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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!
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 1, 2017 9:48:34 GMT -7
7th of the Winter Storm Mid-Afternoon in Cobblelight
Ichabod had wanted to stay in Aarunia for much longer. Alas, the town was small and he was one of the only new faces -- which the strange occurrences, they were likely to eventually suspect him of some malintent. It was too bad. As Xalen had merely made Ichabod's mark unconscious, the man had woken with a deep-seated hunger for human flesh. He'd attacked his cleric violently, had killed the man, and had managed to eat all of the best parts before being found by his wife - who couldn't manage to stab him before he got enough bites out of her to make her useless.
Ichabod wanted to know how that story ended, but between the barmaid he had dined on the night before, and the carnivorous events of the morning, the town was ready to point their finger at anyone. Even the kindly storyteller. Ichabod likely would have decided to stay, to take the risk -- perhaps, he had thought, he could tell them that the Spinner had cursed them once more... But the voice had insisted otherwise. Her plans were too important for his chaos.
Tut, tut.
That was what had finally lead Ichabod to Cobblelight. The voice had wanted him to make his way back to the shores to catch a boat to another land, but Malscure had been Ichabod's reward, and he wasn't planning on cutting it short. "Hush now, mother. Enjoy the view for once. Quietly," She seethed at this command he had given her, and berated him for daring to speak in such a way to her... But he ignored her. Today was merely for him. There were no plans, no seals to break in Cobblelight. He could simply exist.
Ichabod enjoyed how his steps reverberated with light, with purpose; he appreciated how even in the afternoon the skies remained dark and the corners kept their shadows; and he found himself intrigued by the way that all of the villagers here wore wands at their belts. Like they might a sword somewhere else, anywhere else. He watched in child-like amazement as two men collided on the street, and both were quick to pull their wands and fire off spells at each other. It was less visceral that the dagger Ichabod kept in his boot, but as the magical smoke cleared and one man's shirt had melted to his shoulder from a fireball, Ichabod's eyes lit up. He wanted one.
It wasn't difficult to find one of the shops selling the things - it seemed a favorite for the people of Cobblelight. But once inside, Ichabod found that wands were diverse not only in spell but in look and feel. YOU ARE GOING TO REMAIN HERE ALL DAY, AREN'T YOU, STUPID BOY? the voice seethed, and Ichabod merely chuckled... Yes, yes he was going to be here all day. He had emeralds to spend.
Solana Heiralei found herself wandering farther and farther from her mortal neighbors, a glance into a human’s blue eye left her disgusted and pitiful, the brush of a Aasimar left her unimpressed and sneering. Though it was true that her soul’s connection with the plight of the Beastfolk left them untouched by the abhorrence that tinted slate eyes red, she discovered, with some mild amount of surprise, that even the thought of meditation was sickening to her.
The elf just wanted a moment of peace.
Dreamwalking amused her, in it’s own way, but it was plagued with the repugnance of her waking hours, and she had little desire now to slip into that foreign world and play with the petty longings of those rightly called smallfolk; she had larger aspirations, and larger abilities that they in their small dreams could begin to conceive.
In short; Solana Heiralei was pouting about being so much better than everyone else.
But, of course, she wasn’t about to admit that paltry fact to anyone, so she chose, instead, to ride.
The land of Malscure had always held a certain enchantment for her, even before she had visited it’s foreign forests; before her curse. Now it seemed fitting that it held a mystic appeal, as her Lamini-like qualities, in a way, gave her status as a local; and she wondered placidly if she could get away with claiming that she was part under Lamini (though, really, what good would that do? People misliked the race, already, and the under Lamini were even more distasteful. Still, a part of her thrilled at the idea.)
So she had bought – or charmed the stablemaster into giving her, what difference was there, really? – a handsome black stallion and she mounted it with a little difficulty, easily disguised by the offhanded grace of her elven heritage. She rode horses, but not often. The act was still slightly foreign to her. With a smoldering look and an offhanded smirk directed at the still-bewhildered stablemaster, she kicked him hard in the sides, and he snorted before galloping forward.
