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[a spark to ignite]

River's Edge is now open!

[a spark to ignite]

Hours before the sun was up, F'jiona had left her house in the village of River's Edge, and gone out into the woods on a hunt. Armed with a bow, a skinning knife, and a few traps, she'd managed to snag herself some rabbits, some pheasants, and a boar. She'd seen plenty of bigger boars around, but the small young ones were the tasty ones. The meat would be good cured and salted.
Getting back home at around the time the sun was peeking over the distant mountains, she tended to her kills, had her breakfast, changed, and made her way to her forge to get to work for the day. She'd taken on quite a few orders the day before, but a steady flow of work meant a steady flow of payment. F'jiona, of course, didn't always take coin. In a little place like this, there was quite a bit of bartering. Fresh bread, a couple of new tunics, fresh picked vegetables and herbs... she was happy to take goods in exchange for her service.
Flames sparking her forge to life, F'jiona set about her first job of the day. She had some farm tools to repair, and a couple of carriage wheels to finish, a few of the village guards' weapons to repair, plus some other things. She had a feeling she'd be at her work most of the day.
Working over a burning hot forge, the little morning breeze that had picked up felt nice on her face, which had accumulated a layer of black from the smoke and fire, and beads of sweat from the heat of the flames.
Despite the early hour, the village was becoming quite lively, as various residents left their homes to go about their usual business.

►►Location: Smithy
►►Company: No one
►►Theme: Blood of the Moon
►►OOC: Lame post is lame, but I can't do much when I'm the only one here.

[Neme-Goddess-of-Death]

xoxoxLocation: Smithy

xoxoxCompany: No one

xoxoxTheme Song: Within Temptation- See Who I Am

The folds of her plain, embellishment free white gown clung to her thin calves on either side of the brown horse she rode along the riverbank. Chestnut curls fell in thick waves down her back to gather on the saddle she was seated on, parting only to give way to the sword strapped to her back in a scabbard. It was a beautiful sword, at least, the hilt was. It shone beautifully with the word "Truth" wired in gold through it, stinging her palm with an unneeded reminder of what she fought for in this world. The D'Haran Empire was far behind her, she'd traveled halfway across the world in her search for other Confessors. Those crystal blue eyes reflected a deep seeded determination, but also an intense longing for home. Something else too, a timeless look that one couldn't quite put their finger on.

Shar couldn't remember the last time she slept in a bed. It'd been her, her pack, and her bedroll for so long she thought she might weep at the sight of a bed. She nearly wept simply at the sight of farmland. Farmlands meant villages. Villages meant inns. Inns meant beds, baths, and hot meals. Looking back, she gave a smile to the man walking behind her, carrying her pack to take the load off of her horse for a while. He was dressed in mail and leather, with his own sword on his back. The horse she rode had been his, until he'd tried to attack her alone. A fool's mission it was to singularly attack a Confessor. It took at least four. One to be touched by her power, two to be slain by the one touched in his effort to protect her, and one to get a hold of her. But this man hadn't known about Confessors, and had gained a very hard lesson from it. Not that he minded now. He was completely and totally devoted to Shar now. She could tell him to cut his fingers off one by one, and he would do so with a smile on his face. So long as it pleased her, he would see it done. She still hadn't decided what to do with the highwayman now that she'd confessed him. For the past couple of weeks, she'd kept him with her for company, and because it was difficult to send off a confessed person, but now... She wanted to do as her great grandmother would have done and try to give him his life back.

"Yes Mistress? What can I do to please you?"

"When we get to the village, I want you to take some coin and find the inn while I see to finding the stables. Once we're settled into the inn... We need to talk."

"Yes Mistress!" At first he looked ecstatic. She'd given him a task! Finding the inn would be simple, and he'd make sure he got the absolute best room for his Mistress! Then she said that they needed to talk, and he looked crestfallen, frantic, upset, like the words had put a knife through his heart. "Have I displeased you Mistress?!" He asked, drawing his dagger from his hip and falling to his knees behind the horse. He put the tip of the blade to his own throat.

She wheeled the horse around so that she watched him. "You will displease me greatly if you kill yourself, Marcus."

He threw the blade like it was on fire. "I'm sorry Mistress!"

