• Closed • Shirts vs Skins

Zarik pls PH

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Rakvald
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Shirts vs Skins

Sat May 18, 2019 7:41 pm

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70th Ashan 719

The Flutterbus to Ne'haer took Rakvald as far out as half a mile from the coast of Quacia. There, it hovered, while Rakvald negotiated with the pilot.

"I need down here." He said in his broken common. "Quacia."

"We don't fly there, we'll have to dump you into the drink if you really want to visit that Spirits forsaken place."

"That fine. I take a dive." So saying, Rakvald gathered his things, which included nothing but a large great club. He wore little other than a leather loin cloth, having ditched his armor at his home in Desnind. He'd used the proceeds from reselling the armor to get a house sitter, to take care of Flappy, his pig. He only hoped the pig boy would be in good hands. He didn't worry too much. The Desninders had been good natured thus far.

The large Lotharro crept up to the open doorway, in the cabin of the flutterbus, and looked out through the wicker doorway. Taking a deep breath, and with no further time to wait, he jumped out.

Rakvald fell from the air, his arms waving to keep himself upright as he fell into the ocean waters. His feet entered first, then the rest of his body. He swam, pulling his arms until he reached the surface, gasping for air. The Flutterbus then flew off, with not so much as a wave goodbye. Rakvald didn't even know how far he was from Quacia or its dock. It was an inconvenience to be sure, but he understood the Desninders' leeriness toward the Quacians and their lands. The Creep could not be allowed to enter Desnind.

So having seen the flier cast off fast on its route to Ne’haer, Rakvald began pumping his arms and legs, swimming toward the beach that wasn’t too far off. He kept his breathing steady and his pace sure, making certain not to swim into a rip current that would take him even further out to sea.

Eventually he arrived at the shore, drenched and dripping with sea water He fell on the sand, exhausted and beaten. His club, strapped across his back, he unshouldered and beat the ground with in frustration. His first order of business, would be to find shelter. He couldn’t afford for Ildred to find out that he’d returned. Not with what he was planning.




Last edited by Rakvald on Tue May 28, 2019 1:03 pm, edited 2 times in total. word count: 412
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Llyr Llywelyn
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Re: Shirts vs Skins

Sun May 19, 2019 1:12 am

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Go outside, Lucretia had said. It’d be good for you, she said. It could even be quite fun, she had added while pushing him out the door. Don’t find a place and sleep. Get some fresh air, she told him and shut the door behind him.

Fresh air in Quacia was a bit of a misnomer. Zarik had learned what island air was, from his short time on the coastal archipelago, unhindered by the Creep-infested lands or murky surrounding waters of a decaying city. He knew what the air above Quacia felt like too, how easier it was to breathe into his lungs. Such knowledge caused him to be unable to consider Quacia’s natural air to be fresh anymore, even if he still found a semblance of sentimental enjoyment from the atmosphere regardless.

The city, however, only caused him to remember this moment or that conversation and other things that he’d been trying to avoid by remaining isolated within Lucretia’s home. Zarik crossed his arms tightly, gathered his trenchcoat around him. His face hid behind the shadow of his leather cowl’s hood. His wings sparkled behind him and his halo lightly glowed.

Zarik gloomily – well, as gloomily as a biqaj with fairy wings and a halo could – headed out of Quacia past the docks for once. It wasn’t a common path for him, thus it had no memories associated with it unlike all the streets and alleys of the Gleam, Shanty, and Lair. Out here, on the beach, he could brood without having to think too clearly about things he’d rather forget about.

Distraction came easily, however, when he looked up to brood at the sky and saw… a man falling through the air. He watched as the person landed in the water with a great splash. Zarik stood still on the coast, and observed the man as he swam, and considered the oddity of it.

The large Lotharro laid on the sand once he broke past the tide, and then beat the ground with a club. Many paces away still, Zarik stared at this display. He supposed he should probably leave, but the potential distraction proved too grand of a lure. Instead, the biqaj walked forward and said in a clear voice that carried the distance between them, “If you’ve come to invade, you probably should have brought more of your Lothar brethren along.”