And she truly was a vision, galloping along with frigid air frosting her cheeks and the tip of her nose under the dark hood of her cloak, ebony hair slipping out the sides and trailing in mesmerizing, ever-changing waves behind her; but she was struck by another vision, the perilous, tantalizingly beautiful moons hanging in the sky of the land the trekked. She hailed her horse, which was not quite amused by the fact, to a stop.
She knew the stories of the magic the land had lost and regained, and the foreign moons that oftentimes blotted out the light of the sun. She did not find it foreboding. They were comforting, and brighter in their number than the sun may have been on a foggy day. A rare smile graced full lips before, again, she was off.
Cobblelight was an unremarkable town, a small dusty place similar to so many she had seen before; and yet she could use a drink and a bite (to eat, or of a man, whichever she happened to find), so she rode into the town, noting the wands ever-present on the hips of the townspeople, and slipped off of her horse, guiding the suddenly skittish beast towards the nearest post.
Funny; the obsidian on her crown felt heavier than normal, almost uncomfortably so. Alerted by this curious observation, it seemed only to be fate when her horse whinnied and reared, seemingly alerted by, when Solana turned to look.... some normal human-looking man. She shot an annoyed look at it, hushing the stallion with flat coos. She wasn’t gifted with animals, and it took a long moment for her to calm the damned thing; and once she did she rid herself of it as quickly as she could, stalking the street for the mysterious man.
There had been something about him. She couldn’t place what...
And there he was, in a wand shop. Clearly he was some tourist or other plain type of man to be seduced by the flamboyant and pitiful magics of wands, and yet, for reasons she couldn’t rationalize, she entered the shop behind him, scanning the shelves with faux-interest, his form a persistent feature in her peripheral vision.
Well, now that she thought about it, he wasn’t bad looking.
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 10, 2017 16:47:01 GMT -7
The woman who entered the shop after him was interesting for many reasons, but her scent was what captured him. He couldn’t quite smell her outside, but in the shop - with its closed doors and sealed up windows - each breath seemed to fill with her more than any other. The most interesting thing about it was how he couldn’t place it. He had dined on so many, had touched so many others, he was a connoisseur of flesh and he could tell one’s race from just the scent. Her’s… Was a mystery to him.
He crossed the store, passing her as he did, to view the wares along the other wall. This first breath told him she was a creature of the wood. He could catch the pale tingle of pine, and a light wash of lilies. The taste of wood creatures didn’t always sit well on his tongue, but there was something else. Her bouquet was more complex than just pine and lily.
His second whiff of her scent came as she moved. He pretended not to notice her presence near him, instead testing a wand of supple willow which was supposed to create a gust of wind. In-store, of course, magic had been weakened, and so it merely rustled the hair of the attendant -- and aided the woman’s scent in tantalizing his nose. This breath held something different that before, something far more attractive to his senses. Earth, soil, sand, things that his Mother had taught him to love, things he was built of. This scent had Ichabod lick his lips.
The final breath of the woman came when he crossed once more, this time stopping next to her. This is what finally left him without answers. She didn’t smell fresh. Her flesh wasn’t old, and yet it had a subtle reek of something dead. Something that spoiled his appetite as quickly as the scent of earth had raised it. And yet, his interest hadn’t faded. Perhaps she wasn’t a meal…
But she could be entertainment.
His arm brushed her’s as he leaned in to snag another wand to sample, his sin leeching itself into her pores. “My apologies, madam,” He smiled at her, his eyes glinting softly in the lamplight of the store. Raising up the box for the wand he shook it, and spoke in a low voice, not keeping any kind of proper distance between himself and the woman, “I believe this might be the one I’ve been seeking.”
She knew this – and not necessarily in a smug or conceited way, it was a truth she had discovered in one too many a bar or foreign town where a man had chosen to grab her where he shouldn’t or try to pin her down for his own pleasure.
Needless to comment, it never did end very well for them.
That aside, the elf was beautiful in all traditional senses of the word; her physique a subtle curve, her skin bronze and unblemished. Even if she did not possess the aberrant mystique of the elven race, she would have been a mesmerizing human.
And so Solana Heiralei knew when a man was looking at her.