"Get up," She said, "Go on ahead to the inn. Buy a room and wait for me in the common room if you wish to please me." Without another word, Marcus sprang to his feet and went running ahead down the road. It was likely he would run all the way to the inn, hoping to procure the room as quickly as possible in the effort to please her as best he could.

It wasn't long before she reached the village herself and dismounted. She was only five feet and two inches tall, but she stood to every inch of it. She wandered through town a bit, it wasn't hard to find the inn, but she wasn't going there yet. She was looking for the stables... And enjoying the quiet time away from Marcus. She found the smith easily enough. A woman smith? With long hair? Wait, that's right. A person's hair length wasn't appropriate to their status outside of the D'Haran Empire. They did whatever they wanted with it here. It was strange for her not to be known and catered to, but it was nice as well. She flicked a lock of brown hair back off her shoulder. "Excuse me! Smith!" She called through the shop to the woman.

[a spark to ignite]

The smoke and flames masked the scents of newcomers, and the roar of her fire and clanging of hammer to steel masked the horse's hoofbeats, or the wolf would have heard or smelled the approach.
She was, however, greatly wrapped in her work, mending guradsmens' weapons. The voice that called to her, she heard, paused in her work, sending a hissing cloud of steam rolling up as she quenched a glowing hot blade in the slack tub nearby.
Straightening up and setting her work aside, the near-six-foot smith stepped out from near the forge, grabbing a cloth to wipe away some of the sweat and smoke stains from her face.
"F'jiona, at your service, miss." she said, tone rather stoic, though not unwelcoming, as she gave a bow of her head. In such a bright white garment, she figured it'd be best to come out away from the forge, so as not to cause the visitor to be encompassed in smoke and sparks of hot metal.
She found it a bit odd, though, for a person to be dressed that way while out on the road. Not even a cuirass to guard her chest and abdomen.

►►Location: Smithy
►►Company: A woman in white
►►Theme: Blood of the Moon
►►OOC: Apologies for it being a bit short. I gotta run to town!

[Neme-Goddess-of-Death]

xoxoxLocation: Smithy

xoxoxCompany: No one

xoxoxTheme Song: Within Temptation- See Who I Am

"Thank you, Mistress F'jiona... I hate to trouble you while you're seeing to more important work. Mine isn't something that needs done immediately, I'm going to be in the village for a few days at the least." She hoped. The Good Spirits only knew what could happen or go wrong. She was so much shorter than F'jiona, but she looked right up at her as if it didn't phase her one bit. It didn't, Shar was short, even of the women, for people of the D'Haran Empire. She was used to casting her gaze heaven bound when speaking to someone. "My pot and pan need patching... I've put holes in them through my travels... I'm also in need of a whetstone if you've got one for purchase." Marcus might have had her pack, but she had the pot and pan hanging from the saddlebags. They needed a lot more than patching. They needed chucked in the river and replaced. The Mother Confessor simply asked for a patching though. She retrieved them from the saddlebags. "And would you be so kind as to tell me where to find the stables?"

She called the woman Mistress out of respect for her station. As far as Shar could tell, she was the one in charge of the place, Good Spirits, she was the only one here. Did she not have an apprentice? Or was she the apprentice and her Master was away? The sword on Shar's back was of a normal size, but in comparison to her small frame, it looked massive. It was a wonder she was capable of lifting it. A sword as fine as it was definitely wasn't there to scare would be attackers. It was a wonder how she came by it. She was dressed so plainly, her white gown a simple square neck cut, and her hair needed washing, but as plain as she looked, nothing about her screamed normal.

[Arzaria]

The soft sound of hooves upon soil was one of the few sound to be heard in the vast fields, a deertaur with smooth white fur tred across the grounds with a plow harnessed to his back. He stopped now and again to sip some water from a container slung over his shoulders but would quickly go back to the task at hand. He had begun early this morning and had gone through just over half when the connection link of the heel chain suddenly snapped and the line went limp on one side.
The lad blinked and turned his head, his ears flicking back as she sighed loudly "gods damn it all" he ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. He couldn't continue until he got that fixed and so the deertaur began the long process of undoing all the plow straps and slipped it off before he walked to his cottage to fetch some money so he could get a new chain for his plow. With a saddlebag strapped around his girth Victor set off into town to the shops in hopes the smith would have a chain the right length.
After a short while of walking he stepped up to the shop, brushing some hair out of his eyes before he stepped inside "hello? Ms. Dawn?"






