some mythical beast from a realm not his own.
"By the gods, Peter....what happened? How are you here?"
Naturally, the bird would peck at his hand, to which Silas quickly scoops him in close, rubbing his beak like he always seemed to like.
Much to Silas's dismay, the birds croaks were hoarse, and it was greatly aged.He slowly takes the letter, bringing both it and the bird inside.
As he enters, the crow's lifelong companion, Silas's falcon Annil, would appear in spectacular spectral blue fashion, and the two would dance about in the sky of the living room as Silas takes a seat.He slowly unveils the letter, sitting before the flame of his living room, casting blue eyes upon the words within.
As he reads, his eyes grow glossy, his mind clouded with endless questions that will never be asked.
He finishes the letter, setting it beside him and pouring a glass of vampiric red wine, gazing into the inferno as they always used to do together.
"Nous ne brûlerons pas.." he whispers, taking a sip of wine as the wave of his oncoming life rushes toward him.1 -
MC Name:
ThatTromboneGuy
Character's Name:
Silas Astasel
Character's Age:
45
Character's Race:
High Elf
What magic(s) will you be learning?
Housemagery
Teacher's MC Name:
MiniMuffinNinja
Teacher's RP Name:
Lawrence Dreadmoore
Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:
No
Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your magic app?:
Yes
Are you aware that if this magic is shelved, that you may no longer use it in character?
Yes
0 -
Rijka
Physical Description:
The Rijka is a larger species in the family Leporidae, known for its rabbit-kind. Growing to be about the size of a small/medium dog, these creatures grow to be about 15 pounds fully grown, and about 2 feet in length. These beasts sport an ivory horn anywhere between 3 to 12 inches in length, coming in different shades of pale yellow, cream, and white. While this horn generally extends forward, it may corkscrew or curl any number of times on its path, taking various shapes. Some Rijka may have gouges or naturally grown patterns upon their horn, either from genetics or dominance struggles with others. Female Rijka tend to have shorter horns, around 3-7 inches, while the males boast a large 6-12. This, however, reflects in the quality of the ivory, as females tend to have a much brighter white, while the males often dip into a yellow or off-white. The pelts of both genders tend to have a natural variety of browns, whites, yellows, and in some cases burgundy or navy blue. A Rijka’s ears may be either perky or floppy, dependent mostly upon their parents, with few outliers differing from their inherited traits. Rijka bear no sharp talons, rather relying upon the size of their hardened pads to provide traction upon things such as ice. Utilizing their strong legs, Rijka can run up to a max of 20 mph (32 kmh), though this quickly exhausts them. The lifespan of a wild Rijka is roughly 2 years. Eye color of Rijka may span any shade of green, blue, black, or brown. In very rare instances, specifically among that of the navy blue colored pelts, the Rijka may have deep purple eyes. While this eye color can be bred to occur with other pelt colors, it is extremely rare.
Habitat/Natural Behaviors:
Rijka are native to Northern habitats solely, their thick layers of insulation and fur detesting the hotter climates. This being said, Rijka may be kept in captivity in these places, though run the risk of heat exhaustion and potential death in the event of over-exertion. Within these northern climates, Rijka take shelter within dens. These dens can be found few and far between, underneath tree stumps and in natural divots in the ground. They do, however, tend to group up to around 4-5 within these dens, usually all within the same family/lineage of one another.
In the wild, Rijka boast their horns as a form of a mating display. Generally, the more complex and attention-drawing the horn is, the more sought after as a mate they are. This is accompanied by an attention to the color of the horn. The deeper yellow a male’s horn is, the more experienced he is deemed, and therefore more apt. This being said, male Rijka often come into conflict with one another, just as bucks do. In this conflict, they clash horns in a jabbing/slashing manner, more often than not colliding with an opposing eye or nose, ending the fight.
The diet of Rijka consists of primarily leafy greens such as lettuce, cabbage, carrots, etc. but may include small meats such as dried strips or insects. These meats, however, are ill-preferred, as the Rijka bears only two somewhat sharp teeth, located at the forefront of their mouths. The rest of their teeth are dull and meant for grinding vegetables and fruits.
