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1
Parbelavi / Re: Oh, its you
« Last post by Lillian on Today at 04:10:38 AM »

"Of course." Little reason else for him to come. Lillian's shoulders rode high on her neck, bunching her hair around her ears. Her wings remained quiet down her back. Never having so much as twitched in response to Peitar's great cloak. They would not open in answer to his posturing, or whatever it was that had made the warrior's wings strain against the confines of the room.

The rest of her did. The hand not occupied with Helen pinching at the fabric of her dress when he stretched. Flattening across her stomach when he called her pen from its free fall to his hand. Lillian watched him roll the barrel in his fingers, staining them. Easier that than meeting his eyes, even if they were blind. He expressed his disdain well enough.

"Wherever Ilithian is." Lillian shrugged one shoulder, both of them slowly easing back down to a more natural, relaxed, position. With Lorivar present Lillian worried less and more about her friend. The subject of her fears merely shifting from the practical to the romantic. "And she has been busy trying to be everywhere." She was like a swarm of bees all on her own, their queen.

Scooping Helen's jaw in her palm, Lillian waited for Peitar's answer. It was swiftly and curtly given, leaving her thankful for the warm softness in her hand. Hound and master both sagging dejectedly in the doorway as the topic settled into the real cause for his visit. Lifting her chin, Lillian looked at him, noting the tightness around his eyes and the exhausted way the muscles at his shoulders fluttered. "Oh no." He looked as she imagined most of the others did. Worn thin with the sort of work that was tragic rather than fulfilling.

All while she'd been hiding beneath the shadow of Ilithian's wings like a little bird too afraid to leave the nest. Her skirts settled over paws and boot tips. Sympathetic gravity drawing her closer. Tongue tisking against her teeth as he pierced the callous of his thumb with her pen. The smell of metal and power just barely muted by his jacket. "Let me see it." Lillian offered, drawing his hand away and brushing her own power across the wound. Small enough that even she could feel skillful in its tending.

A slow, hard won measure ability won in the long hours of the night. When Lillian couldn't sleep and neither could the wounded. Her queen's gift kept them calm while she learned. Craft slowly restored and honed after the furious onslaught of a too long put off moon time. Peitar's skin grew whole again. Bones and tendons like stone and steel where she held him.

"I can help you get the supplies you need. And take your report. I end up with copies of most of them anyway." She explained, releasing his hand back into his care and patting Helen's head.

2
Parbelavi / Re: Oh, its you
« Last post by Peitar on Yesterday at 10:19:27 AM »
Peitar listened to the way her breath hung on her breathless answer, suspending it like a gleam of light in his sightless world while he used other senses to make sense of it all. It told him were she stood- near or far, and how she stood- huddled over, relaxed, or stiff and straight. He wasn’t the sort of man that reflected on how rich his sense of other people had become once he had lost his ability to look them in the eye. But it had, and his wings spread reflexively wider, to be more impressive, as that one word he put a picture together in his mind. The tapered tips of each wing threatened to quiver with the strain. Tired from hours of flight after hours of worry after hours of work. A fleeting thought drifted through his head, that if he let them spread big enough, long enough, they might catch the whisper in their dark sails. He didn’t know, though, if that would be soothing or upsetting so he pushed the thought away.

Thankfully something small and light picked precisely that moment to clatter its way towards the floor. In a series of clicks and ticks against hard, wood furniture he tracked the distraction with his ears and a probe. Always eager for a challenge he snatched the whatever-it-was out of the air a few inches from the worn stone floor. He called it to his hand. Long calloused fingers examining the shape and staining themselves in sticky ink before he realized what he held. While they talked he scrapped the pointed end against the thick skin on his thumb pad. Peitar didn’t think it really needed explaining, but he explained anyway. His tone short and offended because he suspected she only asked since it was him. ”Same as most of these other clowns. Here to ask for stuff, report in on my slice of Askavi, find out how the rest of the world held up.”

Two of those three tasks had proven mostly impossible to do. There was a line of people asking for stuff, and he didn’t really have the time to wait for his turn. In fact, there were so many people asking for stuff that there was no one to listen to him report in. Everyone was ready to spread rumors and tell stories though. Word had it that Dhemlan was leaderless and in shreds, that most of Askavi was the epicenter but least physically touched by the actual event but territories across both realms were reeling from side effects. ”Of course he did.” Lorivar usually had his shit together. If there hadn’t been much damage to his province then he wouldn’t have much reason to sit on his hands there when he could be in the thick of things here. ”Any idea where he’s at right now? Owes me a favor.”