❧ ❧ Location: Fields at the edge of town then to Smiths.
❧ ❧ Company: None
❧ ❧ Theme: Prayer For Peace
❧ ❧ OOC: None

[Noob-Eternal]

Two shapes coming down the road. The one was a man on horseback. His hair was grayed but his eyes were still resplendent, bright as the tropics in the summertime. Girls swooned for them, once, thirty years ago and a thousand miles away. He hadn't thought about it in years but he was thinking about it now. Grand Master of the Order. Youngest Towered Wizard in Two Centuries. Champion of the Smallfolk, March Warden, Blackboard Monitor, Spelling Bee Champion, Six Years Recurrent. Squatter Atop Titles And Titles And Titles. He still had bad dreams.

For that, he envied the giant joggling alongside his horse. Brattle was nine feet tall and he weighed two thousand pounds and he was made of solid stone. His running form was perfect. He pumped his arms and kept his back straight and his head up. His footfalls were like trees being felled. He was wearing an improbable looking knapsack and carrying a longbow that technically qualified as a siege weapon. The wizard wondered what the golem was thinking about. Bugs, perhaps. Or maybe his rabbit hutch, or maybe his garden in the tower courtyard. Brattle had got his start as an experiment into the limits of golem intelligence. Now he argued with Dermont about his bad sleep habits and tried to put very small leashes on beetles.

Building a golem who could think, giving it a face that could smile and teaching it to be gentle and good and mindful. That was the fun part of being a wizard. Today though was not a fun wizardry day. It was a practical wizardry day. Perhaps that was why his mood was so sour? One of the mines south of town had gone dark, and now a bunch of nervous wives had put together a little fund to try and convince someone hardy to go out that ways and have a look. Well, Brattle was as hardy as they came, and Dermont was no slouch either. Even better, they were comfortable enough to do pro bono work. Those families were going to need that money when they realized their husbands were dead.

And their husbands were dead, no shakes about that. Eaten by trolls or werewolves or hit by bandits or, and this was probably it, buried under a hundred feet of stone. He'd say last rites at the entrance to a collapsed mine shaft. Then he'd come riding back into town with just Brattle for company and they'd all be waiting for him. They would know when they saw he was alone but they wouldn't let on until he said it out loud.

He wasn't looking forward to it.

He crested the last hill and there was River's Edge, already alive at the a** crack of dawn. Smoke coming from the blacksmith and the baker, folks doddering about on roads that should've been redone a decade ago. All of the damn buildings tilted to one side. He looked it over with the critical eye of a schoolmarm, but like any good schoolmarm he had learned to love in spite of shortcomings. It was his town, hairlip and all.

Brattle waved at F'jiona as they went past and Dermont nodded at her. She had done a lot of good work for them in the past. Since she was talking to a posh looking foreigner Dermont decided against stopping. He had slowed his horse to a walk, mostly so that Brattle wouldn't wake up the whole town with his thundering. It let him get a good long look at the newcomer. Fancy sword. Funny dress. Hmm. D'Haran? It didn't matter. He couldn't be everywhere at once. He pressed on.

His goal was the River Inn. Getting there was a battle in and of itself. He was harried by a constant stream of how-do-you-dos and morning-master-Dermonts. You didn't get to live in (well, around) a town like River's Edge for, lord, ten years without eventually knowing everyone. Tiring somedays but it was better than city anonymity. After discussing the fair weather and the crop turnout with half of the village they came up on their objective.

Once the stableboy had extracted his farthing and requisite thirty seconds chitchat Dermont leapt down from his horse. It was one fluid motion. None of that teetering old man crap. At least not yet. He realized that he'd been quiet for most of the trip, so in an attempt to lighten the mood he did some banal chittering of his own.

"So, Brattle. What kind of hired help do you think has blown into town today?" That was why they were here. On the off chance it wasn't just a cave-in or something equally harmless, more help was better than less. The golem responded in a voice like two tectonic plates shoving past one another.

"Brattle hoping for a priest and three shovels"

"That's the spirit."

