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Swords and Sorcery

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Pudding is co-owner to the thread!


Season: Winter.

Time of day: Morning.

Please post sheets to the OOC!




This lonely world with three moons orbits around a massive star. While brimming with life, Latteriel is constantly plagued by wars. Relationships between the species that live there are tense and difficult. Over time, humans have emerged dominant and populated a greater portion of the planet than any other. Their enemies retreated, some underground, some into the forest and some into their own midst. Over time, races faded into legends. Facts turned to fantasy. Names were lost. People forgot.

But those that were pushed aside and trampled never forgave. And some would choose to reignite old fires to exterminate them all. Times are changing and winds are blowing. In the far North, war is brooding. But with tense relationships still strained from a bloody history, can the races of Latteriel unite to prevent their own deaths?







Limit: unlimited


By far the most populous race within the land of Latteriel, Humans possess no magical abilities. Instead, sheer size and intelligence has allowed them to create an intricate society of man. The wealthiest live in the larger cities, creating massive buildings of stone and encasing all they deem valuable within. On the outskirts of these cities live most others. From the poorest pauper to the loftiest lord, all are humans.


The most powerful of humans is a small family, living within the grandest structure of all. The Rosenbells have been in absolute power for generations, their reign extending beyond the recorded passages of history. The King and his Queen have a number of heirs, all of which will eventually inherit some part of the ruled land. Of their court and servants, many seldom venture beyond the walls of the castle. Those who do are hired hands, commonly referred to as “adventurers”. If a beast needs slayed or a being needs captured, those seeking a bounty and societal status turn to the needs of the Rosenbell estate.

Spots of royalty are still open!

Available is:

-The King

- two princes/princesses



Limit: Four

Available: zero


These pointy-eared creatures tend not to associate often with the world outside of their own company. These nocturnal creatures are shaped by the world they inhabit and are nimble, flighty beings who have managed to avoid human contact for hundreds, if not thousands of years by their own choice. They have many names among humans and even among themselves so the term “elf” is used very loosely in this regard.

Their appearances are hauntingly reminiscent of human children as even the tallest of their folk only reach a mere half of a height of a full-grown man. Their small noses and large eyes do tend to push for a more child-like look, however, they are easily picked out by their large, pointed ears. However, this deceit does little except to mask their age as a single elf can, if lucky, live for centuries on end with the oldest elf ever known finally passing at three thousand years of age. However, elves are not usually so lucky. Their small size makes it easy to duck and cover in the trees and pass among the branches like squirrels, yet makes their bones light and frail. The average elf may only live to be two hundred years before perishing.

Elves, naturally, are highly attuned with magic. Most elves are able to communicate with one another using telepathy and some can even communicate primitively with animals to convey emotions and more easily bond with animals. A very small, limited number of elves beyond that are gifted in what they refer to as “Higher Magic”. These elves possess an ability to channel energy of the world and shape it. Some elves may craft plantlife to their liking, encouraging growth with a careful, guiding hand. A smaller number may shape flesh, using this ability to heal others from injury. Elves rarely possess even one of these skills and, beyond that, no elf has been known to possess two.

By avoiding human contact, they have managed to sink into the legends. Depending on teachings, some may view these small creatures as being benevolent forest spirits and leave offerings out on their doorsteps. These legends are most common among woodcutters and those who venture into the forests more often for they catch glimpses of figures moving in the trees, feel the eyes watching them and, if they are lucky, may even hear the soft music of an especially curious elf who desires to know a little bit more about these tall beings. However, more religious men may view these small beings as more demonic in origin, especially as the early history between these two races was rocky at best.




Limit: two

Available: zero


Although their origins are buried in mountains of lore, all can agree that one becomes a werewolf via bodily fluids. The most common result is a bite, though blood-to-blood contact works just as well. Highly social, Werewolves often seek the company of another Lycanthrope. These beasts are few and far-between in these lands, and for good reason. Cursed beings are taboos in the life of simple villagery.


The exact physiology of a Werewolf is highly variable. While an afflicted being usually maintains a perfectly human form, certain instances can trigger a transformation. Phases of the moon affect these transformations throughout the months, and correspond as follows.

Full Moon- A wild, albeit massive wolf. Aside from its sheer size (roughly the size of a polar bear), it is no less intelligent than a normal wolf. This is also when a werewolf is at its strongest. No consciousness or self-awareness is retained during a full moon transformation. Forced transformation occurs once the moon is at its peak, and ends once the sun begins to rise.

Waning Gibbous/Waxing Gibbous- Although very similar to that of a full moon Werewolf, it is smaller and weaker. Some consciousness is retained during this time, but impulse control is severely lacking.

Waning Quarter/Waxing Quarter- In this time, a transformed werewolf begins to prefer a bipedial stance as opposed to quadrupedal. Although very much wolf like, this stage of transformation has much more human qualities as opposed to its earlier stages. Reasoning is now brought into place, allowing for the beast to have a form of developed risk/reward thought.

Waning Crescent/Waxing Crescent-Now entirely on two legs, this version of a werewolf looks more anthropomorphic than most others. With the lean, long torso of a man and digitigraded legs, This version retains the most balanced ratio of raw power to human reasoning.

Old Moon/Young Moon- When naught but a sliver remains of the moon, a transformed werewolf looks now recognizably human. The digitigrade of their legs have decreased significantly, and size has gone down to be much closer to that of a man.

New Moon- This is the most humanoid stage of the transformations, where the afflicted looks strikingly similar to a furry elf. Long ears, a slightly elongated mouth, and claws are the notable features of this stage. Strength is much similar to that of the werewolf’s normal form, and is only slightly stronger than usual. Here, there is hardly and differences between the logic abilities of a untransformed and a transformed werewolf.


A werewolf in its human form is both stronger and faster than a human by a significant amount. Not only this, but they are much more attuned to the world around them. Sensitive ears, eyes, and noses make them excellent predators both in and out of their forms. They do, however, have an undaunting weakness to silver. Not only will wounds caused by a silver weapon not close up, but they become necrotic in a matter of hours. Only skilled users of magic are able to heal these wounds properly. Wolfsbane is similar to a retardant, and often is hung on doorways to drive away any possible werewolves.




Available: zero


The rarest and hardest to pin down are the Witches. Although they appear human, old blood runs through their veins. Unlike elves, all known witches have Higher Magic and use it for a variety of things. At least, they are not lynched. Highly sought after for the magic abilities, they are often raised from birth within the walls of a castle and seldom escape those stone walls. Able to perform all manners of magic inherently, they are arguably the most dangerous of the races.



Limit: four

Available: four

These subterranean creatures are shorter than men, usually standing about a head shorter than men. Stout and intelligent, they make a network of tunnels beneath the surface of the Earth where they spend their days mining and inventing new creations. In terms of technology, they are more advanced than humans and have managed to even create primitive machinery powered by the coal they mine.

In terms of appearances, gnomes are very muscular a. Most have some form of sideburns, including the females, and they have large, round ears. Their fingers are shorter and fatter, designed for gripping heavy tools like pickaxes but also steady enough for counting small gold coins and gemstones. Surprisingly, their noses and sense of touch are their strongest attributes and they are able to detect small changes in the air that may indicate toxic gas and more easily feel vibrations in the ground that may indicate weaknesses in stone or burrowing animals nearby. For this reason, they usually forgo wearing shoes and keep their hands free of gloves so they can feel these vibrations more easily.