Even if, as it seemed in this particular case, the man wasn’t actually looking at her, but seemed to be working very hard to act as if he wasn’t. Why could that be? It must have been for a reason other than pure attraction – else he would have been making moon eyes at her. Perhaps he was playing hard to get...
But she thought not. She thought he was hiding something.
They played a little game; when she moved to a shelf adjacent to his, he moved a row away. When she moved farther, he was suddenly interested in a wand on the row behind her. It was like a dance.
At one point, surely in an attempt to further his charade of wand-shopping, he raised one to test it’s magic, sending a gust at the poor, disheveled woman behind the desk and tickling the dark tendrils brushing against the smallest part of Solana’s back. She shook her head infinitesimally, sending a wave rushing through the dark strands, and she saw him lick his lips.
Her own tilted upwards. Oh, this was a fun game.
And before she could calculate her next step in their dance, he was beside her; and the tension was unbearable.
Perhaps Cobblelight had been a good choice.
And then he brushed her, and her world faded at the edges, brimming with potent yearning.
He said something. She couldn’t hear.
In that moment, so unattached to the fickle mortal concept of time, his eyes met hers; and it lasted a lifetime, that mere fraction of a second. Her lips parted, ever-so-slightly, and her chest lifted on a subtle intake of breath. His succulent scent invaded her lungs, and her heart beat wildly in her throat.
A hand gripping the side of his neck. Lengthy canines sinking into the supple skin of his throat. It was begging her.
She blinked the thoughts away, willpower’s slippery hold stopping her – just - from giving in to the raging bloodlust, but her eyes were on his neck, and she gasped, almost inaudibly – but only almost – when the sternal muscles on each side of his neck tensed fleetingly.
This was what had overtaken her that night, that first night she was cursed. It was unbearable now, as it had been then. She had killed the first two men she’d seen that night, drained them completely dry, she hadn’t been able to stop herself, as she vaguely imagined she might struggle with now. If she hadn’t spent the last decade learning to control the lust when it gripped her, practicing on men she bedded and drank of for enjoyment, she would have drained him then and there, and the attendant, too.
But she stood, frozen, canines screaming to be freed, as he said something else, shaking the wand’s box absently.
As far as her hazy, lusty mind could gather, there were two options; the more attractive being to take him then and there and drain him until he was dry, which may not have succeeded in making her any friends.
Option two it was, then.
The dark-haired elf gripped his throat and shoved him back against the wall, several wand boxes falling from their various perches to clatter to the ground. The woman behind the counter scurried; smart. She knew when to run.
The bloodlust was accompanied by a heady form of sexual lust, as well, and so the woman couldn’t help but press her torso to his in a vaguely suggestive way, although her hand on his throat and canines, bared in a snarl, could have been interpreted as aggression.
"I want you." She let him interpret that as he pleased, but her silver eyes glared, twin daggers, over her nose, though he was taller than she. "Why is that?"
But her nose was hovering centimeters from his, and he smelled good, and she wasn’t sure how long she was going to be able to keep her teeth behind her lips.
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 10, 2017 20:44:03 GMT -7
He held her gaze the entire time.
He held her gaze as she gasped, his eyes never once sinking to watch the way the breath pulled and pushed at her bosom. He held her gaze until the very moment she blinked, and changed to his neck. Yes, there it was. The answer to all of his questions.
She wasn’t a lamini, she held no scent of one, and his hunger had touched her. Deeply. No… This was something darker. He turned his head towards the door, allowing the muscles in his neck to strain as if by happy accident. And when he turned back and saw the fire in her eyes, he knew that she was… Interesting. If nothing else. He would have laughed, but she had caught his eyes again, and he held it again, and then she slammed him against the wall -- this time, he did laugh. And he held her gaze.
“I could tell you who I am…” He smiled back, finally taking in more than just her eyes as his emerald gaze drifted down her nose, across her lips which seemed desperate to be parted, down that neck - long, slender, inviting - and then across her chest. So much flesh, so close. And yet, not something he would eat. No, this was someone to eat with. His eyes flashed over to the shopgirl, shaking in the corner, then back to the unknown woman pressed against him. He cocked his head to one side, the artery straining into view, and he managed to get a hand up to pull his collar away, “Or you could just taste.”
