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 Posted: Fri Aug 22, 2014 8:56 am
This Quest is for Shalvesta who is striving to become a Swordsman.
 OOC
||. The quest prompt must be answered with a 2000 word reply (can be more).
||. Respond to the prompt given with an adventure of your own creation as long as it meets the requirements of the specific tasks.
||. NPCs may be used as long as they advance the quest in an interesting manner.
||. You cannot include any playable characters other than the quest taker.
||. Your responses will be graded with a Pass or Fail. Those who fail will have to continue with assistance from the staff.
||. Questions about quests can be asked here.
IC
People say that there was nothing worse than losing a 'loved' one, especially when that one was your 'mate'. Though hard to accept, with his prolonged absence one could only assume the worst. Still as each new day dawned, a rumor began to spread around the Oban camp.
Did you hear? Someone could of sworn they had seen Shalvesta's husband!
That's impossible, he's been missing so long if he's been around why wouldn't he go back to his wife?
These sorts of whispers were often hushed when the Oban woman was around, but still it was hard to ignore when the name of your loved one was being mentioned. Though the rumors seemed to be getting worse, not only had people seen this man but he seemed to be avoiding getting too close to the camp as well. What could this mean? Had he truly come back? And if so why was he so unsure about returning to his own people? His wife? It seemed these questions could only be answered by the man himself...if one could catch or corner him.
Quest Tasks
|| A stranger has been seen spying on the camp, and his description remarkably resembles Shalvesta's missing husband.
|| This strange look alike will not come into the Oban camp, instead he seems perfectly content to spy on them from afar.
|| Shalvesta will need to catch the culprit and question him about his motives.
|| Turns out the man is not her husband though he strangely looks very similar to him, but he will have some vague information about seeing him. It is up to you wither he is alive or dead and what circumstances he would be in.
|| The man will need to be brought to those in charge to face his punishment for 'desertion'.
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2014 11:14 am
Part I: Traitor
1148 words
Her home was modest and quaint, and sitting in it she felt secure and safe. Cupped in her hands was a cup of tea, not the raised texture of rich, hand-painted porcelain, but instead a simple cup made from clay, carved underhand with the end of a wooden brush - the designs flowery, full of life. It felt to her that the heat and soothing aroma of the tea soaked through her body from her hands and nose, washing over her and leaving her warm. Around her were faces, people bustling - though she didn’t notice any definite details - just a soft hand against her elbow, a smile, a feeling of being loved.
Then everything was dark. The cup in her hands shattered into dust, the liquid within evaporated, and with it her contentedness. The hand at her elbow snapped away, disappeared as thoroughly as the feeling of happiness had. Above her was a familiar face, once she had not seen in months, sneering down at her, a laugh on his lips. “A good wife waits diligently for her husband to come home.” Said her husband, reaching for her.
As soon as his hands gripped her arm, she snapped awake, wrenching her body upright so quickly that she was briefly overcome with lightheadedness. Shalvesta lay on her cot in the small tent she had lived in for the past few months, her husband’s sword settled, dusty, against the support beam - while her training sword, which her master had presented to her, rested - well-oiled and wrapped in soft leather- at the end of her cot. Her mahogany skin was clammy, wet with sweat from her nightmare, her hair (which had grown long in the months spent here) sticking to her shoulders and the back of her neck.
With a groan, the Oban woman sat upright and dragged a hand over her face, chasing away a headache with a rub of her fingers at her temple. The dream wasn’t hard to interpret. Mash’al was a constant presence on her mind, even if the past few weeks had somehow chased him to the back of it. A few letters from her brother-in-law had only made the reminders worse. ‘Come home’ they said, and as timed passed the attempts to phrase it delicately fell away and it had been reduced to heavily inked letters, no doubt written under the pressure of an angry hand, threatening to ‘cut her off’ if she refused to come home. That wouldn’t be such a big deal if Shalvesta could do as she wanted, find a silent place to settle down and just live on her own. But Oba’s advance meant there was no where to hide - war may hide her antics for the time being, but soon it would settle and she would be left with the mess she’d made for herself.