In terms of intelligence, they are one of the craftiest and smartest creatures to exist. However, due to their long lives, gnomes tend not to have children very often and have found their numbers slowly fading over time. Gnomes maintain surprisingly good relations with humans and can frequently be found above ground to trade with them for supplies. Gnomes do tend to carefully guard some of their secrets, however, such as the location of their mines, what resides within their underground homes and how to create many great items that humans cannot. Of these, gnomes are most likely to create explosives and many are known to carry bombs that explode or release gas as protection in place of archaic swords and bows.

They are have a strong aversion to magic, having forsaken it for longer lives and sturdiness. Their lifespans can reach incredible numbers of up to fifteen thousand years before they eventually pass away of old age, though some die before then of other complications. They are possibly one of the most durable creatures in Latteriel, able to withstand great stress and keep driving forward thanks to their incredible stamina and determination.




Limit: Four

Available: Two

The Volucrine are the only sentient species on Latteriel to not be mammalian and perhaps one of the most peculiar of the six main species to inhabit the planet. Putting it simply, Volucrine are massive birds that co-evolved alongside humans. In the past, Volucrine were often worshiped as gods and spirits by the humans who inhabited the foothills near their mountains, however, their religion faded away over time. Few villages, if any, still worship these creatures, though some who still reside near their home choose to leave out offerings of food to maintain good relationships with these fickle creatures.

Volucrine are somewhat human-like in appearance, though it is apparently clear that they are birds first and foremost. Their legs resemble those of a bird (being digitigrade) and are feathered to about the “heel” before they become featherless. The shape of their feet is anisodactyl with three toes facing forward and one facing backwards. These are finished with large claws that can be used to grip with a great deal of force. Volucrine tend to use these as their primary weapons and one of the most dangerous aspects of their bodies are their powerful feet. Moving upwards, their bodies tend to be covered in very light feathers, with an exception being around their neck. In most Volucrine, the backs of their necks are covered in much larger, feathers than the rest of their bodies. Their wings have adapted rather unusually as their wings now have human-like hands near the Alula feathers. Thus, in Volucrine, the wing and the hands are essentially fused together, meaning that they essentially have only four limbs. The back of the hand is also usually covered in feathers, allowing for a nice blend of bare skin and feathers. Being birds, Volucrine technically lack hair of any kind. However, their heads are adorned with fluffy down feathers that can grow to a significant degree. These feathers, often mistaken for hair, are extremely soft. Volucrine additionally have longer feathers that grow out from their ears, making their ears seem pointed. Volucrine all have tails as well as wings, meaning that they can fly and their wings are not simply for show. In fact, Volucrine may very well be one of the fastest creatures in the air and are capable of dive bombing at incredible speeds. Their coloring tends to be very earthy in both skin and feather colors, meaning that bright plumage is nearly an impossible find. While it is possible brightly colored birds existed at some time, living in mountains means the ones that don’t blend in risk exposure to possible threats. On average, Volucrine reach maturity at the same age as humans, yet will slow down aging after that point and live approximately five hundred years before dying of old age.

Volucrine are a largely female species that are organized into flocks. Flocks are usually numbered between 5-8 and almost strictly female due to the larger size of the females and the fact Volucrine males are rare and, thus, are usually left at home where it is safe. Flocks are a band of sisterhood and the lives of their kin are held close and flocks rarely break apart when formed. Small flocks may make up a larger “tribe” of Volucrine who inhabit the same area. Volucrine almost exclusively live in the mountains, though during long hunting trips they may spend several days in nearby forests or plains. Individual flocks tend to be ruled over by one main chief who is always female and whose title is passed down to her heir. Being birds, eggs are laid, usually one at a time though they may have two in one clutch. Females usually carry these eggs close to them until they hatch so that way they can still hunt and eat, but also do not have to leave their eggs alone.



[i]Age:[/i] (Actual and physical for nonhuman species)






Username: shadow_claw

Name: Antoine Rosenbell

Species: Human

Age: 19

Appearance: Antoine, being in a set of identical twins, looks exactly like his brother Lorcan. Antoine has tousled auburn hair that falls to about his ears. His skin pale and covered with freckles. Standing at 5'6, he and his brother are both on the short side.

History: Being one of the oldest heirs of the Rosenbell family, Antoine is planned to take a large portion of land within their kingdom. He and his twin have never ventured far from the castle walls.

Weapon(s): A shortsword, kept at his hip in an ornate scabbard.



Username: shadow_claw

Name: Lorcan Rosenbell

Species: human

Age: 19

Appearance: Lorcan looks exactly like his brother, save for one thing: he is blind. A mask of scar tissue borders his eyes and stretches across his nose, and his eyes are milky white.

History: Although he was initially intended to be given a large quantity of land, his inheritance was given to Antoine after he was blinded. The truth of the incident is shrouded in mystery. Now considered an invalid, his face is usually covered in a cloak to keep others from staring.

Weapon(s): A staff, used primarily as a walking stick.

Other: The night he was blinded, he awoke the next day with the gift of prophesy. Now unable to physically see, his second sight is sought after by questing adventurers and nobles alike.



Username: shadow_claw

Name: Ceana Rosenbell

Species: Human

Age: 29

Appearance: here

History: Born and raised in a nearby Kingdom, Ceana knew she would be married to the eldest Rosenbell prince from a young age. As such, she was brought up to be a lady. At age fifteen, she was married off, and bore her first child within the year. Since then, she has had several heirs. Although the King rules the land, Ceana pulls all the strings.

Weapon(s): She carries a dagger, but it is seldom removed from its ornate scabbard.



Username: Shadow_claw

Name: Eli "Dead-Eye" Silvergrin

Species: human

Age: 21

Appearance: Here

History: From the Nordic Isles, Eli left at the young age of nine to sail with his father. The merchant life was one he followed for quite some time, running into both sorrow and victory over the years. Eventually, however, he settled down within Latteriel. Now he works as a Bard, singing shanties and playing tunes for all who will listen.

Weapon(s): Although he doesn't carry much, Eli has a dirk blade. His lute could also be used, though, he values that very much.

Other: He can play any instrument given to him.


sername: Coryn02

Name: Muriel Larke

Species: Human

Age: 17 years

Appearance: Muriel has an oval face, lightly tanned skin, raven hair, and brown eyes like the color of rich earth. She is wearing a deep green shawl overtop her wool shirt, light grey pants, and leather boots for travelling. She has her hair tied back, and is also carrying a very beaten-up pack which contains everything she has. She is also has a shepherd's crook which doubles as a walking stick.

History: Muriel was born in a great valley, to a family with three older brothers. They were shepherds, grazing their flocks on the open fields of their home and driving them to the cities beyond the mountains when the season turned to trade and sell. Being the only daughter of the family, Muriel was very loved by her parents and was taught the family trade in addition to the proper manners expected of a young lady, since she was expected to be married off to another family in their valley when she was of age. She never thought of herself as a weak girl, however, and assisted in every area of her family's livelihood wherever possible. Her brothers agreed to inherit and share the farm they lived on, but also felt obliged to help the sister they cared for and taught her everything they learned as she grew up. Eventually, Muriel grew increasingly curious about the outside world. Surely, she learned about it whenever they went to the cities in the warm season, but what Muriel truly wanted was to explore it at her own pace, without the burden of a flock of sheep. When she turned 17, she pleaded with her parents to allow her to go out on her own. While her family was reluctant at first, they became convinced she would be unhappy if they refused, and sent her on her way with all the advice and supplies they felt were necessary (that is to say, a lot). Muriel promised them that she would return and tell them about her travels, and intends to do good on her word.

Weapon(s): Muriel is most proficient in use of the sling; ever since she was a child she practiced throwing rocks at trees, and now she carries about two dozen stones in her pack at all times with her sling in case she needs to defend herself or her sheep at a distance. Her aim is as sharp as that of any archer, though differing in technique. She can also use her shepherd's crook as a weapon in a pinch, though this is largely useless against metal weapons, sorcery, or anything capable of breaking its wooden structure.

