![[ CLOSED♥ ] NOVUS rpg](https://novus-rpg.net/images/logo.png "[ CLOSED♥ ] NOVUS rpg"){kind=logo}
+- [ CLOSED♥ ] NOVUS rpg (https://novus-rpg.net)
+-- Forum: Realms (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=5)
+--- Forum: Solterra (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=15)
+---- Forum: Elatus Canyon (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=31)
+---- Thread: [P] what you stole has been stolen from you (/showthread.php?tid=3201)
what you stole has been stolen from you - NPC Account - 02-22-2019
The sun is only just peeking its flickering halo over the high sandstone walls of the capitol when a young mare brushes up against Roshan on the streets. She doesn’t much acknowledge him, – barely makes eye contact, in fact – but, in her haste, still manages to thrust a letter in his face with her telekinesis. It is up to him to snatch the piece of sand-worn paper from mid-air before it tumbles to the ground, for the mare is gone as quickly as she arrived, ducking into the nearest winding alleyway and disappearing from sight.
If he chooses to pick up the letter, Roshan will find it blank…but there is something strange about it, a slight bumpiness to the texture that cannot be explained by the sand and grit that it had collected in its passage across the desert. If he holds it up to the light, faint, faint letters will become visible, as brief as they are meticulously neat…
HAWK,
I have need of your services. If you are interested in striking a deal, meet me at the edge of the Elatus Canyon that borders Denocte when the sun sets.
Burn this message.
-A Friend
Should Roshan decide to follow this ambiguous message out into the canyon at Dusk, he won’t immediately catch sight of his mysterious contact. Rather, nothing will seem to be out of order, and he might wonder to himself if he’s arrived before his contact. A scan of the rocks on the edge of the canyon’s entrance, however, will reveal something strange slashed into one. An arrow points him along the left side of the canyon.
If he follows the arrow, he will find more rocks of a similar design strewn across the maze-like walls of the canyon. As he walks, perhaps he hears the occasional shifting from the high ridges of the canyon above him, as though something - or someone - is following his movements, but, if he happens to look up, it becomes immediately evident that no one is there.
It will likely be dark before he reaches the cave that the arrows lead him to. The entrance is dark, and gaping, but, if he squints, he might be able to see the flicker of a fire from deeper inside, and, if he listens closely, he might hear the clink of metal and the shift of fabric.
It could easily be a trap of some sort, but adventure beckons from within – what will Roshan choose to do?
@
RE: what you stole has been stolen from you - Roshan - 03-03-2019
| By now, Roshan likes to think that he has a pretty damn good idea when his days aren’t going to pan out like he thought they would. The moment that a note is thrust into his grasp by a random stranger in the dark lit alleyways of the Solterran marketplace was one of those times. His telekinesis snaps to attention as the note is pushed unceremoniously his way, a flourish of hair carried with the scent of sand before the stranger is gone and he is left scrambling in her wake. The note flutters for a moment, as he was almost embarrassingly unprepared, but inevitably he catches it before it drops to the sand-packed earth below. Holding the note, Roshan glanced over his shoulder after the woman, but she was already gone. Interesting. This wasn’t the first time he’d received a note in such a fashion, but that girl hadn’t looked like one of Vendetta’s couriers. Mahogany eyes focused back on the mysterious note, turning it over with a scrutinizing eye. He frowned at it’s blank surface, barren of any sort of ink or charcoal. A ridged texture on the paper, however, let him know that it was not just a blank note. One last glance over his shoulder and Roshan was moving once more, ducking into a far more empty alleyway. He shifted the note around, holding it upright, until his peering eyes could finally make out the words. ’HAWK’. A pale brow arched in confusion but he read on. The note was simplistic and deceptively vague, letting him know that whoever wrote it did not want to be known. It was signed from ‘a friend’, and he knew immediately that it wasn’t from Vendetta. She would never insult herself by saying she was his ‘friend’. If it wasn’t from Vendetta, though, then who? Regardless, he was always one for interesting games and underground methods, and this pulled at his curiosity in all of the right ways. Reading it once, twice, and then three times to ensure memorization, the young thief followed the final instructions on the paper. Passing by a hearth left blazing to ward of the lingering chill from the autumn night, he dropped the note within the flames and lingered long enough to watch the paper curl and crumple as it was reduced to ash. Step one complete. ’We’re actually gonna go?’ Bandit’s question took him by surprise. Mahogany eyes glanced upwards to where the ferret-dragon was perched upon his brow. The young thief grinned ruefully. “Yep.” Why not? This was tempting, and Roshan wasn’t one to ignore a tempting deal before at least hearing the terms and conditions. Ducking out of the alley, their journey began. The note said to meet at the Canyon at dusk, and so that was what he intended. It would still be a bit of a travel, however, but one that the young thief was ready for. Curiosity was a constant ally as he and Bandit flew the distance between the Day Court capitol and the Elatus Canyon, the scenery of Solterra passing by beneath them without an ounce of appreciation. There was too much running through his mind to be captivated by the sights of the desert. Who was the letter from? What did they want? Did this have anything to do with Raum’s sudden claim to fame? And even then, why would it concern him? Regardless, Roshan kept his theories to himself. There was no point in pondering when he had so little information to go off of. Gradually the yawning chasm of the Elatus Canyon came into view, but he remembered the details clearly and so altered his route, flying towards the borders of Denocte. Descending, the painted stallion lands upon sand and stone without issue, his gaze roaming the canyon itself. At first nothing seemed out of place, except… Stones, situated like an arrow, lay near the base of the canyon wall. Curious. An ear tipped forward, Roshan ambled along in the direction that the arrow pointed. It wasn’t long until he spotted another, and a paranoid thought of ’what if this is a trap?’ bounced around in his head. Even if it was, well… He’d had a good run. Death was inevitable anyway. One didn’t make it very long in his line of work if they weren’t willing to take a few risks every now and again. Together both equine and ferret-dragon journeyed along the canyon floor as the sky grew darker, the autumn chill beginning to chase away the stifling daytime heat. Occasionally he would hear a shuffle from above, and every time, the thief would halt in his tracks. Mahogany eyes would dart upwards, peering up at the rocky outcroppings through a narrowed gaze as he tried to spot what might have made the sound from above. There was a constant feeling in the back of his mind as though he were being watched, but never did he see anything. Letting out a slow, measured breath, Roshan continued on. This better be worth it. Night had long since fallen by the time he arrived to where the arrows had been guiding him. Above the yawning maw of the canyon, Roshan could see the twinkling of stars amidst a backdrop of black and blue. His breath left him in a visible exhale, and for a moment he lingered. A cave. The arrows had been leading him towards the dark mouth of a cave situated in the side of the canyon. An ear tipped backwards as Bandit shifted about on his head. Did he dare step inside? Did he risk it? What if he didn’t come back? The worry was answered by a bitter truth; no one would miss him. While the very real thought left a sour taste on his tongue, the young thief smiled against it, brazen, cocksure, and defiant. It was all or nothing. Drawing closer to the mouth of the cave, he peered inside, spotting the faint flicker of flame. It wasn’t enough to illuminate the inside, and swallowing hard, Roshan straightened up and stepped inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he could hear the sound of fabric and the clink of metal. “That was one hell of an invitation,” he said out loud, more or less to break the lingering silence. From there, he waited, all grins and self-satisfaction. ”Where’s the party?” |
RE: what you stole has been stolen from you - Seraphina - 03-09-2019
☼ fia the crownless ☼
and a thousand times I've seen this road
a thousand times
Just less than a week ago (she thought – but it was difficult to tell exactly how long had elapsed since her humiliating defeat on the Steppe), Seraphina would have cringed at the notion of turning to the Black Market for aid.
She was a soldier, or a guard, at heart, and then she was a ruler; it was her job to create the very rules that the Black Market so often violated. Unfortunately, one of the things that she had learned recently was that her lofty aspirations and ideologies meant very little in the face of a world that did not often like to play by the rules that she tried to create. She had been a Queen, only days ago, but now, if Raum knew that she was alive, she suspected that he would be quick to declare her some sort of enemy of the state; from what little she had learned from passing travelers and desert contacts, he had already made it clear that dissent would be as good as a death sentence under his Regime, and she would – certainly – dissent. Public disobedience was out of the question, which left her with tactics that were a bit more secretive, a bit more underhanded…
She is not Seraphina now.