Dermont went in. Outside, Brattle took a seat up against the wall of the building with his legs splayed out and his hands folded on top of his head.


Location: The Inn
Company: None, very brief interaction with Shar and Fiona.
OOC: Would've interacted with Arzaria's character but the post was mostly done by the time I noticed he had posted. Srry.

[a spark to ignite]

"I don't have a whetstone you can purchase, but I have a whetstone you can have for nothing." F'jiona said, a bit distractedly as she took the cookware from the woman and looked it over studiously. A whetstone was one of a number of simple, but useful, items that she thought anyone traveling the wilds should have on hand. She had one to spare, and had no problem parting with it.
The pans, though... she could tell they were beyond simple patching. She could, however, melt them down and remake them in no time at all. If this woman planned to linger in the village for a few days, it would give her plenty of time. Cookware was something she repaired fairly often anyway. Cookware, locks and keys, horse shoes, weapons, armor. She was well enough with wood, too. She did, or helped with, many repairs throughout the village.
"I can mend these for you." she added at last, her studious expression gone now that her focus was on her customer, rather than the pans.
The woman looked... otherworldly. However, her scent wasn't that of a werewolf, or any other beast F'jiona was familiar with, so F'jiona felt mostly at ease in her presence. The look about her made F'jiona think more of a priestess. Perhaps she was divine in some way? Were that the case, the wolf would be cautious around her anyway. Humans with holy magic were a danger to the world's darker creatures.
"The stable is behind the inn. Besides keeping your horse there, you can also rent or purchase a horse, a mule, or a pack goat if you need one." The woman seemed not to have a lot of belongings with her, but perhaps she'd find need of a mule or a goat when the time came for her to move on.
The woman glanced beyond her customer briefly, to give a single wave of her hand to a familiar face. Past customers.
"As far as the cookware here... I have a few jobs I must tend to before this one, but I can have them finished by tomorrow morning. If you need anything else, I work until nightfall, and I only stop mid day for a few drinks at the inn. You're welcome to call on me anytime, so long as my lights are on." If her lights were off, it was likely she was asleep... or out prowling the woods in the moonlight. But only F'jiona herself knew about that.
"Victor? I'm out here by the forge, lad!" she called then, when she heard the familiar voice of the deertaur inside. Now that she was thinking of it, perhaps she'd hire somebody to man the shop inside while she was doing her work at the forge. She was better at the forging than the talking anyway.

►►Location: Smithy
►►Company: A woman in white, and Victor
►►Theme: Blood of the Moon
►►OOC: n/a

[Gobiii]

Fenrick Oather

Location: The Inn
Company: None. Talked to the Barkeep.
OOC: Nothing really! Is it weird that I like rp'ing old people?


Fenrick entered the village with a tired grin. The old man hung heavily on his staff for support as he looked around. The village was clearly small and very home like. The atmosphere was welcoming, and gave the feeling that this village had been here for ages. Yes, this is perfect. The thought inspired sudden excitement in Fenrick’s old bones. Still using the the staff as a walking stick, the man lumbered towards the largest building in town. The glass beakers in the satchel at his side clinked together with each limp. He needed to find the inn to stay in tonight, and what better place to ask than the most important looking building in town?
He entered through two double doors and was welcomed into loud laughter and loud shouts between many friends. What an oddly sized tavern. Cautiously maneuvering his way past the high energy parts of the tavern, the wizard made his way to the front counter. “Hello. I am...” The lady, who he assumed to be the barkeep, kept intently cleaning a glass mug. She clearly had not heard him. “Excuse me?” Not even a break in her concentration. Frenrick leaned over the counter and awkwardly poked her with his staff. The barkeep suddenly looked up. “Hello!” The lady shouted. Fenrick was still leaning over the counter so he would not have to yell. “Hello, I am looking for the inn, where might I find it?” The lady still not aware that this old man did not like shouting exclaimed, “Why, this is the inn!” An non-audible sigh was seen from the old man. Great, this loud chaos is the inn. “Ok, I would like to rent a room for a while then.” Old hands reached into the satchel at his side and shakily retrieved a pouch with gold in it. He plopped it onto the table. “Alright! You have the third room on the right! Third floor!” She quickly took the gold pouch and replaced it with a bronze key. Fenrick nodded a thank you, and took a few steps back.
Well that was easy. He thought to himself. There was no need to go to his room now though. Tired eyes spotted a quiet corner table in the very back of the tavern. The old man stumbled his way over, and sat down. Hastily he searched the satchel again. Extracting a purple colored book, the old man placed it on the table and began reading it in an instant.