His halo brightened momentarily, iridescent white light gathering around the ring. Zarik’s wings spread out, positioned like a dragonfly, and reflected the daylight around them. Yet his face remained shrouded by the contrast of the hood that hung heavy over his brow. Of his visage, only his lower face could truly be seen with ease. In every piece of his outfit, he looked Quacian through and through, yet his accented common didn’t sound Vahanic-tinted but rather a blend of southern influences.
word count: 496

Etzos

The following visuals are not applicable in the Etzos territory during Ymiden: Gossamer Wings, Halo.

Eyes

Llyr's eyes are constantly changing based on a blend of his emotions.
When an emotion dominates, the pigment expands past his irises to the entire eye - faintly glowing in that emotion's color.
See Color References here.

Mutations

  • Gossamer wings resembling a cross between the wings of a dragonfly and a flying ant.
  • An iridescent halo that hovers over his head.
  • Crystalline legs from his toes to the mid of his thighs (like stockings made of quartz embedded into his skin).
  • An ever-moving inky tattoo, with Rorschach-like designs, on his back.

Scars

Llyr currently has 9 major scars, referenced on his CS.
Most noticeable is two parallel lines, with an triangular arrow point connecting them, on the center of his forehead.

Totems

When in a totem's body, Llyr's mutations persist but his scars do not.
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Rakvald
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Re: Shirts vs Skins

Tue Jun 04, 2019 1:58 am

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Rakvald’s response to the strange mage was predicated on the assumption that nobody but a local would linger in this ash blasted hellscape of a Kingdom. So he responded in his own native Vahanic. He had to admit, it felt nice to speak without feeling a slow tongued fool. ”Hah! An army. Would that I had great enough strength of arm, I would sweep the walls aside with one swing of my club!”

The mirth lasted only a moment before melancholy fell across Rakvald’s face once more. ”I am Rakvald Toboldsson, of the Plenty.” He leaned against his great club, glowering over the ashen sands of the beach. ”I appear to have fallen quite a ways from Quacia itself…”

He looked up, then behind him. Then back to the strange mage. His mutations were quite ostentatious. Rakvald preferred his own bestial awakenings and corruptions, as they made him feel more in tune with his savage past lives. Even so, there was something to be said for those wings and halo. Quite remarkable. He’d stop and ask him what manner of mage he was, but he didn’t have time for that. His child was going to be born the very next season. He needed to prepare for the rescue that would commence on the beginning of that season.

”I must go now. There’s no time to linger.” Having said this, he shrugged off the stranger, and made off toward Quacia’s docks.

He made in one direction, but then stopped, and glanced in every direction. It occurred to him that he didn’t know the direction. Upon realizing this, he took a closer look at the mage that’d greeted him upon his arrival. The man appeared Quacian enough, though his accent that he’d spoken with… It was more reminiscent of the Southern Dialects. His ears and eyes gave him away for a Biqaj, so perhaps not a native born son. Even so, his Vahanic was probably better than Rakvald’s.

”It appears I need a guide, if I’m to find Quacia.” He frowned at his feet, then looked toward the mage, ”Would you show me the way?”

Rakvald didn’t relish the prospect of heading off in the wrong direction, and getting entangled in a skirmish with the creep infested. Least of all while wearing nothing but a loincloth, and bearing a great club.

”Do you have a name?” He asked bluntly, but in a friendly enough tone.
word count: 422
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Llyr Llywelyn
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Re: Shirts vs Skins

Wed Jun 05, 2019 8:26 pm

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Vahanic. Zarik stared at the Lotharro as he listened to the language and tried to make sense of it. There were some parts he understood: strength, arm, walls. If the other man had spoken a bit slower, maybe he might’ve caught more recognizable words, but it was obvious that the language was likely native to the Lothar. He held an expression of slight bemusement, however, with a couple absent nods. The irises of his eyes were a blend of amber and light blue colors.