“Fia” stands on the high ridges of the canyon, hood pulled over her dark features, and waits.
(Who was the ghost now?)
It does not take too long for her contact – a black market thief who’d been recommended to her, a certain Roshan - to arrive. Though there is some considerable distance between them, she takes note of what she can; the mottled brown of his coat, his wings, his tight braids, his light – but warlike – stature, the strange little winged creature that accompanied him.
While he walks, she follows him along the ridge, allowing her magic to lift her just an inch or two off the sand-swept stone to guise the click of her hoof-steps. Occasionally, she makes a sound – disturbs a stone or lets the wind buffet the great golden swath of fabric that accompanies her armor – and provokes his stare, but she is always quick enough to edge out of sight before he can spot her. In spite of the heat, which is dizzying even as the sun begins to set and remains that way until it has almost drifted out of sight altogether, she feels more comfortable on the winding canyon walls than she has ever felt in the maze-like streets of the capitol, though both are familiar enough to be all but etched into her. If she were less accustomed to the precarious slopes, or less capable of catching herself with the push and pull of her mind, she might have been nervous, walking the ridges. She isn’t.
When darkness has all but fallen, bringing with it the characteristic chill of autumn, she ceases her prowling and goes on ahead of him; he is near enough to the entrance of the cave to which she is guiding him for her to assume that he can find his way. She finds a little slope back to the canyon floor, and she winds forward through the wriggling passages until she reaches the cave which she has designated her temporary base of affairs. It isn’t much, for now, but, shielded from most prying eyes, it will do for the moment.
She draws out Alshamtueur and sparks a fire in the back of the cave, and she waits.
She hears him before she sees him, hears the press of hoof to stone; she lingers on the other side of the flame, patiently watchful. He draws inside, a self-satisfied grin on his lips and a confident raise to his chin. (She wonders if it is real or manufactured.)
“That was one hell of an invitation. Where’s the party?”
She walks around the fire, the shadows cast from her hood all but obscuring her scarred face; her scarf billows about her frame, although there is no wind, and continues to snake even as she moves to a halt a few feet in front of him. Her eyes drift to the meager supplies she has managed to gather in her short time in the desert; a small hoard of dates (drying), medicinal herbs and other, useful plants, bandages, a waterskin or two, plenty of paper and ink, arrows…it certainly helps that Isra is around somewhere, and Isra can make something from anything, but arrangements are far from spectacular.
She is losing her grasp on what Seraphina would have said to that remark, but she is starting to piece together Fia – a woman who is much like Seraphina, but a woman who is no politician, who does not carry so much shed blood like a lead weight on her shoulder. Dryly humorous. Charismatic. The leader of a rebellion designed to overthrow a fledgling dictator.
And hooded, most often. Obscured.
“What,” she all but drawls, “this doesn’t look like a party to you?” There is a hint of a smile – if a grim one - on her charcoal lips, barely visible under the golden expanse of her hood.
“I’ll save you an invitation for something fancier if we can pull this off. For now, I need your help.” Her voice comes out smooth and easy and shockingly casual, and she doesn’t bother with pleasantries like she might have under different circumstances; best to cut straight to the point, particularly when conducting business. “The name’s Fia. I need you to help me get into the capitol…and to steal some priceless tomes out from under the nose of our new King.” There is more than a hint of distaste in her voice – the ghost of a snarl – at the mention of Raum, and she makes no effort to hide it.
After all, if this hawk, this Roshan is at all fond of their new leader, he is not the help that she needs.
----------------------------------------------------------
tags | @Roshan
notes | this was fun
and a thousand times I've seen this road
a thousand times
Just less than a week ago (she thought – but it was difficult to tell exactly how long had elapsed since her humiliating defeat on the Steppe), Seraphina would have cringed at the notion of turning to the Black Market for aid.