Reproduction:
Rijka reproduce with a partner, usually regarded as a lifemate. These lifemates are bound to one another emotionally, and will protect each other fiercely. This being said, contrary to other rabbits, Rijka give birth through eggs. After 2 OOC weeks of incubation and close-guarding by the mother, a newborn Rijka (Roughly palm-sized), will use the tip of it’s ivory nub to crack through the egg and emerge.
Domestication:
Rijka, being a relatively undemanding animal, are easily cared for in their normal climate. They can be let out on their own as an outside animal, though there are several risks associated with such, as they are often preyed upon by things such as dire wolves. The most reliable way to domesticate a Rijka is to raise it from the moment it hatches, either by having it imprint upon you or its mother in captivity. With the limited threat in captivity, these creatures can live up to 12 years, quickly growing and reaching their max size at about the 2 year mark.
SpoilerGeneral Redlines:
- Rijka may only be naturally found within northern/colder climates- Horns do not regenerate beyond their initial growth and will keep marks, gouges, and snaps upon them.
- Rijka may only reproduce once every OOC month, including the incubation period. (Leaving minimum 2 OOC weeks of downtime between incubation periods)
- Exhaustion due to climate differential should be roleplayed reasonably. (No 20 pound rabbits sprinting around in the desert for hours)
SpoilerCombat Redlines:
- There is no combat with Rijka.
- Don't try to fight with a little horned fluffball, duh.
- The most a Rijka will do in relevance to player hostility is becoming especially non-compliant when around their nest.
Credits to MiniMuffinNinja and Pundimonium for helping me with questions!
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Now this....is epic
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Entry 10 Posted!
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Entry 9 Posted!
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Silas, clutching his newly-born child, observes as a bird swoops down before him, his Silver Falcon following along and squawking playfully. He smiles to the bird, taking the parchment in one hand and opening it slowly. He reads over the contents with an approving gaze "I'm glad they're getting on well."
He looks down to his sleeping baby
"Perhaps we will go. Won't we, Sylvia?"
2 -
Silas looks over a sheet recounting the various tenets with a supportive expression, shortly after sent into worry
"How unfortunate a fate for a vassal of Oren..."
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Entry 8 Posted!
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Entry 7 Posted!
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Entry 6 Posted!
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Entry 5 Posted!
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Entry 4 Posted!
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Somewhere out there, be it far or near, Silas was sitting at a desk,
writing poetry of his own into a large tome.
One which his feelings might come to life without being broadcast to the world.
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Entry 3 Posted!
2 -
Entry 2 Posted!
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Entry 1 Posted!
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OOC: This Tome is a collection of poetry written by Silas Astasel, located with an irp book.
Often, these entries will involve some background as he writes it, which onlookers/those reasonably around may emote in response to within this post.
If you wish to do this, simply begin a reply, select the entry and hit "quote selection," then add your response emote.
Direct confrontation between characters should be avoided most times, as to not metagame or make the post a confusing web.
This being said, the contents written within this tome are located behind closed pages, and should not be metagamed unless Silas shows you IRP the content within.
I will reply to this post as I edit it to provide an area to respond. Enjoy!
Entry 1:
SpoilerSilas Astasel sits upon an armchair, an ankle over his knee before the grand fireplace of the Esbec tavern, his cherry wine ever-present beside him. "Annil" he calls softly, a silvery falcon sweeping across the room and onto the table beside him. Silas reaches behind her, running his hand over her feathers before plucking a loose one and producing a portable inkwell from his robes. He looks into the blaze for a moment, pondering something far behind his crystalline blue eyes. He somberly dips his quill into the dark red ink of his make, and takes to the paper.
He writes:
My love is a contrite one.I am endlessly perplexed by its mysticality and wonder, yet it's divine glory bars me miles upon emotional miles away.
And still yet, I see its radiance from atop the hills, locked in the valleys, gliding upon the depths, and within my soul.
