< atton revisited > The information page for Atton has been fully revised and updated with the new map!
< updated calendar > The Fortuna calendar has been updated in the "Other" lore section! This includes a document which displays the calendar for you to see, making it much easier to understand.
< moving map > The first functional map has been released in the News section! This map is also interactive, allowing you to drag and drop between points in order to determine distances. This is the first iteration, and there's more and better to come!
< first annual awards > The results for the First Annual Fortuna Year-End Awards have been posted! Go and take a look at who the finalists were, and who took home the big prizes!
< new default skin > Our new skin has passed the beta test, and is now the new Default for the forums! If you have any issues with this skin, send a PM or Discord to Mellie.
< human lore update > Humans have been updated with TWENTY-FIVE subraces/subcultures which add numerous options, and a little extra lore and flavour.
< magic lore update > Magical Lore has been enhanced with the addition of a post on Magical Education. From Beginner to Expert, this is how you learn the spells.
< a change to member groups > Member groups are now based on storyline! You can change your displayed storyline by editing the settings in your profile.
Welcome to the world of Fortuna, a land of fantastic proportions. This is an original fantasy roleplay that takes place in a world developed over nearly a decade of work and collaboration. We aim to encourage all participants to have a hand in the stories of the characters here, and the world around them. Your choices are key - so make them with pride. You decide who wins the wars, you decide who becomes King, the world is ours, and together we will bring it to life!
8th of The Empty Lantern, evening. Muerte capital, Hareldon.
"Streike, goddess of death, guide the souls I reap this night to a fair judgement in the underworld. Banour, I bid you accept the blood sacrifice I shall lay before you. Masaan, take pleasure in this act, as I take these lives at the behest of another."
Sabela brought her pendant to her lips gently, then rose to her feet and looked down through the open attic window into her victim's home. The man inside was eating dinner with his mistress, and the raucous laughter she could hear indicated they'd both had more than enough to drink. More than enough to make their blood suitably thin, and entirely inedible to her. The taste alone would be revolting enough, and the alcohol content was only an additional downside. She was not here to feed this night, however. Her job was clear - this man was to die tonight for the crime of laying with a satyr, and for speaking out against Elias Harel's anti-beastfolk practices. The woman's crime was simple - adultery, while being a beastfolk. Sabela slipped silently into their home, a grey-cloaked bringer of death, and their laughter, like their lives, was cut short.
---
The job was done, but the use of her magic had sapped much of Sabela's remaining strength. She had not fed in days, and was growing weak. She would find another soul to send to Streike tonight, one whose life would be ended to sustain her own.
As she left the house behind, she kept her eyes peeled for lonely wanderers in the darkness. A lost soul was going to be found tonight.
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 6, 2017 14:22:14 GMT -7
Following the enlightening experience that was Dirys, the voice had wanted many things from Ichabod, none of which he was interested in. No, he had learned of things on this planet in Dirys that gave him a purpose beyond doing the bidding of his mother. Yes, he very much wanted to please her, to set her free... But he also wanted to achieve something for himself. Something individual.
And that was why he had gone to Muerte. Home in a way, but not. He hadn't been to Muerte since he was young, and the place had changed since then. The town he had once lived in had been changed completely. Upgraded. The capital of Muerte would no longer be Surif - it was Hareldon. And his home would no longer be Ursus, it was Hareldon. He had to admit, he liked the change. The centre of town was an ampitheatre of death, a gallows for dissenters that warmed Ichabod's heart... And the streets seemed so alive with secrecy. He had to appreciate the infrastructure, too. So many dark alleys to hide in. So many lonely souls to strike.
He wandered the streets throughout the day and long into the night, trying to determine where his childhood home had ended up in the restructuring. Eventually, he found what might be it - just as a cloaked woman passed it by in the shadows. The fact that the home's lights were burning but no sound was coming from inside, and the way the woman clung to the corners had Ichabod grinning, his eyes flashing to emeralds for a moment before returning to something mortal.
If I'd have known home was going to become so exciting, perhaps I wouldn't have left, He mused internally for once, wanting a chance to follow the woman, for which he knew he needed silence. He followed after her, hands in his pockets. He walked casually and seemingly without purpose - but he was absolutely following her. When she would turn a corner, he would make the same turn. When she would turn to look, he would conceal himself deep in the shadows. When he lost her, he followed the scent of blood and found her again. In his mind, he was the cat, and she was the mouse.
In reality, she was the cat.