She was a soldier, or a guard, at heart, and then she was a ruler; it was her job to create the very rules that the Black Market so often violated. Unfortunately, one of the things that she had learned recently was that her lofty aspirations and ideologies meant very little in the face of a world that did not often like to play by the rules that she tried to create. She had been a Queen, only days ago, but now, if Raum knew that she was alive, she suspected that he would be quick to declare her some sort of enemy of the state; from what little she had learned from passing travelers and desert contacts, he had already made it clear that dissent would be as good as a death sentence under his Regime, and she would – certainly – dissent. Public disobedience was out of the question, which left her with tactics that were a bit more secretive, a bit more underhanded…
She is not Seraphina now.
“Fia” stands on the high ridges of the canyon, hood pulled over her dark features, and waits.
(Who was the ghost now?)
It does not take too long for her contact – a black market thief who’d been recommended to her, a certain Roshan - to arrive. Though there is some considerable distance between them, she takes note of what she can; the mottled brown of his coat, his wings, his tight braids, his light – but warlike – stature, the strange little winged creature that accompanied him.
While he walks, she follows him along the ridge, allowing her magic to lift her just an inch or two off the sand-swept stone to guise the click of her hoof-steps. Occasionally, she makes a sound – disturbs a stone or lets the wind buffet the great golden swath of fabric that accompanies her armor – and provokes his stare, but she is always quick enough to edge out of sight before he can spot her. In spite of the heat, which is dizzying even as the sun begins to set and remains that way until it has almost drifted out of sight altogether, she feels more comfortable on the winding canyon walls than she has ever felt in the maze-like streets of the capitol, though both are familiar enough to be all but etched into her. If she were less accustomed to the precarious slopes, or less capable of catching herself with the push and pull of her mind, she might have been nervous, walking the ridges. She isn’t.
When darkness has all but fallen, bringing with it the characteristic chill of autumn, she ceases her prowling and goes on ahead of him; he is near enough to the entrance of the cave to which she is guiding him for her to assume that he can find his way. She finds a little slope back to the canyon floor, and she winds forward through the wriggling passages until she reaches the cave which she has designated her temporary base of affairs. It isn’t much, for now, but, shielded from most prying eyes, it will do for the moment.
She draws out Alshamtueur and sparks a fire in the back of the cave, and she waits.
She hears him before she sees him, hears the press of hoof to stone; she lingers on the other side of the flame, patiently watchful. He draws inside, a self-satisfied grin on his lips and a confident raise to his chin. (She wonders if it is real or manufactured.)
“That was one hell of an invitation. Where’s the party?”
She walks around the fire, the shadows cast from her hood all but obscuring her scarred face; her scarf billows about her frame, although there is no wind, and continues to snake even as she moves to a halt a few feet in front of him. Her eyes drift to the meager supplies she has managed to gather in her short time in the desert; a small hoard of dates (drying), medicinal herbs and other, useful plants, bandages, a waterskin or two, plenty of paper and ink, arrows…it certainly helps that Isra is around somewhere, and Isra can make something from anything, but arrangements are far from spectacular.
She is losing her grasp on what Seraphina would have said to that remark, but she is starting to piece together Fia – a woman who is much like Seraphina, but a woman who is no politician, who does not carry so much shed blood like a lead weight on her shoulder. Dryly humorous. Charismatic. The leader of a rebellion designed to overthrow a fledgling dictator.
And hooded, most often. Obscured.
“What,” she all but drawls, “this doesn’t look like a party to you?” There is a hint of a smile – if a grim one - on her charcoal lips, barely visible under the golden expanse of her hood.
“I’ll save you an invitation for something fancier if we can pull this off. For now, I need your help.” Her voice comes out smooth and easy and shockingly casual, and she doesn’t bother with pleasantries like she might have under different circumstances; best to cut straight to the point, particularly when conducting business. “The name’s Fia. I need you to help me get into the capitol…and to steal some priceless tomes out from under the nose of our new King.” There is more than a hint of distaste in her voice – the ghost of a snarl – at the mention of Raum, and she makes no effort to hide it.
After all, if this hawk, this Roshan is at all fond of their new leader, he is not the help that she needs.
----------------------------------------------------------
tags | @
notes | this was fun