Other: Muriel was born in the spring. She and her family are aware of the myths surrounding the races but don't know much about them (generally, they consider the races themselves myths), with the exception of werewolves, which at one occasion was killing and eating their sheep before her family teamed up with the others in the valley to drive one out (naturally without Muriel and her mother because they were girls). She is generally considered to be one of the prettier girls in her home valley and many men wished to propose to her before she left, though her adventurous spirit is part of what they liked.




Username: pudding


Name: Fastflint


Gender: Female


Species: Elf


Age: Appears about 22, actually around 150


Appearance: Short even by elf standards, Fastflint is a scrawny little thing with a pinched nose and large, green eyes. Unnatural, white hair adorns her head, cropped short to frame her long ears and keep the entire mess out of her way. Her outfit rarely changes due to that being more of a luxury than she can afford or even bother to care about.


Said outfit is comprised of leathers dyed in different colors that are mostly red or brown. She wears fur-lined boots that rise up to just beneath her knees and, at her side, she always wears a dagger that would be considered child-like to a human but just the right size for an elf. When given a fair bit of time to her own devices, Fastflint may line her clothes with colorful flowers by wedging the stems into the stitching of her clothes. Her body is heavily freckled, especially around the shoulders and cheeks.


History: Fastflint’s mother never agreed with the rest of the elven tribe. A young, headstrong elf disliked the mistreatment that the elves felt on behalf of humans. The need to hide instead of fight never suited the fair-haired creature, especially after her significant other died in an accident involving a snare trap. So, as soon as Fastflint was old enough to walk, Fastflint took her child outside of the forest. They wandered alone for many years with Fastflint forced to grow up tough and fast.


Finding no other elves in their travels, Fastflint eventually tried to resort to convincing her mother to return home. She was tired, lonely and frustrated by the humans they encountered so frequently. Eventually, her mother relinquished and they turned around to venture home. When she did finally return home to her place of birth, however, it was alone. Her mother had perished on the way back.


Having been separated from her kin for too long, even returning back to them did not appease Fastflint. She felt alienated from them, even though they tried to make her feel comfortable. Without her mother guiding her, she felt lost. So she began to venture out. While she would return back to the safety of the forest each day, her daily efforts usually resulted in theft from many humans living nearby and taking their trinkets back home in an attempt to fill her heart with trinkets.


Weapon(s): Fastflint is armed with a small blade that is almost too plain. Preferring functionality and practicality over pretty, the iron blade is small, shiny and sharp. It has a simple sheath that accompanies it that has been wrapped in black leather to prevent the shininess of the sheath from being spotted while she is moving about in the forest. Like many blades, it was created by gnomes and is thus sharper and more reliable than any man-made blade.


Other: Fastflint has a love for milk and this is one of the biggest things she will pilfer from humans.




Username: pudding


Name: Hawthorn


Gender: Male


Species: Elf


Age: Appears about 25, actually around 190


Appearance: Hawthorn’s most striking feature is his rust colored hair. Long and often disheveled, he looks a great deal like a feral child. In a rather poor attempt to tame his hair, Hawthorn will usually wear his long hair up in a lose ponytail. His eyes are a dark brown color and his skin is much darker than all his peers due to the fact his family originally came from a tribe of elves that dwelled further south. He likes wearing dark leathers and sometimes also wears a cloak, though this is usually only when he is traveling somewhere on foot and doesn’t have to navigate the trees. Since the forest is cold at night and during the harsh winters, Hawthorn usually wears fur boots as well.


History: Hawthorn was born to the company of elves that lives in the forest near the human capitol. Taught from a young age by other elves, he learned how to sneak across the forest floor without making a noise, climb through the trees without rustling a single leaf and how to hunt. In his youth, however, it was discovered he had inherited his late grandmother’s power of skin crafting. Using this ability to heal, he quickly became the mender of the entire elf tribe and, in the event any of them were hurt, became the first one they run to. Using his magic, he became a vital part of the tribe and has saved many lives from injuries that might otherwise prove fatal.


Additionally, Hawthorn is known to heal animals and adopt defenseless or injured animals until they are better. He can be one of the most frustrating elves in the forest for humans as he will free animals he finds in traps, leading to many hunters becoming frustrated by the fact they can't seem to catch a lot and their traps keep failing.


Weapon(s): Hawthorn is an archer but has fallen out of practice due to his habit of healing over harming, even when his own life is threatened.


Other: Hawthorn plays a flute and his music can often be heard in the forest. He doesn’t leave the heart of the forest where the elves reside often.


Username: Windra


Name: Elly Che


Species: Elf


Age: Looks to be around 17 -- actually 85


Appearance: Elly is very skin-and-bones, even for an Elf, with long gangly limbs that make her appear taller than she actually is. Her skin is pale and fair from a lack of activity out in the open sun. While her short golden curls, small nose and the slight blush to her cheeks might add up to a pretty face, her most defining trait are her large, wide eyes-- pale yellow like an owl's. That, combined with the usual bags under her eyes, give Elly an eternally frightened or startled look.


Her everyday wear is nothing special. Elly wears a long white dress made by her mother (with some bedsheets they scavenged from a farmer's clothing line), which is rather baggy in the sleeves due to the material used. Excess fabric was dyed red and tied around her waist into a cute bow. The dress also features a white hood in the back, which she can pull up over her head to hide her hair and ears. It gives her an almost normal appearance, aside from the eyes.


History: Elly was born to a family with a strict mother named Shiki and sleepy older sister named Koma, located under a lonely willow tree near the middle of the forest. This tree is surrounded by other trees and-- a bit further-- a beautiful meadow filled with colorful flowers in bloom. Being the only Elves in that part of the forest meant little social interaction for the three. It was probably for the best, as they soon learned. Elly was an awkward, shy girl who had a speech impediment and tendency to look at her feet and blush. This frustrated her mother to no end, but Koma embraced her little sister's differences with ease. The two quickly became the best of friends. They would often sit on a lower branch of the great willow, saying little but enjoying each other's company all the same. Despite what they did not have, they were happy.


That all changed when Elly discovered her higher magic.


She didn't understand her abilities at first. All the little elf knew was whenever she saw an injured rabbit in the woods or even acquired a cut on her finger, when she touched the wound, it would very slowly close up and heal. Elly was worried that her mother and sister might find this newly-discovered power strange-- even frightening-- she successfully managed to hide it for a while. She would only heal when there was no one to see, and even then, quite rarely.

Koma was the first to find out about Elly's gift when she herself got hurt, and watched in awe as her sensitive younger sister repaired the wound. Amazed as she was, though, Koma swore to keep her secret and even helped Elly to understand the nature of her magic a little more. They experimented; when something didn't work, they laughed it off and tried again. The duo had become even more inseparable through learning together. Elly put all her faith and love in her sister. But alas, this was not to last. Their mother found out eventually. And when she did, Elly quickly became her new favorite daughter.... Koma falling by the wayside. Shiki knew that her daughter's skills were immensely valuable and precious; and surely, as the mother, she bore credit for her child's accomplishments?


So Elly was put through rigorous training. Not friendly and light like what she did with Koma; that was in the past. Now every precious hour of her day was consumed with practicing her magic. Like a dog she was rewarded when she performed well, but her mistakes all resulted in harsh scoldings and even punishment. Her older sister became so disgusted and angry at Elly's treatment, she quickly packed what few personal belongings she had, kissing her sister on the forehead and making a solemn promise: "I'll come back for you soon."