He heard the start of an introduction, and Plenty, and he opened his mouth with a quiet gasp in recognition. Out of politeness, he lowered his hood so that part of his face wasn’t hidden in shadow anymore. Zarik repeated, “Rakvald Toboldsson, of Plenty.” While Rakvald looked up, so did Zarik. When he looked over his shoulder, Zarik leaned slightly aside and glanced behind the man also.

Rakvald’s attention returned to look at Zarik instead, in which the biqaj looked down at himself. He patted over his dark leather trenchcoat as if to check himself for anything out of place. His halo glimmered, brightened for a few trills before darkening somewhat more than it had been before. His wings stretched out, then folded again behind him.

“Oh. Very well, said Zarik in heavily accented Vahanic as response to the farewell. He nodded, then offered a small wave. The biqaj continued his walk along the shore. He folded his hands at his lower back. He only got a few steps, however, before the man speak to him again. Zarik paused in his steps, then turned and smiled slightly. Still Vahanic; he caught enough words combined with the frowned expression to make sense of it; need, find Quacia, you show me.

Zarik’s gaze surveyed the Lotharro in a languid downward glide before returning up to look at the other man’s bearded face. He recognized the familiar question, a basic one and one of the first that he’d learned: the request for a name. Zarik spoke and the more he did so, the more obvious it became that his Vahanic was not great. Yes, name mine not good." He paused, a slight furrow in his dark brows, then he added with his stilted southern accent, Zarik... of Gleam. It cherry freckles up the cow and when I stone sand, no… uhh, sand stone? The… No… Sorry. I show you? Yes. I show you Quacia.

He had fumbled with a few mistaken words. His cheeks burned a brilliant silvery-blue blush. His wings fluttered like an insect adjusting to relaxing in the sunlight. Zarik pointed in a direction, then he started to walk. He said, stubbornly keeping to Vahanic despite his ineptitude in the language, You is Quacian? Lotharro Quacian? You came from… he pointed up at the sky, then gestured widely to the man. Over plum, canned… sunny sky clouds. Uh.. and--he slipped to common-“how do you say… impressive?”

As they walked along the far path to the Quacian walls, Zarik retraced his steps. He’d gone farther away from the city than he had realized. He supposed he must have gotten lost in thoughts. The young mage fidgeted with the hood of his cowl. He flipped his bangs away from his dark brow. His white-blond hair had gotten longer as of late and the ends kept poking into his eyes. Zarik brushed them aside more and by doing so, revealed the golden-scarred Theocratic Mark of Faith on the center of his forehead. He glanced over at the Lotharro and asked in another attempt of common, You gone long, away of Quacia? I know Plenty, thugs in Plenty. Guild of Agriculture, yes?
word count: 630

Etzos

The following visuals are not applicable in the Etzos territory during Ymiden: Gossamer Wings, Halo.

Eyes

Llyr's eyes are constantly changing based on a blend of his emotions.
When an emotion dominates, the pigment expands past his irises to the entire eye - faintly glowing in that emotion's color.
See Color References here.

Mutations

  • Gossamer wings resembling a cross between the wings of a dragonfly and a flying ant.
  • An iridescent halo that hovers over his head.
  • Crystalline legs from his toes to the mid of his thighs (like stockings made of quartz embedded into his skin).
  • An ever-moving inky tattoo, with Rorschach-like designs, on his back.

Scars

Llyr currently has 9 major scars, referenced on his CS.
Most noticeable is two parallel lines, with an triangular arrow point connecting them, on the center of his forehead.

Totems

When in a totem's body, Llyr's mutations persist but his scars do not.
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Rakvald
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Re: Shirts vs Skins

Fri Jun 14, 2019 5:46 pm

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It only took a few moments into the stranger’s response for Rakvald to realize that he wasn’t a native Quacian, or a native speaker, despite his mode of dress and the fact that he was standing on Quacian soil. What was it about that accursed city that still attracted wayward souls to it? Then he noted the man’s obvious mutations and nodded inwardly, remembering that Tobold himself had been a mage outcast from Rynmere, finding solace in the mage-tolerant city of Quacia.