[Arzaria]

Victor looked around and was about to leave when he saw no one was inside when a familiar voice rung out from the Forge. He mentally smacked himself for not checking there and stepped out and around to find Ms. Dawn with a woman he didn't recognize. The Deertaur smiled softly and kept back so as not to intrude upon the stranger's space "Sorry for botherin' ye Ma'am but the Heel Chain Snapped again, be needin' a replacement if I'm going to get these fields finished in time for plantin" he said softly , glancing at the other woman now and again "er...I can come back later if yer busy? I'd hate t' intrude while yer helpin' someone" Victor added, rubbing the back of his neck softly, his sharp hooves shuffled a bit.





❧ ❧ Location: Forge
❧ ❧ Company: Woman in white, Fiiona.
❧ ❧ Theme: Prayer For Peace
❧ ❧ OOC: Short, my apologies

[Neme-Goddess-of-Death]

xoxoxLocation: Smith, then inn

xoxoxCompany: F'jiona and Victor, then Marcus

xoxoxTheme Song: Within Temptation- See Who I Am

Shar was put off by being offered the whetstone for free. It wasn't that she didn't have one, she did, however, when it was down to the size of a pebble, it hardly did its job anymore. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of the golem, which even in a walk was by no means silent. A wizard rode next to it, waving to F'jiona. Shar would know a wizard if she were blind. "Thank you, but I insist I pay for all of your services, including the whetstone... Time isn't an issue, but I'll stop by in the morning." She looked in the direction of the person she'd called Victor. What in the Good Spirits was he? She'd never seen a creature like him before. He was fascinating. She gave him a smile as he approached, but thought of Marcus and decided it best to go and check on him.

"I thank you for your services, Mistress F'jiona. I'll return in the morning once I've acquired my coin from my companion." She said, giving the pair a nod, then turning and heading back for the inn, going for the stables first, and once she was unloaded of the horse, carried the saddlebags on her shoulder into the inn. She wasn't happy with what she heard either.

"Please! My Mistress deserves the best! She's accustomed to better accommodations than queens!" Marcus cried to the innkeeper, clearly distraught at the choice of room.

"Marcus!" She snapped sharply from the doorway. Marcus immediately threw himself at her feet, gathering the hem of her dress and kissing it.

"I'm sorry Mistress! I've displeased you again! I only meant to get you the finest! You deserve the best! Please Mistress, don't be upset with me!" He begged. Shar only stood there with her eyes closed, as if she were trying very hard to hold her tongue and not say something she would regret. Marcus didn't know any better now, he was confessed. She was his sole worry now. He lived to serve her. He would die for her. He would do anything for her. It wasn't even his fault that he was this way, it was hers. Well, maybe it was a little of both. If he hadn't tried to rob and rape her, he wouldn't be begging her forgiveness and kissing her dress right now.

"Stop that nonsense right now Marcus," He shot to his feet, "I said a room. I didn't say what kind, and for that I apologize... however you displease me with your childishness." Marcus looked like he was about to burst with disappointment, and she sighed. "Give me my pack, take the saddlebags, and go sit down... I'll handle this." He did just as he was told. She apologized to the innkeeper, assuring her that any room would do as long as it had a bed. She also managed to put in the order for a hot meal for both of them and baths for both of them. She wanted to weep at the thought of finally having her hair washed, but she kept the stone countenance her mother had taught her written on her face. Finally, she sat at a table where Marcus was busily wiping it clean with a ripped off chunk of his tunic. "Sit. Down." She seethed. His a** hit chair quicker than she could blink.

[Feemiss]

Truly you cannot see?
I meant no harm upon thee.

I seek only satisfaction for me.
Forgiveness is what I plea,

For selfishness is my glee.