Koma never returned or was heard from again.


Elly was, and still is, heartbroken over the loss of her sister. She has long since travelled away from her home and her mother, keeping to the shadows and trying not to be seen, living the life of a wandering recluse. The elf is now disgusted and sick of her powers, and has made a vow to never, ever use them again.


Weapons: Elly's primary form of defense is running away, but she'll use a long, curved wooden boomerang when she's forced to fight. She also has the ability to heal, though she hasn't used it since she was a child.




-- Her speech impediment causes her to stammer when she speaks, which makes quick and efficient conversations difficult.


-- Elly is extremely shy, but compassionate. She could never turn down someone in need.


-- She likes to imitate bird calls, and she's rather good at it.


Username: shadow_claw

Name: Crowtalon

Species: elf

Age: look about 12, is actually around 70

Appearance: here. His eyes are both brown, however. Crowtalon is constantly filthy as well, and his blonde hair often looks brown with all the filth.

History: For an elf, Crowtalon is small. So small, in fact, he's considered child-like even by other elves. His small stature is due to his frailty. Easily winded and even easier injured, the young elf hardly ever wanders beyond the tribe's camps. Although not allowed to wander, Crowtalon loves the visiting gnomes and thirsts to learn of both human and gnome technology. Whatever he learns, he immediately adjusts his traps to make them better. Being the trap master of the tribe, he's constantly trying to improve.

Weapon(s): He has no weapons, only the traps he crafts

Other: nope





Username: shadow_claw

Name: Niamh Farkas

Species: Werewolf

Age: roughly 57, appears to be in early twenties

Appearance: Niamh Is tall and muscular, with smooth olive skin and vibrant green eyes. Standing at roughly six-foot-three, she's so tall that many find her intimidating. And for good reason, of course. Her long, raven black hair is always tied back, be it in a braid or a bun. Her usual clothing is leather armor, similar to this. Light clothing allows for agile movements, and are easy to remove and clean. This alone make them a preference for her

History: Niamh is not often one to disclose her past, especially after her cursing. It's been said she's from a line of knights and was destined to be a guard to the Rosenbell family. However, she ran away to live with her lover, who was an adventurer that had been crossing through. Cursed by this same lover, they lived together for quite some time in peace. Wandering crusaders attacked their small camp, killing her significant other and wounding her greatly.


Years later, she now lives as a Bounty Hunter, seeking the head of other for the exchange of coin. Her affliction is kept secret, hidden just as her scars are. But, on some nights, those near her camp hear the trees sway as a beast lurks.

Weapon(s): A crossbow, two daggers, and an assortment of throwing knives. She carries a grappling hook, a coil of rope, and various poisons and tonics to slow or kill her targets.



Username: BloodyKisses123

Name: Argent

Species: Werewolf

Age: Actually 78, Appears 22

Appearance: 5'5"human wolf

History: She was bitten long ago, on the night before her wedding to a handsome young man who had everything; looks, power, influence, wealth. Her life had been lead in preparation to that day, and she had been groomed by her parents ever since she was young. She was to be docile, obedient, graceful, and above all, beautiful. Not much had mattered to her other than that. Surrounded only by vanity and precious things, Argent was air-headed and simple. She only looked forward to her marriage to the young man, and after that was done, she would be taken care of for the rest of her life. Never having to face hardship or worry, never even having to think for herself. However, things didn't play out that way. For only the night before, when Argent had been strolling in her luscious gardens, a creature had attacked her, nearly ending her life with a brutal bite to the throat. However, luckily and unluckily, the night had been a full moon, and she'd shifted almost immediately, becoming a beast with no mind, no conscience. She killed her would-be lover that night and fled, only to wake up in the woods the next morning, completely naked and covered in gore. From then on, Argent knew she would have to do things herself, as nobody would love a beast, or allow a werewolf into their family. Independence was forced onto her, and now, she believes it to be for the better. Her curse became a blessing, and she became cunning in the years that passed, steadily outliving those who would have known her secret, and passing as a normal human. Aside from the phases of the moon she could not avoid, that is. On those nights, she would leave the presence of humans to keep herself hidden. People became less than important, but her peace was something Argent valued very much.

Weapon(s): She's trained at thievery and carries a thief's dagger at all times.

Other: Easily irritated. Dislikes men.




Username: shadow_claw

Name: Wyon Barry

Species: Witch

Age: 89, appears 30

Appearance: Wyon is on the short side, shorter than the Rosenbell twins. Little is known about how he actually looks, however. Wyon wears long boots, long gloves, and a long cloak. When their face isn't shrouded by the cloak, they wear a plague doctor's mask. Not only are they a witch, after all. They are the official doctor of the Rosenbell heirs.

History: As soon as it was discovered a small child was in fact a witch, they were instantly taken into custody of the King. They were trained to use their magics, and is just as forbidden to leave the castle as the Rosenbell children are. After all, many people need the magic of a witch.

Weapon(s): An array of herbs, potions, and a few scalpels make up their arsenal. Generally, however, their usage of blades doesn't extend far outside the operating room.





Username: pudding

Name: Lree

Species: Volucrine

Age: Appears in her low 20s, actually around 200 years old.

Appearance: Lree is a young Volucrine but is quite tall, standing approximately as tall as a male human. The underside of her wings, her chest and the insides of her legs are all covered in bluish-grey feathers. Her back is a slightly darker grey that spans out across her wings and resembles stone, however, the fluff around her neck and the ends of her wings are completely white. She has small traces of rusty brown coloring on her as well, but these manifest only in the feathers on her hair and in small streaks running down the sides of her legs. Her “hair” is the same grey color as her stomach. Her hands and face are the only places where her bare skin is visible and thus are not the same grey as the rest of her body. By and by, her general colors allow to to blend in among the stones that line the mountainside fairly easily. Her taloned feet, however, are completely black and her claws are fairly large, designed for gripping and digging into flesh. Her face is slightly freckled around the cheeks which, oddly enough, are the same rust color as her feathers.

While not in the habit of wearing clothing as they have no use for it, Lree does wear copious amounts of jewelry. Trinkets made of shiny gems and silver adorn her neck and ankles. The stones are usually bluish green as she favors the stones that look like her eyes. Lree also wears the sign of leadership among her kind which takes the form of a necklace made of talons. These claws come from previous chiefs before her and she knows that when she dies, one of her own will be added to the necklace as well. In total, there are about a dozen talons.

History: Lree is only child of the previous chief of the Volucrine, meaning that from a young age she was aware she would eventually watch over all of the flocks. Learning under the watchful gaze of her mother, she carefully learned to navigate the caves in the mountains where their kind lived and how to properly fly. When her mother deemed her old enough, she decided it was time for Volucrines and humans to properly get to know one another. So, she charged Lree with visiting the human cities as an ambassador in order to create peace between their kinds and placed Lree in charge of doing that while she continued to guard the mountains. Headstrong and willing to lead her kind into peace at all costs, Lree assembled a small flock of her own and ventured out of the mountains in search of where the chief of the humans lived.

Weapon(s): Lree uses primarily the weapons supplied by her own body, namely, her own two feet. However, she is known to carry and deploy nets made of rope to stop those she is fighting from moving as much.



Username: shadow_claw

Name: Magnus

Species: Voulcrine

Age: appears to be a young adult of...some sort. Actual age is around 170.