Solana cursed this damned man for being so composed while she sat here floundering, desperate to keep her willpower ahold of what little humanity may have been buried within her. He had the audacity to look amused.
And she knew the look he gave her when she shoved him into the wall, too; he had let that happen, and she knew it, she saw it in those entrancing emerald eyes.
She hated it.
But...
It meant something. And, through the vignette of her bloodlust-soaked gaze, she saw that that consent, that barked laugh, which so riled her already-squirming insides, meant that he was still dancing their waltz. Still playing their little game.
And Solana was many disreputable things, but not. Ever. A loser.
And so she struggled, intrepidly, to still the desire to hunt, kill, suck, possess...
“I could tell you who I am…”
She listened, with great effort. She watched.
He looked at her, finally, eyes fluttering as tenderly as a butterfly’s flitting over her lips, down the inviting muscles along her neck to her chest; and it was here she saw the same hunger she saw in so many other men. Here was where, their attention on her more feminine parts, she seduced them into letting her have what she craved.
Her lips pulled back in half of a snarl, exposing desperate canines. And yet she paused.
This, in fact, was not the same hunger. He did not look at her with eyes fogged by sexual desire, and she was pressed against him – some mockery of an intimate embrace – so she would have known quite plainly if that were his motive.
No. It was some other kind of hunger.
And he managed to do in that one moment likely the only thing that might distract a woman like Solana; who understood with conviction that knowledge was the true power, and that understanding him would be the only thing that might win her their little game...
He tilted his head, vivacious vein thrumming, whispering, calling to her. He pulled the collar from his neck.
“Or you could just taste.”
She did not glance up to those entrancing eyes, as she might have if she were the one doing the seducing. Her own eyes, silver and bright, stayed locked onto his neck; and, almost gently, like a lover, she took the thumb that sat pressed just under his chin and lifted it, running it along the line of his jaw, encouraging him to look farther, embolden his shy artery even further into her view.
And she struck, suddenly, dipping and tilting her neck to press singing teeth into his, and she hummed, euphoric, into his skin, the hand on his neck, of it’s own accord, tangling in the short hair at the base of his scalp.
He tasted... strange. Not bad, oh, no, nothing could taste bad with the fierce bloodlust that held her now, but... different. She had tasted many men – and women, too, she wasn’t picky – but none had been like this. In a way, it was like a drug; with each draw she craved the next, though the taste itself was slightly acidic. Bad, in a way. But oh, so very good.
The silver eyes flashed open and she managed, with herculean effort, to pull herself off of him before she knew she could cause any real damage; shaky and enraptured, weakened, but stronger; in the way one was after a particularly satisfying romp.
She raised a quivering hand – not the one that had been in his hair, no, that one moved to the wall just next to his head for stability – to her lip, catching a pesky bit of blood that had tried to drip away, and sucked that frisky red cocaine off of her lip, regarding him thoughtfully.
It seemed she’d had her meal, at least.
"Well." She dropped the hand from her mouth, and her other hand joined it, crossing her arms across her chest. A hint of a smirk, pulling at one corner of full lips, teased underneath shining silver eyes. "Was it good for you?"
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 11, 2017 15:26:04 GMT -7
As she bit him, his eyes flashed at the voyeurs in the store. They were confused, frightened. The looks of ghastly fear contorting their pathetic mortal faces excited him. The combination of the pain riling his senses, the euphoria of power over this creature, and the way that the scene was causing chaos around him; it all left him gushing with adrenaline.
The voice was not happy with this situation. Not at first, anyway. To her, he was a foolish victim. A stupid boy submitting to pain, perhaps in order to revisit his past. To her, this woman was in control. To her, this situation was beyond Ichabod’s grasp. To her, the attention would only make her plans more difficult to accomplish. But then, as the woman’s eyes flashed and her hand quivered and she pretended a coy sort of post-seduction, the voice realized.
She could be useful.
Ichabod met Solana’s eyes once more, a smile creasing his face as he released his hand from his collar. The bite on his neck was hardly hidden. He seemed to like that even more.