It bears me everforth, borne against the current that is reluctance, sails filled with naught but passion in its purest entity.
Upon circling in the last period, Silas takes a deep sigh, looking back to the flame. It's brilliance cascades across only one side of his face, illuminating every ridge upon his features, leaving the other side in naught but dark. He purses his lips a moment, before crumbling the paper and throwing it into the fire. He takes up his wine and has a deep sip before closing his eyes, leaning his head against the head of the chair and bathing before the inferno.
Entry 2:
SpoilerSilence is Weightless.
Despite this, we feel it's burden upon our shoulder and it's encumbrance upon our brow.
It's crushing.
Like the depths of the ocean itself, the serenity of silence can lure us deeper yet deeper.
Don't sink.
It will strand you upon it's current, destined to forever-drift upon it's endless wake.
Arid waters.
A suffocation in a sea of sand, silence causes one to wonder if they will ever again hear the soft, smooth nectar of a tonic voice.
Silence metastasizes.
In preparing for this trial by timesand, one can manage only to pull themselves further inward, a curse in it's very antithesis.
A light?
Perhaps we are to stay within ourselves in these times; An ordeal by mental flame's emblazoned brilliance.
Society is cloaked in such intangible darkness, one can light a lantern of mindfulness and bathe in the forever-shadow it casts upon the world.
Entry 3:
SpoilerAfter landing upon Almaris and settling into his new home, Silas thought of his past. The old lands, his previous friends. He thought of Decay, his treant sister of wood.
Silas wondered if she made it to Almaris. "Regardless, she can fend for herself" he said to himself with a chest laugh, thinking on old times. He decided to go on a walk.
As it turns out, the great woods of Almaris have no shortage of colors, and Silas took to a paper, writing in accordance.
A scrap of paper could be found torn from his journal, lying among the grass of a clearing near Oren. Whether this was accidental or intentional is anyone's guess.
As the leaves crisp and falter in the wintry air,
my emotion reveals it’s blossoms to be only fuller yet.
I think upon them, each aspect of my very humanity casting itself upon the world around me.
It casts upon the trees
Cherrywood pinks of passion,
Padauk reds of fervor, and
Bright Osage oranges of imagination,
Ever-presently accompanied by the
Mahoe blues of contemplation,
Beech beiges of tranquility, and
Great fox oak grays of solemnity.
The paper has an initial in the bottom right, written in cherry-red ink. "-S"
Entry 4:
SpoilerSilas comes home after a long day of gathering for New Esbec and sits before his tent. A flame burns brilliantly before him, casting darkness away in a radius of cozy warmth.
He pauses a moment, his stare vacant in either thought or boredom. Regardless, he turns and is shortly lost within the tent, noises of rummaging clangs and slides echoing in the quiet night.
Eventually, Silas emerges carrying a large and scratched leather-bound tome. He sits with a sigh, resting it upon his knee as he slowly opens it, cracks and pops shifting from the hard leather binding.
He flips among the pages. It contains his sketches, letters, and miscellaneous thoughts; pieces of word only a mad-man or a poet could form together, similar as they are.
He stops upon a certain page, taking a moment to look into the starry sky. Looking back down once more, he writes a note upon a scrap paper "Stars," before looking back to the passage at hand.
It reads:
Secrets.
The most hushed of the three great equalizers of man,
just next to love and death alike.
Sniping streams of contempt
from a bow of the somber night,
they can just as easily bring a man to his knees
as an arrow of steel to his heart.
Entry 5:
SpoilerAfter a recent expedition to the desert with some newfound friends, Silas takes up Avalor's suggestion to write on it.
He arrives home, brushing off piles of warm sand from his robes. He walks inside and upstairs, to the top floor.
Here, he takes a seat at his desk, striking a match and alighting his oil lantern, revealing a hefty tome at the center of the wooden table.
Silas runs a finger lightly over it's binding, collecting his thoughts before cracking it open. With a quill and his red ink, he begins to write.
Dripping Desert.
Sands of time endlessly streaming, fluid-like through the hazed warmth.