Appearance: Like all of his species, Magnus is almost completely covered in feathers. However, his black and white feathers have dashes of iridescent blue, making him easy to spot above and at ground-level. As a male, he's slightly taller and scrawnier than the females of the same gender. Like many within his species, he is fond of jewelry and tends to wear a lot of it. A lot. His bangles and necklaces weigh him down, but the determined creature manages to fly with sheer willpower. (For a color reference, look [here])

History: As males are rare within the world or Voulcrine, having a male hatch was a big surprise. Especially one so brightly colored. Indeed, Magnus is an oddball. As one of the ten males in their tribe (out of roughly 500 Voulcrine), he's guarded jealously by the others. Only now that he's of breeding age is he allowed to venture out a little, and even then, it isn't far. He's constantly accompanied by guards, and isn't given much privacy whatsoever.

Weapon(s): Magnus uses naught much more than his claws and teeth to fight. Not that he's never given the opportunity to fight.

Other: Magnus is a big softie, and loves giving shiny things to those in his general area. Where does he get these shinies? Well...He is an expert graverobber.

Edited by shadow_claw

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Another blistering cold day. Snow lay in a thick blanket over the land, the white powder covering everything but the sea. The sea's deep waters were the only things that didn't fall victim to the winter. Of course, Lorcan couldn't see any of this.


He did, however, awake to feel a chill in the air. After all, a fortress made of stone wasn't incredibly warm. The fireplace was now naught but embers, its warm aura long since retreating. The freckled prince rolled over, dangling his feet over the side of the bed. His staff was exactly where it was before. Thank goodness. One night, it had fallen from its usual propped-up place. It had taken quite some time to find it again.


Pale fingers wrapped around the wooden stick, and Lorcan rose to his feet. He wandered from the side of the bed to the nightstand, where a small bell sat. He picked it up and rang it gently. About five minutes later, and the young man was clothed with the assistance of a handmaiden. Soon, he wandered his way out of his chambers and down the stairs.


The castle was alive with people and noise. Servants were busy to prepare for the diplomatic envoy estimated to arrive that evening. Lorcan smirked. They would arrive much sooner than expected. Volucrine were swift, efficient beings that didn't need as many breaks as humans. Not to mention they brought along an...interesting fellow. For a blind man, bright colors showed up much clearer in visions than everything else. And a Volucrine with shimmering blue feathers was indeed easy to catch the eye.




A nice payout was what kept her going, but the times in-between a chase was nice too. The heavy snow had forced Niamh to take shelter into the edge of the royal forest, one that just bordered the Rosenbell Kingdom. The massive, ancient trees took the brunt of the snow so her tent wouldn't. A cooking pot hung over the flames, warming the previous night's rabbit stew. Leftovers and some hardtack would make for...a filling meal, at the very least. Hardtack may taste like...nothing, but it lasted a long time and provided some needed calories. Stew only lasted so long before going bad, so she ate as much of it as possible.


No contract meant she had a lot of free time to do what she pleased. Which was, admittedly, very little. Other than searching for a new contract, that was. Hunting animals had little interest any more. Due to her affliction, Niamh no longer saw animals as trophies. Instead, they were food. And there was no need to waste food for the pursuit of sport. Sighing, the woman scooped a tin cup into the stew, tipping it to her lips. A few mouthfuls of the warm, meaty liquid, and she set the bowl down to grab the hardtack. The small, hard biscuit was stuck in the stew and left to sit. It would be a while now until the bread would be soft enough to eat.




Lree was so kind, letting him come along! The excitable Magnus couldn't keep repeating this. He had never been far beyond the tribe, and was absolutely elated at the idea of travel. None of the begrudging leader's stipulations came to a surprise, either. He had to roll in mud to cover up his colorful feathers, and remain within the center of the flock. He was, apparently, a valuable member to the flock. How exciting! Although he wasn't as accustomed to flight as the others were. Although he tired quickly, Magnus never complained. It was only when he quite literally dropped from the sky did the other flock members realize what was wrong.


Some rest, however, was merely walking. Which was fine, because the kingdom's walls were well within sight. From here, it would only take a few minutes to be within the city.

"Oh! This is incredible! You are too kind, my chief, too kind! My heart races with each step I take!" He wheezed, beaming widely.

Perhaps that could be the fact he was exhausted. But he showed no signs of stopping. Chittering excitedly, he hopped along with the other Volucrine merrily.


((please post to the ooc, this thread is for IC posts only))

Edited by shadow_claw

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((And there's my cue! :3))


Elly sat in a small meadow surrounded by her home forest, her legs crossed and her arms placed neatly in her lap. Dandelions swayed in the gentle breeze that blew through the grass, releasing their fluffy seeds into the air to create a new group of dandelions elsewhere. Perhaps it would be in the very same meadow. Elly pondered this vaguely as a seed pod blew right past her nose and disappeared into the trees. Everything was sleepy and quiet. The perfect time to settle down and rest.


But sleep didn't come to her easily; it never had. The chances of her getting a nap in were rather slim.


The frail elf sighed and pushed herself to her feet, brushing the dirt off the skirt of her dress. It's no use... Two hours in this meadow, and I still can't settle down. Elly glanced back and forth slowly, then began to walk, her fingers lightly grazing the wooden surface of her boomerang as she thought. I think it might be getting worse; I only got five hours of sleep last night. If only the animals were a little more quiet... Or I had a bit more light... Or I got a blanket...


She pondered getting one of the last two things on her mental list (the animals were a bit beyond her control), but she quickly dismissed the idea. To get light she would need to start a fire, and Elly would be far too nervous around one of those. And for a blanket? She would have to steal from the humans, and there was no way in Latteriel she would ever go near a village. Elly sighed, partly saddened and partly frustrated as she slipped between the trees and into the forest. Oh well... It can't be helped. I'll just go sit by the river, maybe watch the deer on the other side...


Her destination confirmed, she cautiously made her way to the riverbank, slipping off her shoes and dipping her feet into the water. Elly winced at the cold, but didn't take her feet out. She instead pulled down her hood to reveal her face, gazing out to the other side with her large, strange eyes... And tried, for once, to relax her nerves a little.

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To be entirely honest, she wasn’t quite sure why she agreed to bring that chatterbox Magnus along. All Volucrine knew, without any doubt at all, that the males were almost practically useless unless it came to certain matters best kept to the night and in dark caves. They were frail, small and flew so little that they quickly lost their stamina and were forced to rest for long periods of time. As it was, the youngest chief of the Volucrine was especially irritated when he had suddenly taken a nose-dive towards the ground and she had been forced to dive down right after him to stop him from splattering against the rocks below. This was why, she had silently reminded herself as her feet grabbed him and she was forced to suddenly bear the weight of the both of them, males remained behind at the mountains. This was why they remained inside.


As they carried on, now progressing across the ground by foot instead of by wing, she continued to muse over why she had brought him. His whining was frustrating to deal with while they were preparing to depart and certainly vexing, but now it was even more irritating to listen to his chattering. It was only by keeping her eyes in front of her that she managed to avoid growing too frustrated and snapping at him. Instead, she ruffled her feathers up against the cold and moved her wings closer around her body, hooking her hands together so that her large, feathery wings acted like an jacket to defend against the snow. It was a common tactic deployed by many birds as the mountains tended to be cold and they were not in the habit of wearing clothes like humans did. They hardly needed to when they were neither naked nor bald like humans were.

“Magnus,” Lree replied softly, refusing to look at him as she instead kept her gaze forward. Her claws tapped against the rocks underfoot as they carried her forward, propelling the small group closer and closer to the walls ahead of them. “You may want to focus on breathing over talking. I do not want to carry you through the walls of the human settlement because you forgot to breathe in your excitement.”