Dog’s tail drummed frantically against his leg. She was standing, and most likely slobbering on Lillian since her nose was pointed in the same direction the queen’s voice drifted at him from. His weight shifted, and so did her hips. Like two magnets held apart by a sheet of wood. Move one, the other followed. Especially after the trauma of being buried with him. They were rarely separated to begin with, but neither were willing to be parted now. A constant comfort to one another in uncertain times. She made a sad sound and shifted again as Lillian tiptoed around words. Sympathetic to the queen’s emotions. Emotions that were lost on Peitar who could only guess at what the hesitation in her voice meant without the expression on her face to weigh it against. What had she been on the verge of calling his home? Hers, even though she didn’t want to be there? His, except she was supposed to be curating the land?

”No.” He said flatly. He hadn’t had to say it out loud yet. Those affected knew what had happened. Knew the toll and damage. Dog must have felt the sense of dread that roared up into his stomach because she whined and sat on his foot. Tail going quiet as she put her flank to his shin and rested her ear to his kneecap. ”Snow came down the mountains. We dug out most of the survivors I think, but people are still really busted up.” In the war loss had felt different. The places that burned had always only been temporary. Relationships all short lived as soldiers moved from one camp to another. Or never left the battlefield. Death was the price of freedom. One that Peitar had thought he would pay along with the rest. A brother laid on a funeral pyre was a shallow wound when you thought you would be next. Lost on the tangent Peitar stabbed himself too hard with the point of the pen. He held it out to her with his other hand and pressed his bleeding thumb against the woolen jacket he wore over a dense cotton shirt. ”That’s about my luck. Never was any good with a pen. No use for them in war, and no use learning to read or write once I was blind.”
3
First Link / world hero university
« Last post by raine on December 07, 2019, 10:08:25 PM »
4
Rodgau Province / Re: Wayward Seasons
« Last post by Winter on December 07, 2019, 08:14:04 AM »

Her anger should  have been familiar, like the path the knuckle of his thumb took. Line drawn across his navel, traveling along the invisible thread that pulled and tugged, twisting his guts up into pain. Like the twine the butcher wrapped meat in. Familiar as it should have been, Autumn's bite always came as a surprise. A sharp jolt that widened the edges of his eyes and drew Winter's attention into a pinprick.

Here. Now. What had he done?

"It's the farthest settlement with a landing web. I know no town with a red tower, and asking might seem suspicious." He explained guiltily. They all had their worries, and if Autumn was to go like the weavings said, she deserved to have hers heard. His nail cut into the paper, along a sliver of ink. "It's not just emptiness. We should be able to travel quick, and finding lodging if we need it."

There were dozens of trade routes. The landen so often moved about, and the Blood with them. Migrations patterns shifting with the changes in the Winds over the last century. He tried for a hopeful smile of reassurance, but it felt like his mouth was begging. Don't bite, don't bite.

Winter sighed. "If we knew." Winter had a lot of faith in webs, how could he not, surround as he was by their spinners? But losing Spring had been a surprise, unless someone had been keeping secrets. Surprises were dangerous. Shuffling under Autumn's reprimand, Winter nodded. She wasn't wrong, really.

"If we're sure of the route." These sorts of things were important when you were hunting. Or being hunted. Winter supposed they were about to be doing a little of both.

Mother set aside the tea cups, and Winter rolled the map back up, tucking the corners carefully and making sure it was straight. A pinch of tacky craft kept it sealed while he vanished it into his cabinet. Winter was packed too, with everything he thought they might need to keep them from being murdered.

It just seemed to unlikely when they were about to set off and get captured. On purpose.

"Lets go then. There is a Coach leaving on the hour." Mother Night his stomach ached.

5
Parbelavi / Re: Oh, its you
« Last post by Lillian on December 07, 2019, 07:41:54 AM »

He was clothed, at least, if raggedly. Helen's wet tongue dragged over her knuckles just before Lillian tucked her finger tips under the dog's chin for a scratch. Fur soft, warm and comforting. "Oh." She breathed,  eyeing the expanse of wing he spread in her borrowed office, walls vanishing behind their battered sails. He looked terrible.