Not a drop to be had, and yet it flows from me.
A wooden ark stranded upon a wave of land, catching naught but sediment in it's sails.
Among the contrast...A spire?
A beacon in the sand floor of an invisible ocean,
Accompanied only by a sea dried serpent overlooking it all.
Entry 6:
SpoilerSilas comes back home at....midday? He seems troubled, walking quickly through the house and upstairs to his dwelling.
He falls into his seat by the desk, unsheathing a quill and sliding an inkwell of red aside his ever-present tome.
He cracks the beastial book open to a fresh page, hastily dipping the quill into the ink and bringing his hand to the paper.
But then....nothing. He pauses for a long while, thinking something over in his mind. He sees cold purple eyes. Judgemental and foreign.
They seem to cast him out. The calligraphic quill drips a single bloody streak onto the paper. Silas runs his free hand through his hair, meeting his long ear.
Something seems to cross his mind. The purple eyes cast upon his ears and he notices the stream of red upon the parchment.
Swiping it aside with a gradient brushstroke of crimson, he begins to write:
Purple Eyes
Of dark and intrigue
Lure one in, stark yet mystique.
Through indigos and violets
All can be seen
But only through a jade,
Or so it would seem.
Penchants for contact
May all but yet be,
Through zealous attempts
However naive.
Gazes of curses
Bid progress stop,
But tension and passion
Shall only be swapped.
Thus bids this
Stricken,
Humble,
Aesop.
After completing his writing, Silas puts a hand to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.
Given a moment, he sets the quill within it's holder and walks to his bed, rubbing his neck.
He lays in it for a long while, pondering the visage of purple eyes, sparkling with resent;
The dually contrite emotions they cast upon the beholder.
He lies there in bed, contemplating this until it grows dark outside.
But...rather than sleeping, he somberly stands, taking up his robes and walking beyond his brother's room to the door.
Alit by lantern-light, he begins to weave his path among the eery night.
Entry 7:
SpoilerSilas quickly jots something, his hands shaking from excitement.
He had just been in a poetry (rap) battle with a new acquaintance of his, Fritz.
This battle of rhyme was spurred on within the grand opening of the Providence tavern.
He had hoped to go against the arch-chancellor who had gone just before him, but found no such luck.
In his quivering post rush excitement, he writes the freestyle verses he construed:
To challenge an Astasel,
That won’t go swell.
I’ll smack you with words
And knock your ass out as well.
I dont enjoy
Spitting against a fresh face
But when it comes to it,
You couldn’t handle my weight
-Fritz Verse-
Listen closely sir,
And I do hope you hear it
My poesy is unreal...
Intangible spirit.
Now get your powdered ass off
My stage before you smear it.
-Fritz Verse-
When Silas returns home, he pastes it within the tome, on the latest page;
This was a new experience. One that he had enjoyed very much.
Entry 7:
SpoilerSilas returns home after a long walk in an apple orchard.
Today has struck hard upon him. He comes upstairs, opening his tome.
He writes in dying red ink:
I will be here, whether you see me or not.
A silver falcon bequeathed in sunlight."
A single teardrop hits the page and he flips it closed,
it's full weight collapsing upon itself with a loud thud.
Entry 8:
SpoilerSilas returns home with a bittersweet mix of emotions within himself.
His quill and inkwell were left out from his sudden departure of the previous entry.
He takes them up, scraping the top dried layer of cherry ink in a sticky glob, tossing it from the window
Now ready to write, Silas takes a seat and looks at the tome.
Emotions swirl through his mind. Thoughts of love. Thoughts of departure. Thoughts of freedom.
But alas...writer's block keeps it's foot upon his wrist.
Silas then decides to flip through his previous entries, stopping upon one page in particular, as it gives him a vision of remembrance.
He thinks a moment, flipping back to the page at hand and beginning to write:
Blue Eyes.
An icy den of solace in a world of blistering hail.
Within, an exhibitry of bliss and unspeakable avail.
Within my heart, they certainly doth trail,
Yet dare I not step once again to the gale.
