If you want to join send a DM to @Reblod
Information document:
Race appearances:
https://sta.sh/224t053d3hip?edit=1
No lykin examples but I imagine they look something like this-
https://www.deviantart.com/rah-bop/art/Stealth-554598199 (not my art)
Eras it's based on:
Early medieval to late renaissance with some tribal cultures.
Map:
Character profiles (You can edit your profile whenever you like. I'll be keeping a backup):
Also, don't forget to state what language you're speaking in. For example: "…she said in Medein." Not everyone speaks the same (in world) language. Another also, let it be assumed that you are speaking the same language as previously stated unless otherwise stated…otherwise, a lot of it is just gonna be talking about languages
The characters happen to find themselves inside a warmly lit inn together. The town it occupies is in Yrna and it's small and nameless as far as they're concerned. Unsurprisingly, they appear to be the only patrons that evening. As the night deepens they hear a commotion outside. Shouting, crying, things breaking. And suddenly the quiet town comes alive with sounds of fighting and death. Soldiers barge into the inn, pointing their weapons towards the foreign (or unwanted) patrons. Either after surrendering or a fight, they are apprehended and taken to a large city where they are thrown in cells. They are in the same room and can see each other. What to do next?
(Just checking in, I'm so excited)
(Ack sorry I was actually sleeping for once)
Azriel looked around the dark room, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. One of her wings was badly bent, but she had curled it around herself anyway. "Why, for the love of the stars, did they do that?"
(Sorry it's short, I didn't really know what to write)
(It's alright as long as it's not one-word responses)
Clare hated fumbling around in the dark, with a snap of her fingers a small flame flickered into existence hovering over her palm, she heard a strange garble of vowels that cam from a form near by. Clare razed her arm higher and increased the brightness of the flame, "Um Angel miss? What happened to your wing, do you need help?" Clare spoke slowly forming each vowel of Medein with careful exactness. In her mind thoughts were swirling around a jumbled mess, Why this room, why these people, was that really an angel? Then her training kicked in, she could practically here her instructors words, Keep your head cleared when you're in a fight, focus on the feel of your staff under your fingers, remember what you're doing and why you're doing it, panicking never helped anyone. Clare focused on calming her breathing, there may not be Soldiers in here but this was still the middle of a battle.
Breathe rattled in and out of Iris's shaking form as she huddled herself in the freezing cell. Ah, fire. Every instinct in her recoiled as she pitifully knelt closer to its dangerous, alluring warmth. She glanced back at the angel, dipping her head in agreement. A harsh voice of perfect Median and disdain emerged Iris. "Never, would I have thought being in a tavern would conclude with me being thrown into this." She hands gestured to bars and a never ending void of darkness. "They even took my sword," she sniffed.
(I was just wondering if the rp order is a good idea because of different timezones. Would you prefer if you just had more freedom to post whenever you want?)
(Honestly I would prefer having that option, but I don't mind the order.)
(I think I'll take it out. Be free)
Azirel looked up, trying not to act too suspicious. "I believe it's been broken. It's quite alright, though, I am capable of handling myself." She longed to be flying, manipulating the breeze to make her fly faster. She pushed these thoughts from her mind, and focused on why she'd been thrown in a cell. Have I done something offensive?
(sorry I'm just now getting to this, I just finished my theater camp and our play ran long, I will be a lot more active now)
Arabella glanced around the cell while listening to the conversation. “We can make the best of this! I’m not super sure how yet, but, I think we can!” She listened to herself as her Medien words echoed across the cell. Her eyes flitted around some more as she searched for the cause of a soft quick tapping noise. tap tap tap tap She looked down at her pale hand that was practically glowing on the dim cell as her fingers tapped away. Arabella grabbed her hand to stop the tapping, it was only making her more anxious. Another question popped into her mind, making her wonder why she had never thought of it before, why am I here?
(I believe the only one Azriel can communicate with is Iris because they share Brachish as a language)
Iris raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, "I'm having a glorious time in this prison cell, oh look! Tally-marks on the wall that look like they costed a few fingernails. Let's have a freaking dance party with bars between us and celebrate how happy we are, making the best of being fugitives." Her Median was laced with coldness and sarcasm, as her arms wildly motioned at their surroundings.
Azriel winced at the tone. "That was unnecessary," she said quietly.
heck how am I already mixing characters up we're not even a page in
"I suggested we have a dance party," Iris mumbled, her Brachish slightly hesitant. She nodded to the angel's wing. "That doesn't look good." If you listened really, really hard you would've discerned the tiniest bit of concern in the statement.
Clare brightened the fire and looked around the small cell, she ignored the other voices in the room, weakness look for a weakness. she paused when she came to the bars and peered out into the dark hall, it was to small for any one in the room to fit through but what about a cat. She vetoed the idea , fire cats weren't the most discreet way of breaking out of the cell. she pulled what appeared to be a leather belt out from around her waist and undid the string reveling it to be a very, very wide mouthed bag that appeared to be empty. She pulled a cracker from it and munched on it grumpily as she continued to walk along the cell walls . "Any one have any plan of getting out of here? Or an even better question, Any one know why we're in here?"
heck how am I already mixing characters up we're not even a page in
"I suggested we have a dance party," Iris mumbled, her Brachish slightly hesitant. She nodded to the angel's wing. "That doesn't look good." If you listened really, really hard you would've discerned the tiniest bit of concern in the statement.
"It is fine, but thank you for your concern," Azriel said, cautious of speaking to the girl. "I can fix it later. The pain is less than ideal, however it is manageable."
Clare sighed and leaned against a wall sliding down it until she was sitting on the hard floor, "I'll take that as a no.." She mumbled. she ran her hands through her hair, a comforting motion, she had to extinguish the fire to do so and the cell was plunged into darkness. Clare didn't mind, Having light wasn't going to change her situation.
Iris smirked. "It looks like at least seventeen people had a dance party on it," she muttered in Eltin, her first language.
She turned her cool gaze upon the human who conjured fire, switching to Medein, "Not a clue. Pretty sure we'll figure out soon enough, though."
Those with sharp hearing (angels, lykins, ravens) notice the distant sound of voices and footsteps echoing off stone walls. The voices are speaking Eltin. They seem to be arguing about something.
Azriel backed into a corner, hearing noises. She knew she could defend herself if necessary, but she really didn't want it to be necessary. Her wing felt like it was on fire.