But if she went home, she knew she couldn’t slip back into the mold Mash’al and his family had made for her. She’d outgrown it, even if she hadn’t changed too much - learning a sword had been enough to give her confidence, meagre though it was. Having a taste of freedom meant returning to her gilded cage was impossible. Taking a deep breath, Shalvesta stood and stepped to a basin, filled with cool water and lightly scented oil, washing her face in it, chasing the sweat away with the smells of citrus. Training that morning had been rough, chasing her to take a nap - but now that she was awake, she might as well go back to the training area and watch the recruits in action. Even if she was too tired to participate, she could watch and appreciate, and learn, right? Strapping her new blade to her belt, Shalvesta stepped from her tent and stretched, heading towards the makeshift arena where training instructors barked orders at the recruits. Today was no different.
Except for the looks. The whispers. Nobles, who had flittered about, bored from lack of gossip, now stared at her with overeager eyes, hiding their words with a raised hand, but watching her - it wasn’t subtle, even to Shalvesta who had never participated in such gossip. It didn’t matter - no doubt her sleep-mussed uniform was of amusement. It wasn’t a concern for her any longer.
However, she changed her mind as she got to the training arena, leaning against the post as she normally did. Instantly, the trainees within the circle stopped their actions, stopping to gaze at her warily. The behavior was strange - and the many eyes turned to her made her feel like a bug, pinned as decoration to a board. ‘What are they looking at? What… what happened? Is it me?’ She thought quickly, mind spinning, pushing herself up from the post - every way she looked, eyes watched her, until finally the instructor stepped towards her, making shooing motions. “We don’t need no traitors watching our drills.” He growled, spitting at her feet. Shalvesta had to jump back to avoid it, hands raised as if in defense. “Traitor?” She gasped back, more startled. Once she would have been scared of the accusation - now she felt affronted. She had lived among these same soldiers too long to take this. “Where is this coming from -- you know me!” She shot back, her temper overruling her shyness.
Shalvesta didn’t realize she had raised her voice, until she felt a hand on her elbow. Faris - her sword instructor - took a hold of her arm and pulled her away from the glaring soldiers, cursing under his breath. Once they were in a secluded place he released her, fixing her with a glare. Although, with Faris, he always glared - underneath it, she could tell he was concerned. “Master, what’s going on? How long was I asleep?” She asked with a soft laugh. Faris had the grace to quirk a lip at her attempt at humor, knowing how rarely she joked, but grew serious again.
“The word wasn’t supposed to get out. The idea was to wait - to watch you, then figure out what to do next. But some… blubbering idiot got to talking this morning, and - you know how gossip is, kid.”
“Watch me?” Shalvesta echoed, eyes widening. Traitor - they’d called her a traitor. If she was being watched… that meant they suspected her of betraying her people. Did they know -- did they know of her considerations, her thoughts of just following her husband’s example and running into the forest, hiding amongst the people here in these wilds? How could they know - she hadn’t given any indication, how…
“They found him. They found yer husband, kid.”
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2014 12:59 pm
Part 2: Contemplation
762 words
Two weeks ago, a noble had been exploring the edge of the camp when they stumbled across a man. He was an Oban and though the noble didn’t remember the details of his person, they HAD described his clothing: rich, embroidered leather lamellar cuirass, dyed a crimson red and wine-purple. On the chest was an insignia - a custom insignia that Mash’al had had designed. It was the same that was pressed into the hilt of his ceremonial sword, the very one in Shalvesta’s tent. After that first sighting, it had been a few more days before the stranger - Mash’al - was seen again, around the camp. Overlooking it. Again, he fled when noticed, and had not yet reappeared. Once the second witness confirmed the insignia, all eyes of command turned towards Shalvesta - and the order had been given to watch her actions, to see if he was making contact with her in any way.
The assumption, at this point, was that he was getting important information from Shalvesta, and passing it on to the natives in the forest - for why else would he not rejoin his brothers?
With all this recounted, Faris urged Shalvesta to return to her tent, to get out of the public eye. Gossip was spreading around the camp, but command had no intention of arresting her - there was, after all, no proof that she was sharing secrets, or even that she HAD any secrets to share. “Lay low - stick to your tent, don’t draw attention to yerself, and this’ll blow over.” He’d growled. So Shalvesta had returned to her tent.