He did not answer his question, instead raising the wand’s box once more, that hand not having loosed its grip. He raised it between them (a difficult task considering how much of her body was pressed against his body) and shook it once more. Then, he pushed back. His chest puffed a little and he pressed past her, going to the door where the shopgirl no longer stood. Evidently when he had stopped staring she had made off into the night. Clever girl, he had considered her a perfect entree to the appetizer of Solana’s bite.
“Follow me,” He offered simply, turning only half-way towards her, and the voice finally realized that he had more control of the situation than she had considered. He paused at the frame of the door, reaching into his pocket and pulling free some gold coins. He looked at them for a moment, and then tossed them to the floor. Payment for the wand he had taken. The wand that would serve him quite well in the coming months… Almost as well as Solana might, should he perfectly ply her.
What was that one you thought I would struggle with, Mother? Perhaps I needed only the proper tool. He chuckled as he walked down the bright steps of Cobblelight, keenly aware of eyes on him - on Solana. No matter how terrified they were of her, they still couldn’t look away. Good.
He released the hold he had on his collar, but made no move to hide the twin pinpricks on his neck; a clever move, because if he had, that certainly would have meant that he was ashamed he’d done it. A weak feeling.
One sculpted brow rose, eyes cooling. Okay, so he was good at the game they were playing.
Perhaps better than she was.
She didn’t like that.
And he dared not to answer her question, but started again with that obnoxious shaking of the box, and he seemed to straighten off the wall, forcing her body back a few inches, but the woman was not known to back down, and didn’t step backwards, only allowed him the space that he had already taken.
He swept past her, all suave composure, and she didn’t move from her perch, but turned her torso, silver eyes following him.
He was a curious one, that much was certain; after all that, was he really going to buy the damned wand and walk out? Well – perhaps he was some kind of masochist, and she’d done for him all he wanted doing.
But that didn’t explain why he was so bloody tempting to her.
“Follow me,”
And herein lie the difficult choice; the choice between pride and curiosity.
For, initially, her hackles rose that he even attempt to command her; why should she go with him? Who was he to tell someone like her – the most powerful sorceress she’d ever encountered – to do anything? Her face soured, falling into flat loathing, lips tugging downward and expression stony.
Then again, she reconsidered, appraising him with an open sweep of cloudy eyes, he must be someone, to command me after what I did to him.
And her decision was made; for if he truly was a creature more powerful than she, the lure of his blood started to make sense. Only a demon or a deity could have such succulent veins, she mused.
And she hardly knew how right she was.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” She drawled flatly; stony eyes giving way again to silver, expression placating, she spun to fall into step behind him.
When they exited the shop, he chuckled, perhaps liking, as so many did, what it felt like to be the man walking with Solana Heiralei, although, obviously, for extremely different reasons than most; for today the man were not looking on him with envy, and Solana with yearning. The women did not regard her with thinly-veiled jealousy, and him with a kind of righteous judgment; no.
Today they all looked scared shitless, and it tempted Solana’s lips upward.
But she didn’t smile. She never smiled. Instead, she bared her teeth at the little boy who pointed, and winked at his father.
Post by Ichabod Afof on Jan 11, 2017 16:48:06 GMT -7
She followed, and he lead. He had no destination in mind, but thought it might be useful to see just how long she would permit him to parade her like this. Still, as he glanced back to take in her reaction, she seemed to be enjoying it similarly to him. Her, an object to be feared, and at the same time - lusted after. Him, a mysterious entity that the townsfolk were afraid of because they just didn’t know what to think of him.
Finally, he stopped. The voice had been questioning him for too long, bothering his mind with petty insults peppered with actual curiosity; and the woman was likely growing more bored by the moment… But he was just fine with where they finally ended up. A small home, sitting a few houses away from the end of town. Completely unimpressive in every way. He did not choose it for its location, or for the lacklustre facade of it.
He chose it because of who he could guess was inside.
Candlelight had caught his eye from the side window, small and weak. There were no faces pressed against glass. There was nothing else giving evidence to the resident being inside. Just a dull flicker. He wasn’t interested in the flicker, his eyes fell instead to a letter under the door. A single, solitary letter - and Ichabod could see a crest on it from his position before it. The letter was not personal, it was business. A letter from the keepers of this hold. Likely raising taxes or something equally banal.