____________________________________

It was dark. Totally dark. Yet, somehow, the figure in the room was even darker. Its hue wavered, a silhouette of ill intent that took slow, calculated steps. Each movement seemed to feed the tension, feed the heavy feeling of dread within the dark. It wouldn't subside. No manner of wishing, hoping or praying. Shutting eyes only seemed to intensify the fear and whence eyes opened the figure was there. It stood and stared down, making not a move, appearing no more clear yet somehow those eyes could be felt. The figure spoke through the tension, its mood altering the very fabric of energy about the apparent emptiness. In an instant it shifted from curious to wicked, two long limbs reaching down to wrap shadowy black palms about a porcelain neck . . .

"NO!" The shriek accompanied the sudden arise of the lone occupant of room number six, hands clamped about her own neck as if trying to rid it of an invisible grip. It was but a mere moment that reality snapped back to Neusty, her deep sigh preceding the first body-awakening yawn of the morning. Still these nightmares. Her thoughts accompanied her morning ritual . . . which was nothing more than lighting her favorite herb in her favorite pipe.

The practiced nose could identify the smell in an instant, the hash practically permeating from the Sorceress as she exited her room appearing no worse for wear after her abrupt awakening. Staff was held loosely in one hand, its shaft resting upon a slender shoulder as bare feet padded the wooded floor with no noise to follow. Neusty had only arrived in the quaint little town of River's End the night prior, her arrival unexpected even to her but certainly appreciated. She had little issue in parting with the last of her coin to procure a room and a meal for the night, knowing full well there'd be some work to do around these parts for somebody with her particular set of skills.

Her route out of the inn went uninterrupted, the woman lost in her own thoughts and the haze of her herbal remedy. It wasn't until she stepped out into the warm bath of sunlight did she stop to take it all in. The morning hustle-and-bustle of village life, the smell of freshly baking bread, sawdust, flame and fresh greenery hitting her nose all at once. Neusty received a few double-glances, returning each with a mere smirk as her eyes continued to shift, peering about for the town's Job Board . . . but instead finding a mass of stone seated rather nonchalantly against the side of the Inn, appearing more so a reclining squatter than a magically-created bodyguard.

Golems were not foreign to Neusty but still rare, especially in such a town. Curiosity (and a current lack of direction) snagged the cat, pulling the Sorceress toward the golem with little in the way of caution. "Hoi there, construct. Could you point a lady in the direction of the nearest highwaymen or rampaging beast in need of a good shellacking?" Her tone was a mix of amusement and sarcasm, Neusty familiar with her own self-indulgence. It's not like the thing would speak back to her anyhow, Neusty pressing the skinny end of her pipe between her lips, puffs of smoke erupting from its opposite end.

____________________________________

xxxxxxxAt: Outside the River's End Inn
xxxxxxxWith: Brattle
xxxxxxxInner tune: Pink Maggit
xxxxxxxOOC: First post! Woo! Figured talking to a golem would be the best route to go . . .

[a spark to ignite]

F'jiona gave the oddly dressed woman a nod as she left, before the smith turned her attention fully to Victor.
She gave the deer a little hint of a smile, the corners of her lips curling as much as anybody ever saw... not a whole lot. But most who knew her knew that it was just her way. She wasn't much of a smiler, nor a laugher.
"I have one for you." she said with a nod, setting the woman's rubbish pans on her work table, before gesturing the deer to follow her into the shop. When she was through with those pans, they'd be as good as new.
Rummaging in a small storage room to the side, there were sounds of clanking metal as she shuffled various things about. She had all manner of well-crafted items, from various fittings, to tools, to weapons and arms. She did feel a bit bad any time he entered her shop, since she almost always had antlers and hides from deer laying about somewhere. She was a hunter, though.
Which reminded her, just then... she still had a boar strung up in the back of the shop, bleeding into a bucket.
After a moment, the tinkling of a chain was heard, and she reemerged from the room with a chain coiled around a wooden spool.
"It's... a bit thicker, and a bit heavier, but not by much. It should last a tad longer than the old one." she offered the spool over to Victor, gesturing for him to give her the old one to repair. "It's not an awful lot of extra weight, but it might build you a bit of extra strength over time." She had smaller chains, but they were too small for his work. Everything else was bigger, meant for horses rather than a dainty deer.

►►Location: Smithy
►►Company: Victor
►►Theme: Blood of the Moon
►►OOC: n/a