The trees were cold, the air was cold, the ground was cold. Everything was cold. With nowhere else to turn, the elves that inhabited the forest largely moved inwards to preserve heat. The trees which they called home, which were arranged in a cluster and had been shaped by High Magic many years ago, shielded the elves only from the biting wind and the falling snow. But to keep out the cold they had filled enlarged tree hollows with the furs of animals that had either been killed by the elves themselves, or pilfered by a specific pair of sneaky hands from nearby human settlements. While normally the elves may ridicule or disapprove of her habits otherwise, in the winter, the extra blankets were appreciated and welcomed. So Fastflint continued to steal and pilfer as she pleased and rested easy in her own hollow. However, sleepy eyes opened as not-so-soft feet stepped past her hollow on one of the branches that served as walkways between separate hollows. Lifting her head up and pulling a few blankets away from her face, she squinted out of her home just in time to see familiar red hair rushing past.

Hawthorn? What in the world was he doing out?

Grunting slightly, she rolled over and slowly crawled out of her hollow, watching as the healer gently coaxed his way down the branches and to the forest floor. Once there, he immediately set off into the woods, keeping his cloak held tight around his body for warmth. Ugh, what a bother. He was going to freeze wearing furs that short in this weather. Forgoing climbing down the tree entirely, she simply crawled along the branches so that she could follow the other elf from above. The winter was a bad time to venture out alone and while she didn’t want to play babysitter at all, she would watch over him just to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble.




As soon as he was a fair distance away from the hollows, Hawthorn quickly broke out in a sprint. Running across the snow-covered forest floor, he quickly made his way to a nearby stream that trickled through the forest. Pausing at the bank of the stream, he traced his foot over some of the ice forming near the edges then knelt down. Sticking the water skin he had been carrying into the stream, he slowly filled the skin with cold water before tying it to his belt with a thin cord of leather. Remaining kneeling, he stuck his hands in the water, shivering at the frigid water but pulling the water close to his mouth so he could drink. Wiping his mouth clear, he slowly stood up, wiping snow off his trousers and drying his hand on his cloak. Humming softly to himself, he jumped across the stream and carried on, enjoying the sight of the snow-covered forest around him.

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((Did I overdo it? I think I overdid it.))


The winter forest was largely quiet. Aside from the birdsong and the breeze on the air, the only sound breaking the silence was the regular crunching of snow beneath the feet of a human.


Her name was Muriel, and she was a traveller from the Windswept Valley. She was passing through the woods following the river, using her crook as a walking stick and carrying everything she owned in a bag.


She stopped for a moment, sneezed, and then continued on her way, complaining to herself in her own head about the cold.


I realize it's winter, but we never got this much snow in the valley. If we got this much, the river would flood the farming fields. I'm surprised this river isn't frozen by now.


It wasn't actually that cold out, but Muriel felt much colder since she only had a coat to keep her warm. It didn't help she had spent the night under the stars, though she did have a fire.


Muriel was also running out of food: her parents gave her some when she left, but that was months ago. She was also starting to run out of money, and of the food she bought with it. No other choice but to get a job once at the capitol, it seemed.


This was the chief worry on Muriel's mind when she reached the widening part of the river. When she asked about the fastest way to the capitol on foot, she was instructed to follow the river through the forest until it opened to the sky, where it would lead to the city.


Muriel had chosen to go into the forest alone, and she hated herself for that choice. But Muriel didn't regret it out of loneliness, as she'd been alone for several months now, even if she missed her family sometimes.


Now, it was chiefly because she slipped on the bank and fell into the river, which was far deeper and colder than she'd anticipated. This wouldn't be as much of a problem if she knew how to swim.


Muriel dropped her crook and yelped when she hit the water; No sense in calling for help, nobody was here. So she floundered in the water, trying to pull herself ashore. But her limbs grew heavy because of the cold, and her efforts were largely pointless, and her vision started to grow dark.

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((Looks good to me! Don't worry, you're fine wink.gif ))



A peaceful morning was quite suddenly interrupted by a nearby disturbance. Well, not nearby in human terms. Her hearing was so sensitive that what was considered close was based upon her hearing and smelling abilities, not by eyesight alone.


The woman stood, setting her bowl aside, and broke into a light jog. It was only when the sound of a struggle hit her ears did she pick up the pace. Pushing past trees soon gave clearance to a meadow. It was a pretty place. The previous night's chill had left it lightly dusted with snow, the vegetation immortalized in a thick layer of frost. Not that she was paying attention to this.


Instead, she darted straight to the river, where a woman struggled to return to shore. While this usually wasn't a problem...Niamh couldn't swim (she could as a wolf; it was a natural reaction as a wolf). The riverbank was slick with mud as well. It seemed she would have to bite the bullet here. Grinding to a halt, the woman dug her heels into the soft mud. By now, this stranger was nearly still. That was never a good sign. But, it was easy to snatch the woman up and throw her back onto solid ground. Niamh hooked Muriel up by her armpits, and hauled her out of the water.


"C'mon ye wee one, keep them eyes upoen! Ain't no time t' be goin' undher now!"


((It should be noted that Niamh has an insufferable accent. I'm trying to keep light on the dialogue for this purpose, but if anyone needs a translation, let me know in the OOC))




Slowly did the blind prince walk down the grand staircase. One hand clutched the railing, while another clutched his staff. An entire lifetime spent walking these stairs gave Lorcan a good idea of where to place his feet, but one could never be too careful. The chaos downstairs grew louder with each step. After all, special guests were arriving! They had to make the place look as nice as possible for the Volucrine! Except...the Volucrine didn't care. They didn't even wear clothes for goodness sake!


Once at the base of the steps, Lorcan was greeted by none other than the resident Doctor, Wyon. The witch's gaze could be felt even by a sightless man. Besides, this was part of his routine. Wyon carefully removed his hood to inspect his injuries, and, if concerned, placed a salve over them. It had been nearly eight months since he had lost his vision, and his delicate eyes were healing slowly. Today, no salve was used. Instead, the witch clicked their tongue, and wiped at the boy's face with a wet cloth.


"How is you health, my Prince?" Wyon's muffled voice sounded through their mask.

"I am well." Lorcan replied simply.

"Your eyes still bleed; they did last night. Don't lie to an old Doctor, your highness."

Sometimes it's hard to remember how old Wyon really was. They were nearly twice the age of the average man (as a man usually died around 35), but spoke and moved with such youth. Indeed, Witches were strange creatures. Once Wyon finished, they raised the prince's hood once more.

"Big day, is it not?" The doctor mused. It wasn't often Volucrine chose to visit.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"When do you suppose they will arrive?" The Witch inclined their head knowingly as they spoke. Although Lorcan seldom spoke of his gift, it was still there. There was a pause of silence.


"Soon. Much sooner than expected. Ten minutes at the most."


"Shall we, then?" Wyon started towards the main entrance of the throne room, helping the prince settle into his throne before leaning against the wall. This should be fun.




As soon as the command was given, Magnus instantly fell silent. Obedience had been instilled into his mind from a very young age, and it showed. He followed along in silence, taking gulps of air every now and then. It was true; he was exhausted. But slowing the flock even more would lead to some heavy scolding later. Although the Volucrine were violent, they seldom layer a claw on one another. Almost all punishment was verbal. Soon, dirt paths melted into cobblestone, and the feathered creatures walked past gawking citizens of the grand city. Their target was simple to see; the massive building at the top of the sloped city harbored their destination. And soon, they would be inside.





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When Elly saw the human floundering in the water nearby, drowning in the cold, to her immense shame afterwards she did nothing to help. Instead she jumped up, pulled her hood over her ears and fled behind a tree in terror. A human. A-A real human is right over there... Oh gods-- what d-do I do? Negative thoughts swept through her mind like a troubled storm. What if there were more humans nearby? Hunters, even? What if they shot her with an arrow and laughed?