Last Edit: Jan 6, 2017 14:22:54 GMT -7 by Ichabod Afof
Evenings in Hareldon were home to three sorts of people. The first sort were those who were partying or had partied and were making their way clumsily back to their homes. This sort would not make a good meal for Sabela, as their blood was tainted. The second sort were those who were hurrying home after long days at work, often working for the people who partied as the partiers owned the city and all other had to beg for their scraps to survive. These were the people Sabela was on the lookout for. Their lives were hard and would come to a bitter end at the hands of herself or, if not herself, the hands of the third sort of people. The third sort, of course, were the scum that came out when the sun went down. Thieves, and murderer mostly, and in some cases beastfolk who had no ill intentions but simply couldn't be seen in the light of day. Sabela would not feed on beastfolk for the same reason she would not feed on ordinary animals. Their blood would sustain her, but was frankly worse than trying to eat 'normal' food.
Sabela stole through the night silently, passing by stumbling couples with disgust and sticking mostly to the shadows, though she had nothing to fear here. She preferred being alone, unnoticed, and though she was almost as recognizable as Harel himself for the rumours that flew about her, she was rarely seen when out on a job or to feed. The only witnesses to her actions would be dead by sun-up. Except on this night, a man followed her. She could smell his blood, tainted but not by alcohol, and though he hid himself well in the shadows when she looked, she knew he was there. She did not fear her follower, and even had a sort of curiosity for him, though if he did not want to be seen she would not seek him out. She already had a plan and she rarely had the desire to stray from it for purely curiosity's sake.
Turning onto a small street her gaze settled upon a group of ruffians who were gathered around a figure on the ground as they kicked at it, shouting insults and jeering at whatever creature had been caught in their grasps. She could tell it was not human, and as she approached one of the boys in the group saw her and called out for them to scatter, which revealed the bloodied creature at their feet to be a coonka. She held no feeling toward the creature and did not intend to help it. She had decided on her target, and it would be the boy who had seen her first. She thought of him as a boy, though he was probably almost a human adult, young as he was still. As he ran with the others away from the coonka and herself, she said to him "Stop," and her voice was like honey, soft and sweet and irresistible to his ears. The boy stumbled to a stop, perhaps confused with why he felt compelled to do so, and a moment later all of his friends had disappeared down alleyways and left him alone. Some people enjoyed the chase and would have run after the boy, but Sabela gained no thrill from hunting and had not the time or energy to do so.
She moved past the coonka which lay gasping and bleeding and came up behind the boy, circling her fingers lightly around the back of his neck. She pressed her thumbnail into his soft skin, bringing forth a small drop of blood. The man was a scoundrel, but his blood was not tainted. "If your soul is as pure as your blood, child, you have nothing to fear from Judgement," she said, her voice soft but not kind, before sinking her teeth into his neck.
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 6, 2017 16:02:32 GMT -7
It was too good.
He followed her to a street where some teenagers - young adults, maybe - were beating someone to death. That would have been enough pleasure on its own - perhaps he would try and get in there, and give a touch of hunger to the victim, something more to live for - but the woman's presence scattered them. It was too bad, but as they parted he could smell the blood, and it made his stomach churn with hunger.
It was when the woman said stop that everything changed. Thinking she had noticed him, he froze and looked over to her with a smile... But it wasn't him. One of the boys, teenagers, young men -- he had stopped. He had turned on his heel, as if a leash had been tugged. She approached him, touched him. Ichabod never saw the appeal in such touches - but the next touch, he did. To others, it might have looked like the woman was kissing the boy... But to Ichabod, the smell of blood was undeniable. She was consuming the man.
Ichabod licked his lips, and although the voice insisted he not be stupid, he let his hunger drive him instead. There would be no asking Mother if he may. He paused at the Coonka, deciding that it was ridden with fleas and wouldn't be a safe meal, and continued to where Sabela was. He reached out, his hand tracing her shoulder lightly as he closed in. His hand was sodden with gluttony, but he could feel her body resist it. She already held The Hunger. He grinned, his teeth hardening. His whisper held a chuckle: "Now don't tell me you'll let the flesh go to waste."
She ignored the smell of the coonka blood while she fed on the boy, and in doing so she ignored the smell of her shadow's tainted blood as well, even as that scent drew nearer. It didn't matter. She could feel her strength coming back to her now that she had found a suitable meal, and perhaps arrogantly she believed whoever was following her would not be a danger - she could protect herself well enough, but also if they had intended her harm there were many opportunities along the way to have struck.
Her shadow approached as she was almost finished, the boy in her arms going weak and pale until she had to hold him up herself, and she felt a hand land lightly on her shoulder as a voice whispered to her, amused. Sabela pulled back from the boy slowly, licking blood from her lips as she turned to face the man who had spoken. Her eyes which had been dull before were fresh crimson and she responded to his words by pushing the boy in his direction. "You are welcome to the remains, demon, for he has served my purpose. Who are you and why do you follow me?"