Lillian's pen rolled from the desk to her chair, pinging softly against the wood before continuing its descent to the floor.

"Why?" Not that dozens of others hadn't come. Fingers switching from chin to ears, Lillian swayed between Helen and her desk, somehow coming around the corner of one, and leaning against the other. Edging closer to the warlord prince she'd run from. The rest of her worried questions cut off by his own. Rolling an ear in her palm, she nodded. Then remembered he couldn't see.

"Of course. He arrived the second day after... whatever happened." The warlord had stuck to Ilithian's side like a burr ever since. Lillian twitched her skirt away from the other corner of her desk. Somehow the wood had become rough and splintered along that edge, and always snagged on her dresses when she passed it.

"Is everything alright in, um," her lips rolled together, words pressed until she could find the right one. Theirs? His? Hers? "The district?" It had not been a proper village, not really. And she hadn't tried hard enough to accomplish proper housing before she'd left. Hardly tried anything at all for all the fear rolling around in her stomach. The land had been easy, since Peitar hadn't fought her on that. Building had been a trickier subject.

Though not half so bad as raiding.

6
Parbelavi / Re: Oh, its you
« Last post by Peitar on December 06, 2019, 08:16:01 PM »
Blind. Peitar had a century of experience at being just that. At least, he had thought as much. It was the absence of sight. People recognized by the way they smelled, or breathed, or the sound of their voice instead of their smile. Weather judged by the humidity on the wind and sunshine on his face. Danger a tingle under his skin rather than a warning at the edge of his vision. He had thought he was blind.

Then ten tons of snow buried him alive.

They were on a camping trip. Three men that were using the pursuit of fresh meat as an excuse to sit around an open fire, drink moonshine, and bitch about the poor selection of attractive women in the village. Not long after they fell asleep an unusual sound woke Peitar up from his drunken slumber. A sound he could only describe as a mountain sighing. A sad whisper that slid down her spine towards them. Towards the village tucked into her side.

Before his brain could piece together what was happening the avalanche filled the valley. Snow twenty feet thick in some places. Only twelve or so in the spot where he lay trapped with Dog for eighteen hours. That was when he learned true blindness. No light to warm his face. No air on his skin. No scent on the wind. An absolute stifling of every sense he possessed. All consuming and unforgiving he lay there fueling a warming spell that kept him, and Dog, alive but not actually warm. Eighteen. Hours. Cold piercing down so deep he wasn’t sure he would ever stop feeling numb. Shields creaking under the pressure as every second wore on. He probed towards the surface to figure out which way it was. To figure out if it was safe to blow a hole to free himself. Even once he had figured a path out he had to judge how deep to dig into his Sapphire to keep from burning it all off too fast.

When he had finally clawed his way up to fresh air, pulling Dog up with him by wedging her between his knees he tried to find the men he had been traveling with. He only found one body, deep below the surface, too deep to justify retrieving when there could be survivors in the village. Dog warmed up quickly and he asked her to lead him towards home before his own fingers had their feeling back. A home that had never much felt like home quite as keenly as it did now that he was reading the damage done. His probes spelled out a grim picture of the tent city that compromised the bulk of his district. The snow had rolled in on them during the night. There were losses, good fighters that Peitar would count later. If the numbness ever left his soul.

Make shift tents were thrown up in a meadow outside of the village. A grassy knoll where deer came out to graze and wild rams peppered the landscape. It was supposed to be one of Lillian’s crop fields. But Lillian was gone and she hadn’t come back. Even when the world had turned upside down. So Peitar had trudged on, reverting to a familiar way of life. Upset, loss, death, struggling to reach the next day. Like war, except they had the luxury of time now. Time that they spent entirely too much of probing the snow packs for survivors. Peitar especially. Sleepless for days as he walked over the crisp surface that was heavily at odds with the spring sunshine on his back. No matter how much he probed and paced and paced and probed his brother never answer, though. And his people needed a healer to set broken bones and save frostbitten digits.

On the sixth day he gave up, pulled his dog under his arm and had an escort of small boys guide his flight to Ligure. He expected to deal with Ilithian directly, but she was a woman on fire rushing between bigger issues. Threats from Dhemlan, which had turned into a proper madhouse, pleas from a dozen towns and districts he had never even heard of piling up on her desk. Peitar figured there would be a triage process, and so he wandered aimlessly to wait his turn. Too numb still to realize his feet were being subtly led by a tug on his subconscious and the gentle shoulder of his faithful hound.