Elly shivered, then leaned against the bark of the tree, scolding herself out loud. "G-get a g... g-grip. Humans w-wouldn't hunt in the m-m-middle of winter."


Curiosity began to overtake her as she saw another mysterious woman draw the girl out of the water, dragging the half-conscious human to the shore. Who is that? Elly wasn't sure, but something strange was happening in her forest... And she wanted, despite the fear, to find out what. While Niamh was distracted, the elf scampered out from behind the tree, running to the riverbank and standing on the edge. She hesitated only a moment before suddenly taking off across; her quick, light footsteps got her to the other side safely, save for her cold feet. Elly shivered a bit while getting closer to the two and hiding behind yet another nearby tree. Partly from fear, partly from sheer nerves.


((Well there we go. She's across. Good girl xd.png))

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Hawthorn felt his breath catch in his throat as he was suddenly dragged backwards by his cloak, pulled neatly and efficiently into one of the snow-covered bramble bushes nearby, dropping the waterskin he had been holding in the process. The thorns briefly cut at his arms before he was pulled into a small opening within the bush free of branches. The hole was barely tall enough for him to crouch there but was plenty wide enough for both him and the kneeling elf that had pulled him into the bushes in the first place. He coughed as his breath came rushing back to him, the elf having released his cloak as soon as he was safely inside the bush. Still, even though it was no longer being pulled against his throat, he could feel pressure around his neck that made it hard to draw breath.

“Quiet,” The female elf hissed, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his coughing. With her other hand, she carefully parted a few of the branches of the bush, looking out to the forest with a frown. Looking upwards at her, Hawthorn’s eyes widened in surprise as he quickly identified the light-haired elf as non other than Fastflint. What was that thief doing out? It was morning and light for that matter, none of the elves should be awake. And, beyond that, why was she here with him?

Had she followed him?

Protesting faintly from under her hand, he grabbed her fingers and tried to pull her hand away from his mouth. She hadn’t covered his nose so he could still breathe thank the skies, but that didn’t mean he wanted her hand covering her mouth in the first place. Glancing down at him, Fastflint moved her hand away from his mouth and let the started healer inch away from her, moving to the other side of the bush to get away from her. Not that the other side was that far away, he had ended up only moving a few inches due to how small the inside opening of the bush was. Before he could open his mouth demanding answers, Fastflint shot him an aggravated look and pulled a few more branches aside to let him peer out towards the river. “There was a human,” She explained in an almost tired tone. “You weren’t paying attention,” She added, her voice barely above a whisper. The healer’s mouth opened in protest but she silenced it with a wave of her hand. “Be quiet. We’ll have to stay here until they leave. I don’t know why humans are so deep in the forest at this time of year but I don’t feel like I want to find out why or accidentally lead them back to the tribe.”

Perhaps, she thought faintly to herself, if it was summer they could easily sneak away. But many of the bushes were bare, the trees that were not Evergreens barely offered shelter from the eyes and the snow on the ground left tracks too easy to follow. This was why they were nocturnal. This was why they only ventured out at night when humans were too afraid and too tired to stalk the forest. But no, not Hawthorn. He had to be stupid and fill up his water skins while it was still light out. In the early morning hours, as well! Why wouldn’t he just have slept? And why did she have to play babysitter for an elf that was older than her? Sighing, she settled down slightly, pulling her pack in front of her and quietly rummaging through it before pulling out a few pieces of dried meat. Taking a bite of one of them, she offered the other to Hawthorn with a silent look.




Her talons clicked on the cobble beneath their feet, making a loud noise that managed to resonate rather far all things considering. Ignoring the gawking humans dressed in their strange furs and animal skins that did not belong to them, the Volucrine chief continued onwards, walking down the long, straight road with her flock arranged in a pattern behind her. They flew and they walked in a V formation but, considering Magnus had insisted on coming along, they had rearranged the structure slightly to suit him so that he was now directly behind her. It was the only way she would ever bring a male anywhere because she had to make sure they could easily be guarded and defended. Males were fragile and rare enough that she had to make sure one of the few that existed did not die before their time.

Striding up to the large, wooden door that marked the front of the castle, Lree paused and looked it over. Being friendly with one another and living in caves, the Volucrine did not have much experience with doors. She knew that they were meant to open in some way but with their hands being largely vestigial and their feet not designed for grasping doorknobs, she simply glared at the wooden structure in distain and slight confusion, though she would never admit it. This was, effectively, her first time out of the mountains. It was of no surprise she didn’t know how doors worked.


Only moments later the wooden door came crashing down, Lree on top of it. Grunting slightly as the door slammed against the ground with a loud bang, she slowly rose to her feet, dusting wood chips off her feathers. The door had been in her way so she had just removed it. It was a fairly simply process by and by and considering she hadn’t known how to open the door at all, it seemed like the only logical thing to do in order to get inside. Rising up, she glanced around the inside of the castle, trying to remain aloof while taking in the sights. The Volucrine were a warrior race. She needed to make sure in this confined space her flock would be safe and easily able to exit. Looking over at one startled guard posted near the front, she clicked her tongue softly and gestured to him with a wing. “We have a meeting with your chief. Do well to fetch her so that we may begin discussions now."

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((Indeed, Muriel, how bad could a werewolf be? Let's find out.))


Had she the presence of mind to think straight, Muriel would have thought she'd died. She couldn't move, or talk, and she probably drowned in that river.


She was jarred back into coherent thought as she vomited water on the ground, having been pulled ashore. After coughing for a moment, Muriel weakly looked up at the one who had rescued her.


It was a woman; tall, with a slight tint of color to her skin. Her hair was black like her own, and tied back in a similar way. The woman was wearing leather armor, but aside from her green eyes and her apparel she bore a resemblance to Muriel herself. There were a few odd points, however; she had what seemed to be claws on her hands, and her ears were pointed.


On a very deep level, something about this rung a bell for Muriel: This person was not to be trusted. But she ignored it at the time; she just met them, and after all this person just saved her. How bad could they be?


Mustering all the strength she could, still dripping wet, Muriel only said one thing:


"Thank... you..."

Edited by Coryn02

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Although this young woman had vomited water all over her clothes, Niamh didn't react. She held onto the girl, gripping her with very little effort. She was soaked. This girl wouldn't make it much longer if she didn't warm up. Luckily, the Bounty Hunter knew her way around the wilderness. Bundling up in wet clothes did nothing. Hauling Muriel over her shoulder, Niamh began back towards her camp.


"Roight. Imma getcha wharmed op, 'n ya cun go on yer marry way." She declared. The camp wasn't too far away, but far enough for the woman to jog. Every once in a while, her purposefully jostled Muriel. It would keep her alive, making sure she didn't doze off.


Once she had reached the camp, however, Niamh took a vastly different approach. She began to peel off Muriel's wet clothes, discarding them with haste.

"Get inte yet drawers, wee one! Start runnin' 'round this'ere foire!"

Although it seemed absurd, this was a tactic long used by hunters and explorers alike. Wet clothes made the cold even worse, and it was far safer to be half naked than soaking wet.




The rather abrupt crash startled anyone in the nearby area. Including the crown prince himself. Antoine, who had been busy preparing with the others, turned with a small gasp. Although he looked exactly like his brother, Antoine's face was exposed. After all, he could see just fine. He froze in his arrangements, clutching the small book in his hands. They were early. This was not only irritating, but dangerous. Volucrine was unpredictable beasts. Antoine had planned to beast-proof the castle. But...it was too late for that.