Sitting on the edge of her cot, though, the insignia inscribed into the hilt of the decorative blade, which leaned against the central post of the tent in front of her, stared back at her. There was no way she could just WAIT - not when HE was there. Right here, so close!
… Of course, maybe… she should have gone into the forest earlier, when the light was still shining. Instead, she had thought it best to wait until nightfall, when the soldiers started their fires or retreated to their tents to sleep, and she could leave her tent and settle in the treeline, unseen. Unseen both to those around, but also to her - because like it or not, Shalvesta could see in the dark no better than any other Oban. She wondered, vaguely, if the local Tendajians were able to see in the dark, living in their trees as they did? Shaking her head, the girl pressed herself closer to the tree she’d set up a temporary base at, eyes watching the dark for any hint of a silhouette. It didn’t matter if the savages could see - she wasn’t up against them. She was looking for her husband, who was every bit as Oban as she was. And she knew for sure he could not see in the dark.
Sitting, in wait, wasn’t as much a hurdle as it may have been for others - for Shalvesta was patient, and had spent the last few months waiting, in one form or another. In the rush of worrying about being labeled a traitor, she hadn’t had much chance to … really consider the fact that he had been FOUND. What would happen, when she made contact? Well, he was a traitor- if she brought him to her superiors, he would be dishonored - she would be seen as the righteous of the two, bringing in her traitor husband. No longer would she be at his mercy…
… But… what if it didn’t go that way? The more Shalvesta thought about it, the more her mind created alternate scenarios. Her husband may be regarded as a fool, but he was also simpering, crafty - he would do anything to protect his own hide. Anything - and he was a noble. If she brought him in, and he insisted that he had been forced, tortured, to do the bidding of the savages in the forest… would he be believed? Would he bear the weight of being a traitor, or would his rank save him?
She had been hoping to find him, so now that he had come to her - before her quest really even started, Shalvesta didn’t know what her next course of action would be. The prospect of bringing him back, herself, only to have him put back in power - power over her life… Her hands curled into fists.
No … she wouldn’t let that happen.
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2014 1:35 pm
Part 3: Monster
1235 words
Hours passed in relative silence. The nighttime sounds of the forest, which she had grown used to hearing through the canvas of her tent, was much louder now that she was under the treeline. Around her the screeches of creatures deep within the forest’s depths made her sit, straight, fingers digging into the hilt of her sword. She was patient, in most cases, but it was harder to wait and stay alert when every rustle of leaves and gasp of wind made her whirl around, heart hammering in her throat. But somehow, as the crescent of the moon loomed over her, and the hours proceeded into early morning, the sounds became more bearable. The subdued light of dawn sent an orange glow over the multicolored tents of the camp, casting dark shadows across the dirt and grass-strewn campground.
Mash’al had not shown. It was disappointing, but the woman simply pushed herself to stand, tiredly, resigned to come back the next evening. After being spotted, there was no guarantee he would come back anytime soon - but she would be ready, when he did decide to…
Just a few yards away, back in the forest, the telltale creak of stiff leather caught her ears, and Shalvesta pressed herself to the nearest tree, still, watching. Minutes passed, and at times she thought she had heard it - but eventually, from the treeline, a man appeared - and emblazoned on his chest was The Insignia.
Rage. Shalvesta had never felt it like this - keen, digging its clawed fingers deep under her flesh, sliding shards of fury so intensely into her lungs that she felt herself suffocated. A rush of anger, hatred, resentment - a thirst for revenge. Images flashed through her head - of his face, his leer, his hand resting against the top of her head, a motion she had once thought was kind, like the priest who had blessed her when she was a child. Now his hand was a controlling grip, the ghost of fingers yanking the hair at her scalp. She could see him - smirking and drinking wine as his mother prodded at Shalvesta, scolding her for her uselessness. His cold fingers intwined in hers, as he turned to her and said, his voice low and dripping with false kindness, “I know your father insisted we wait - but you wouldn’t send your husband off to war without your favor would you, wife?”