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A separate thought is enclosed, toward the bottom of the page:
Still yet, what of emotion?
As ice melts under the hazing of reality,
what comes of the ocean?
Entry 9:
SpoilerSilas walks up the stairs to his room, eyes exhausted, appearance drained.
Oddly enough, he has a tired smile upon his face. Long has he taken away from his tome,
and long shall he peer into it. He cracks the large book open, taking a small letter from his pocket and reading over it.
It reads:
"To my mari with the fierce blue eyes and heart of gold:
Love that is rooted deep,Quiet as friendship seeming,
Secure as a quiet sleep,
How many years' redeeming
Your harvests keep.
Tears not in anguish shed,
The pulse's gentler motion,
Words spoken, phrases read,
The careful hand's devotion
Above the dreaming head...
Guard now the sleeping child
Whose nightly fantasy
With golden leafage piled
Plunders the fruited tree,
With golden fruit beguiled.
And guard the restless heart;
Visit with peace, discerning-
O love more wise than art-
How at late day returning
Those meet who need not part.
~Ellanore Astasel"
Silas smiles fondly as he places it upon the newest page of the book,
closing it gently upon it.
Entry 10:
SpoilerSilas presents a bouquet of flowers to his wife with a note attached.
The note reads:
“To my ay’ilu with the soft-skied eyes and heart of ruby:
Love that flows like river-mist,
Loud as a boldened cry,
Awake as a harkened vigilist,
Ne’er to be passed by.
Lust naught for a wish
For love is upon his eye.
Tears in passion bled,
A tremor of blue,
Naught of deep red,
Naught of crimson hue.
But of my eyes,
Gazing solely upon you.
Such vision,
steeped in passion,
Loving precision,
Through the eyes of a falcon.
To you,
Only you,
I shall stay true,
everlasting,
From bonjour, to adieu.”
7 -
A note is slotted into the loose bark of a tree beside Silas’ tent in New Esbec. It isn’t nailed, as to not harm the tree, but instead loosely flapping it’s corner in the wind.
It is sealed with a silver wax stamp, depicting a falcon upon a branch. Upon opening, in cherry-red ink and Silas’ flourished, ornate handwriting, it reads:
"Hunters. Friends. Family. I come to you in some of the most troubling hours of my life. You see, in the face of false authority and undue peerage from sources not our own, I have decided to resign my post as Leutnant and Alderman of Esbec. I wish not to defame those involved, so I will refrain from targeting. The position of Leutnant will likely be taken on by one of you, so I have only one thing to ask. Rise where I couldn’t. Best me, and write your own legacy. Don’t let others define that for you. This is what every Jager has taught me, and I will defend it to my dying end. Begin your legacy; I will be venturing upon mine up North. My arms remain open for all who seek me; I’m but a falcon away. I will visit often, I can assure you. As always,
May your hunts be bountiful, and your blades strike true."
Forever here, Silas Astasel
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Good work as always, Sorc! This should help out a lot; I'm sure everyone was getting tired of running trolls and gremlins every time.
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This actually sounds pretty cool. A good way to get people accustomed to Almaris and to adventure around. Though I do have one question. The token prizes...are these individual purchases? Or do they accumulate? Ex: If I get two tokens, will I get the 1 token prize and the two token prize? Or would I have to get 3 total to get both?
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Very well built! I appreciate it's close connection to the natural terrain and the surrounding mountains. Keeps it from feeling to imperial, and gives the option for easy access to most biome transitions. WT really outdid themselves this time.
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I like the idea of bank account tax. It evens out the wealth scheme with a raw percentage tax. However, I should hope the tax stops once it drops under 500 minas again. Also, having a cap on how many minas you can carry should provide for some unique rp opportunities. Jobs for people to escort/carry money for higher-up exhanges will become more frequent. Overall, great job!!!
4
THE ARCANE CONCORD
in Military Alliances
Posted
A giant icy construct stomps through the realm in the name of his maker.
He comes to the missive upon a board, leaning in with a frosty misted exhale as he reads, answering only with a grunt.