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 7, 2017 7:54:23 GMT -7
Ichabod caught the boy with ease, easily used to the weight of a body without purpose. He smiled and his teeth hardened once more, turning to sharp diamonds that could easily cut through anything in the dull mortal corpse he held. He leaned down to bite just where the woman had, interested to taste what kind of creature she was -- but she was still talking.
"You've quite well sorted who I am," He grinned a cheshire grin that glinted in the pale light of lamps lining the street, and then leaned down to lick the flesh he'd be eating. A sample. It traced across the boy's neck around the bite and Ichabod smiled. He'd never met a lamini before. He licked his lips after the taste, his stomach growling for him to continue, the voice in his head insisting he stop being so public about his predilections.
"And I wouldn't follow you if you hadn't been such a bad girl," He wrapped his arms around the mostly-dead victim in his arms, crossing them over his chest as if he were a lover instead of a meal. His fingers - now topped with long, glittering nails - traced the boy's unconscious (comatose?) face, "It looks like I was right. I'd love to know what a villain like you is doing on the streets of Ursus... Hareldon... Whatever your preferred name for this place is. I promise I won't tell anyone... Who could live to tell the tale."
Sabela saw the man's teeth change form, glinting like jewels in the soft lamplight as he smiled at her. He said she had already sorted who he was, and then moved to lick the neck of the boy. His smile could have been nice enough in the light of day with human teeth, but here tonight it looked predatory, and a predator he was. Sabela had no qualms with someone eating the flesh of another. Those who ate conventional food found it acceptable to eat the flesh of a great many creatures and it was not her place to judge them. The man sounded hungry, much like she had been hungry. They both had a taste for less conventional fare.
He said he would not have followed her if she hadn't been such a bad girl, and she wondered if he had seen her kill the two from earlier or simply knew that she had done so. She had little experience with demons but if this one was drawn to acts of violence there would be no lack of them if he continued following her. He said he wanted to know what a villain like her was doing here, and promised he would not tell anyone who would live to share it. It sounded like the man had not been here in some time, as he used a different name for the city than she knew. Perhaps before Harel had come to power.
"Life is not so black and white, but I have done villainous things and so make myself a villain. Perhaps in a different story the one who stops a gang from killing a creature would be cast in a different light, and a punishment of death would be seen as just."
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 7, 2017 9:45:02 GMT -7
He laughed at her explanation. Moralizing. It was sick how those like him were forced to reason their actions, forced to paint themselves as heroes of a different colour. He knew what the problem was. It was law. Control. The way the world worked was based on the ideals of only a few deities... His Mother would prefer a world more free. A world that permitted its desires to run amok. Where power could be stolen. Violently. That was the world Ichabod dreamed he was creating.
"You insist that your actions define you," He laughed, "Why is that? I'd rather think that why I act is what I am. Your insistence seems reliant on perspective and not choice." He dropped the body, now his hunger more for her truth than for flesh. He could eat anytime... But this woman could offer him something greater. His next great tale. He closed in on her, his nose nearly touching her's, his breath hot in her face as he continued: "I have no interest in who you are to them... Who are you, dear villain?"
The man dropped the body of the boy and turned on her, and in another circumstance she might be worried that he had decided to consume fresher meat, but he continued speaking despite turning on her, and she did not move away despite his closeness. "You misunderstand me, demon. It was you who claimed me a villain for my actions alone, and I who stated that actions cannot determine villainous intent. Your perspective creates my character in your eyes." She turned away from the man then and moved to the coonka, who was still alive although barely. She held her hand out above the creature and closed her fist, and as she did so the creature stilled, and died.
"I care not how I am seen for my actions. I kill when I feed, though I do not need to kill to feed. I kill for the man I serve, and I do so without qualm or question. Killing is what I knew even when I did not know myself. My intentions will be judged by only the gods - it is not the place of the living to do so on their behalf." She had thought the night would be a quiet one, but it was not as silent now as she had anticipated. "In response to your question then, who I am is a killer. By choice and by fate."
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 7, 2017 17:02:28 GMT -7
She insisted he misunderstood, but he never did - that he would ever admit. His eyes flashed with a brief moment of anger, of offense, and he scoffed. The voice in his head warned him not to be stupid - stupid, she always called him - she told him this woman was dangerous. She told him not to press her. He didn't need her advice.
"Killer to killer then," He forced a smile, "The living have a closer connection to god than you think. Perhaps with the charm your kind holds--" He reached out and traced a nail down her cheek, "You do not hear that closeness in the moments near death. But... It is not only in death that the living are close to the higher powers though. Have you ever heard the whispers, dear killer?"
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