It was the letter that told him what he needed to know. The person who lived here was alone. Not only alone in the house, but alone in life. Sad, pitiful, hardly worth his time (he preferred those with more interesting stories to tell), but he wanted to test his new friend, and so he memorized the house, and then beckoned Solana to follow him as he went into the darkness between it and it’s neighbour. When they were shadowed by the awning above, he leaned against the wall, one hand playing with his collar to remind her of the last time he had been in such a position.
“I wish to know something,” He informed her, his smile never drifting from his features, “Your bite is of something that the rest of you is not. Your hunger is different. Will you tell me, or... Shall I taste it for myself?”
He, like she, walked with purpose; and not necessarily because there was a purpose behind his walk, but it always seemed as if there were. His steps were brisk, and he turned corners like he knew what was behind them; nothing that could possibly frighten him.
They were very alike, she thought.
Finally, he stopped; and took a long, silent, immobile moment to assess the house he had stopped in front of, and Solana took that long moment to assess him.
He was handsome - but didn’t strut like so many handsome men who knew they were – in a plain sort of way. His skin was pale beige, his jaw hard and angular, his brows sat low on his eyes, which made his full lips look perpetually one of two things; amused or angry. He looked like a man who had gotten into many fights, but didn’t have the scars of one.
He seemed perfectly comfortable, as he had the entire time, almost leaning back with a kind of swagger. She was dying to seduce him, truthfully, but that wasn’t because he was handsome or uninterested or because he’d stolen her off to this temptingly quiet house in the middle of nowhere.
She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t seen it before; the man absolutely exuded a certain power over life. Or perhaps death.
"What are we doing here?" She was growing listless and impatient, and, in the event that she was wrong about him, she was wasting her damned time with him in this godforsaken town, though she suspected she wasn’t.
He didn’t answer her, and she would have groaned, but reminded herself that she was a bloody respectable sorceress, and she would act like one.
After several more tormenting minutes, he turned to the darkness, one hand indicating to her in a trifling sort of way, and she followed a moment after, tossing dark strands over her shoulder as she went.
He rested with casual grace against the wall of one house, and so she mirrored him against the other, one leg bending to rest a foot against the drywall behind her, arms crossed.
And there they were, the two of them, oh-so devil-may-care.
He played with his collar, and something shifted the pit of her stomach. She licked the length of her upper lip, sure to keep her eyes trained on his brilliant green ones, shining in the dark like the smile of the Cheshire.
"Tease," she accused, bantering, the shadow of a smile playing on her lips. If he were any other man, she would have closed the gap between them, pressed against him; but she sensed now that he was the kind of man to take what he wanted, and so, had he wanted her, he would already have her.
“I wish to know something,” he started, finally answering her question, “Your bite is of something that the rest of you is not. Your hunger is different. Will you tell me, or... Shall I taste it for myself?"
Her eyes lidded, look smoldering, and she tilted her neck in that pretty way she had, testing him, watching closely for his reaction.
“Which do you prefer?"
But he did not react like other men – she should know that by now. And she knew which he preferred; he had started with one option, after all, hadn’t he? The second was just an intimidation, one he made no effort to conceal.
Solana lifted her left arm, rolling the fabric of her cloak back to reveal an expanse of smooth brown skin. She bent her arm at the elbow, revealing the back of her lower arm, marred by a long, crooked, black scar – the mark of a curse.
“I knew a boy once. I killed the woman he loved, and so... the poor human boy, he was so filled with rage that he tried to kill me with a cursed blade. Instead, he gave me two new friends.” She curled her lip back, just one edge, and touched her canine with the tip of her tongue. It was a story that might scare most – but not him. She knew that. “But you could have asked me that back in the shop, sweetheart.”
She left her cloak rolled up; to show him, to let him see the beginning she had once despised, and pinned him with questioning grey eyes.
The skin OTHERWORLD was made by JAWN of WICKED WONDERLAND.
FORTUNA-RPG was created by MELLIE. Images belong to their respective artists. All codes and scripts belong to their respective coders. Please DO NOT take anything without the owners' permission.
