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 Posted: Wed Apr 17, 2024 1:41 pm
An Honest Accident
Solo or RP Format
Counts as 5 RP growth Points
Solo word minimum is 750, RP post minimum is 7
Sometimes, accidents happen. Your character has found themself in a situation where an honest accident has resulted in an item being broken. Possibly your own, or you may have broken someone else's. Was it an item at a shop, or a priceless artifact? How does your character react to the honest mistake?
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Posted: Sat Jul 06, 2024 10:00 am
Orin pocketed his hands, looking around the busy streets ahead of them. They had been in Matori for about a week and Orin and Aeuri had decided to kill some time browsing the stores.
Orin’s mind was elsewhere though, thinking back on his run in with Taliessin. Something about her had planted firmly in his thoughts.
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Posted: Fri Jul 19, 2024 5:19 pm
Aeuri had spent a lot of time with his brother while they traveled, and of course being twins. So one might expect they have some sort of sense for when each other were acting out of sorts. Yet, as he gazed over the wares of another new store, he clearly missed the distraction that covered his brothers thoughts.
"Seems a bit...inauthentic?" He commented on the marketed Alkidike wares, looking keenly at the Oban vendor who seemed to have no clue what he was trying to sell.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2025 6:47 am
Orin snorted, the sound half-amused and half-disdainful as he kicked a stray bit of driftwood off the shop’s sandy threshold. 'Inauthentic' was putting it generously. He glanced sidelong at the Oban man, who was now fumbling with a patterned cloth like it might suddenly explain itself to him. “Probably thinks 'Alkidike' is a place,” Orin muttered, just loud enough for Aeuri to hear. He didn’t really care about the cloth, or the vendor, or even Aeuri’s opinion—though he’d pretend to if pressed. His thoughts were tangled elsewhere, knotted in a way that left his mood brittle. He folded his arms, eyes sweeping the market, but nothing here felt worth seeing.
As he shifted his weight, a lazy turn toward the next stall, his elbow clipped the corner of a hanging display. A ceramic chime strung with delicate, hand-painted beads toppled with a brittle clack—then shattered against the wooden floor like a dropped thought.
Orin froze, a sharp twist of embarrassment flashing behind his eyes before it hardened into practiced indifference. He glanced around, already preparing a comment to make it someone else’s fault.
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