Her flesh might as well have burned away, with how thoroughly it heated in mortification and anger. Before she’d realized it, Shalvesta’s sword was drawn and she lunged - he let out a yelp of horror, stumbling backwards, but his unwieldy armor, too-big on his frame, made him stumble, and she’d gripped a handful of his hair, shoving him, face down, into the grass, her body straddled atop him before he had a chance to argue. Her sword was pressed against his neck, between his body and the grass below, and with a slow slide she pricked the skin with it- just barely, until blood beaded against the edge of the blade. He let out a cry of panic, hands scrabbling in the grass, but Shal held his head down, her nails brutally digging into the delicate skin at his scalp. A broad smile rose onto her lips.
Here he was - here. At HER mercy, now - now SHE was the one with the power. All it would take was one yank of her blade and his life was hers. And oh, how HUNGRY she was for it - to have his blood on her blade, not just her blade but the ceremonial sword he had left behind. “What a bad husband, making me wait for you.” Shalvesta nearly purred, feeling a laugh bubbling in her throat.
“H-hu-- husband?! What-- no ! No, lady, you’ve got it wrong -- I’m not -- you’ve got the wrong guy!!”
Shalvesta froze. It wasn’t the words that caught her - but the voice. The voice was higher in pitch, younger. Staring down at the back of the man’s neck, she realized, in the dim light of morning, that his skin was dark - much darker than her husband’s skin, which was of a more sandy tone. The armor beneath her was loose, too-big on the frame of this man - which was impossible, seeing as the armor had been designed only weeks before the battle to fit Mash’al specifically.
Cold dread pooled in Shalvesta’s throat, spilling to her belly and bringing with it a roiling nausea. Slowly, she stood - but only enough to yank the man to roll onto his back and, sure enough, he wasn’t Mash’al - not by any stretch, while only minutes before she could have sworn…
No… no, she’d seen the insignia on his breast and her vision had gone red. Sure enough, this was her husband’s armor. Half-heartedly, Shalvesta held her sword to his neck again, giving him a slight shake by gripping the collar of his front. “What are you doing here? Where… where did you get this uniform?”
“I’m sorry - I… I’m sorry! I don’t know -- they gave it to me. I didn’t take it, I swear!!” The man… boy, really, began to cry, and Shalvesta felt more unease at seeing the streak of blood at his neck where she’d given him a shallow cut. “Who?? Why are you sneaking around here?”
“T-there’s -- there’s a bug lady - she had the armor. S-she told me to get the battle plans - that I could just walk into camp… b-but…”
Shalvesta leaned back on her haunches, but kept the sword held up to him, sighing. She could guess the rest. “They recognized your armor. Where did she get it? … Tell me!”
The boy shook his head helplessly, still crying, and as Shalvesta slowly pulled herself to stand, he burst into sobs, his hands pressing over his face, cowering away from her, “Don’t kill me -- please, please don’t kill me!”
“I wouldn’t!! I’m not…” Shalvesta started, the shame devouring her just as thoroughly as the rage from before. With her sword held behind him, the tip pressing against the lamellar at his back, Shalvesta had him lead the way to camp, walking past the gawking soldiers and nobles until they reached the captain’s tent. “ Here is your spy.” She said, sharply… tiredly. This behavior was unprecedented, and she could feel the Captain’s gaze, as well as Faris’, on her. But Shalvesta couldn’t make herself care. Instead, she turned on her heel and left the captain’s tent. Numb.
She didn’t have Mash’al. But she had a clue - he was in the jungle. And as small as it was, it was something. Now, though, as she returned to her tent and stared at the streak of blood against the ceremonial blade, she found herself wondering whether seeking him out was worth it. She’d known she was unhappy, all this time… but never had she felt such hurt and fury. And now that it had burst forward, she felt it simmering like a rot just under her skin.
The obsession with Mash'al was turning her into a monster… was it worth continuing?
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2014 1:40 pm
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Posted: Fri Oct 03, 2014 9:13 pm
Class Quest Result
Pass!
Shalvesta has passed and received the rank of Swordswoman!
Ffor an eloquently worded quest that followed an interesting story dynamic leading to her proving her innocence to her comrades, Shalvesta have been awarded a Shop Item. Congratulations!
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