“Yeah, me.” He said gruffly when an open doorway squeaked at him from inside. Feeling his way in with a flat palm he sighed. There was something twice as pressing about being in this place, full of bustling life and fragrant queens. Something that made his numbness feel more like an aching tooth. “Flew.” He told her dryly, spreading bruised wings in evidence. “I thought my place was a mess. This is a damn circus.” He thought so at least. Sounded an awful lot like the only one he had ever been close enough to hear.

"Looks like you lot didn't get much of the shake up, though. Too close to the source for the shockwaves to be bad." He was glad. That was one less mess to clean. "Lori around?" Technically Peitar wasn't in his province but he thought the whole fistfight incident had earned him a half-favor. A few healers would do.
7
Character Applications / Re: The Wagon Witch Seamstress
« Last post by The Darkness on December 06, 2019, 06:46:32 PM »
The Darkness has granted you...
Summer-sky
Cut 61
to
Opal
Cut 26




As requested, THREE family rolls:
1: Opal to Opal
2: Yellow to Rose
3: Rose to Purple Dusk
8
Character Applications / Re: The Wagon Witch Seamstress
« Last post by kayndred on December 05, 2019, 10:46:55 PM »
Blep lets do a **random BR and a descent and three family rolls.
9
Character Applications / Ianthe Sparrowhawke
« Last post by kayndred on December 05, 2019, 10:45:59 PM »
Ianthe Sparrowhawke


The Basics


Full Name: Ianthe Sparrowhawke, or Ragewind, or Graveriver, or any number of false last names
Gender/Pronouns: she/hers

Ethnicity: Mixed
Birthplace: Kaeleer
Current Location: Kaeleer
Profession: Traveling Seamstress

Caste: hearth witch
Birthright Jewel: Summer-sky (CUT 61)
Offering Jewel: Opal (CUT 26)

Face Claim: Demet Özdemir



The Body


Height: 5'7
Body Type: Slender, toned
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Dark Brown

Appearance:


The Mind


Craft Strengths: 15pts + 5
Spell Weaving
Telekinetic Manipulation
Witchlight
Summoning & Vanishing
Passing Through Objects
Craft Weaknesses:

Personality:


The Backstory


Family:
  • Name | Mother | Jewel to Jewel Black Widow
  • Name | Cousin | Jewel to Jewel Caste
  • Name | Cousin | Jewel to Jewel Caste

History:
The rocking of the wagon was the wooden foundation of Ianthe's life. Born beneath its colorful canvas, grown surrounded by its carved walls, her childhood was one of movement, of change. The seasons fell around her, and people too, passing by her wagon as she moved.

Ianthe's mother had been a black widow, but only barely.


The Writer


Player Name: Kayndred, Kay
Player Pronouns: She/hers
Timezone: -8 GMT
Contact: DM, Discord

Inactivity Instructions: Archive, write out, adoption, lastly death

Roleplay Sample:
See Michael Villiers
10
First Link / celestial gateway academy
« Last post by CGA on December 04, 2019, 11:48:43 AM »

Welcome to Witchlight

We are an AU Black Jewels RPG that is continuously expanding the world lore to truly make it our own. Come join us and play in our sandbox!

Open for over a year, we have 9 unique races, from birds to wolf-shifters. Feel free to drop into our Discord, lurk our wanted ads, and see if Witchlight is the fantasy site you should always have been looking for.

We have an RPG Rating of:

Timeline

SPRING - AW103

The seasons will change on 12/19.

Recent Topics

Oh, its you by Lillian
[Today at 04:10:38 AM]


Wayward Seasons by Winter
[December 07, 2019, 08:14:04 AM]


Ianthe Sparrowhawke by The Darkness
[December 06, 2019, 06:46:32 PM]


Afternoon Snack by Aramis Dupuis
[November 20, 2019, 09:47:32 PM]


Transactions by The Darkness
[November 11, 2019, 05:17:41 PM]

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Witchlight is loosely based upon the Black Jewels Series by Anne Bishop though it has been adapted and expanded by our members. All lore, characters, and writing belongs to the members. Site graphics & custom codes were created by the staff. A special thanks to Wolf & Katarina for all their help with the planning of Witchlight and the writing of the base lore.

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