Sweeping has robes behind him, he turned to the busy servants and scowled. "I expect my court within the throne room!" All were silent during his orders. As soon as the Prince's harsh voice stopped ringing about the stone walls, people scrambled to their designated places. The meeting was to begin at once. Formalities were for guests, not beasts. The elder twin turned and began towards the flock, his pale gaze stern and blazing.


To his surprise, however, his brother had beaten him to it. With that halfling by his side, Lorcan was already smiling in front of the Volucrine. The way he stood, how relaxed he was...Lorcan knew this was going to happen. Why his brother constantly tried to derail all his plans, Antoine could never guess. But it was infuriating.


"It's such an honor to have you here. Please, right this way-"


Although the blind twin didn't turn towards Antoine, the message was clear. Antoine had been assigned this duty by their father and was displeased to have it snatched out from beneath him. Lorcan merely smiled, however, and continued to speak. He extended one of those small, pale hands of his towards the beast in front.

"I am Prince Lorcan Rosenbell. This is my brother, Antoine. We will do all we can to keep your stay comfortable."


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Lree looked around the stone structure the human chief lived in. For creatures that were not sensible or hearty enough to live in the mountains, they sure went out of their way to make it appear as if their homes were just as comfortable and cozy as the rocks. In fact, though it was clear the walls had been made from individual rocks, the inside of the castle very much resembled the deep caves the Volucrine were so very fond of living in. How curious that humans also decided to enjoy living under the protection of stone. Truly there was no better substance to be protected by.

Turning her gaze on the human who approached, Lree found herself hunching over slightly so she could properly look down at the shorter creature. She knew that humans were slightly shorter than her kind but honestly, this one seemed so small. Was she really the leader? This little one must have some kind of trick up her sleeve to be so short and yet be able to defend such a large group like she had seen outside. Well then.

“Well met, Prince,” Lree responded, deciding immediately that the full name was far too long to use and she would just have to use the first name instead. Or, at least what she assumed to be the first name. “I am Lree and these are my flock.” Looking out the outstretched hand, she paused then lifted her own foot to meet it. Her toes wrapped around the offered appendage, her talons digging slightly into the skin by design, not ill-will. Moreover, while she had heard of this kind of greeting before, she was not used to actually performing it. If close enough to one another to actually greet one another with physical contact, Volucrine were more likely to touch foreheads or nudge one another as a greeting. They weren’t exactly in the habit of exposing themselves or making them off balance by only having one leg on the ground, but she was diplomatic enough to recognize she was going to have to let the humans have their own customs and respect that. She wasn’t so young and ignorant to think the humans should conform to their greetings and customs. Releasing his hand from her foot, she lowered it back down to the ground, deciding that was long enough for a greeting.

“We would have arrived sooner had the winds favored our travel,” She added dryly, tossing a knowing nod towards the rest of her flock. The birds gathered behind her chuckled slightly and one nudged Magnus before Lree turned back to the human chief and his… brother. How odd that was? Did humans just not hide their males away from sight? Actually, now that she thought about it, this one had been called brother as well. Either her Common Tongue was rusty or both of these humans were male. Why on Earth would the humans have their delegates be male? Would it not have left a better impression to send out the females so they could begin discussions immediately? Well, she would assume no insult had been meant by such an action. Especially since it was a possibility she had just misunderstood the words. After all, that language was not her own. ”Sisters, you may rest now,” Lree suddenly said, switching languages with ease as she glanced back at her flock. ”You as well, Magnus.” Her gaze rested on him slightly longer than the rest of them before she turned back to the humans. As soon as she looked away, the birds behind her relaxed out of formation, most choosing to stretch out their legs after the long walk they had suffered through.

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((Ahhh, back from my parents taking my phone! Time to post. 0-0))




The gangly little elf gasped as the human was drawn out of the water by the strange woman, but she clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. She didn't want to be heard. Not by two creatures she certainly didn't trust. Elly couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the soaking-wet, shivering human pulled from the frozen lake. She might catch a cold, she thought as she gripped the tree more tightly, o-or even die frozen in these woods... That would be horrible; even for a human.


Elly stopped and considered, pulling her hood more firmly over her head and ears as another chilling wind swept through the area. What to do? The smartest decision would be to scamper back across her lake, go home, and try to forget this ever happened.


But somehow, that didn't feel right. She wanted-- no, needed-- to find out what a human was doing in the forest. Strictly for educational reasons. Not that Elly was worried about the vulnerable girl or anything.


At least, that's what she told herself as she followed the two to their camp, staying hidden in the foliage. She blushed and averted her eyes when she saw the wolf-woman tear her clothes off, but she couldn't just escape from the odd sight before her. Elly was trapped in a mystery, and she had every intention of solving it.





Clang! Clang! Clang!


Ofundri grunted with every swing of his hammer striking the hot metal before him. He had been working in his forge for a long time-- almost all day, in fact. But he was behind on his orders. And he was commissioned for something especially important; fine blades for the palace itself. The job paid well, and it had been nearly a hundred years since he last visited the castle. Who knows how much it must have changed by then? He couldn't resist the offer.


That didn't mean it wouldn't take long, hard work.


He took his pair of tongs and picked up the red-hot metal before thrusting it into a cold pail of water. Steam wafted into the air (and directly into his face) as the water cooled the platinum blade. Ofundri waited about fifteen seconds, then drew it out again, placing it on the anvil and squinting to get a good look. Three feet long, shining in the light from his forge... was the perfect blade.




Only about a hundred more to go.

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(Sorry this didn't happen sooner. But there's really not much Muriel can do right now, given her current state.)


Muriel didn't react much when she was picked up and carried by the woman, and taken to what seemed to be their base camp. She then started taking off Muriel's clothing.


Unlike what would be the more thin-skinned reaction, Muriel understood the purpose of this.


I'd help, but I can barely move... I'm still too cold.


The fire was making her warmer, but she was still shaking quite a bit; no condition to be running anywhere. How could this person expect this of her?


"I can barely feel my limbs..."


Muriel shivered to the point where it was hard to even speak clearly.

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"C'mere lass." Niamh worked quickly, peeling her bedroll back and gesturing towards it. "Go on n' warm up. Stay until yer feelin' warm again." Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed movement. But she already knew what lurked nearby. Only those attuned to the world of the forest could notice these silent creatures. Niamh was not a frequent resident of the woods, but her inhuman abilities made her hyper aware to her world.


The forest folk, the nymphs, were pretty peaceful. There was no need to bring attention to it. Gently moving, she placed a hand on the small of Muriel's back to guide her toward the bedroll. "Go on. Yer safe her with m'."




When given the order, Magnus settled down. His feathers fluffed up and he folded his wings. A soft chittering sounded in his throat, much like a purr. Eyes lingered on the oddity that was a colorful beast. The Volucrine's brightest color was a rusty brown. Seeing such a iridescent sheen of color was alluring to the eye.


Lorcan, of course, had no bias. He smiled all the same, his gaze hidden by his cloak. It was likely a good thing. His scars scared and disturbed strangers who didn't know. Wyon placed a hand on his arm, turning to the side to whisper a few words. The younger prince nodded. "Our esteemed Doctor would like a few fea-"

"That is hardly relevant, Lorcan." Antoine hissed. He gripped the Lorcan's other arm, much fiercer than the small doctor. His eyes met Lree's, and the Crown Prince straightened up. "My lady, if you would follow me, we can discuss matters at once. My...brother...can keep your flock comfortable."

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(Jeez, this place went dark. Not a lot for Muriel to do right now.)


Muriel didn't argue the offer. She crawled into the bedroll and wrapped it around herself, trying to get warm again.


She very quickly started to feel a little less cold, as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth.

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