At any rate, listening to the stranger butcher Vahanic was an affront to Rakvald’s ears and the stranger’s fine voice. He wouldn’t have it! ”Nuh, nuh.” He said in common, deciding to meet him on his own turf. ”You speak Common. Your Vahanic is, how we say, pig shit.”

Rakvald bellowed a laugh then, as he clapped this Zarik on the back, to show him no hard feelings. He shouldered his great club, and began walking along with the young mage. As they walked, and Rakvald got a closer look at him, he noticed the scar of the Theocratic mark on his forehead, and furrowed his brow. ”Aye, dey thugs. Bad people. Maybe because dey need to be bad. But still bad.”

He tried to ignore the mark of the Theocratum on Zarik’s head, but the more he suppressed a reaction, the more it tried to bubble to the surface, ”You wid dose bleeders?” He asked, suspiciously.

By now, they were coming into view of the docks, which Rakvald had spotted from the heights that the Flutterbus had flown from, but lost sight of as they dumped him in the ocean.

”I gone not long time. Cycle. Need to find my baby, and take him from mother.” He said, deciding to be frank, although he left out whether it’d be willing or not.

”I take baby safe place, in east. Desnind. Nice place, though dere be darkness growing in dem forests, I have big house for baby. And a ranch for raising my pigs...”
word count: 352
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Llyr Llywelyn
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Re: Shirts vs Skins

Sun Jun 16, 2019 12:51 am

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The conversation switched to common, of which Zarik was much more familiar. He quietly laughed at the accurate assessment of his familiarity with Vahanic. He nodded as well, his halo flickered, and his gossamer wings fluttered. They spread to their full span when the Lothar clapped a hand against his back. His laugh continued but turned more hesitant. He mentioned the Guild of Agriculture in reference to Plenty, and in response Rakvald mentioned that they were bad people.

He didn’t know about that… but he wasn’t about to argue with the way that the Lothar kept frowning at him. Zarik flipped his bangs, forgetful of the mark on his forehead, until he heard the question. “Nose Bleeders? Oh, those bleeders… you mean the Theocratum? No,” answered Zarik, then he paused and added, “Not exactly. Not as much as they’d like. I... it’s a sensitive matter. I-I mean unless you are, and then, I mean, it’s very complicated.”

His stammering accompanied fidgeting as he pulled at his sleeves. Ahead of them, he saw the docks, and he sighed. He supposed he’d been out walking long enough. He wanted to return to Emea already.

Zarik glanced over when he heard the Lothar mention a baby. He stopped walking, uncertain if he misunderstood because of the language difficulty or not. The svelte biqaj stared at the other man with eyes that had irises of gray, then he asked in a confused tone of voice, “Ta-take him away from his mother?”

His eyes brimmed with tears, and as quickly as they glistened in the sunlight, a couple of the tears rolled down his cheeks. He sniffed and brushed them away with the back of his wrist. This was why he didn’t want to be out and about. He wasn’t steady enough to interact witih strangers. He just needed to get back to Lucretia’s, curl up on the floor under a blanket, and forget about the world some more. He muttered, “Sorry.”

“You were saying?” he tried to keep the conversation going despite his chaotic outburst of silent tears. He rubbed at his eyes some more. They dried, but turned bloodshot. His voice trembled, but he tried to even it out. He considered the thought of Desnind and asked, “You have a ranch in Desnind? That must be nice. Is Desnind quite safe then? Good to raise a child there?”
word count: 413

Etzos

The following visuals are not applicable in the Etzos territory during Ymiden: Gossamer Wings, Halo.

Eyes

Llyr's eyes are constantly changing based on a blend of his emotions.
When an emotion dominates, the pigment expands past his irises to the entire eye - faintly glowing in that emotion's color.
See Color References here.

Mutations

  • Gossamer wings resembling a cross between the wings of a dragonfly and a flying ant.
  • An iridescent halo that hovers over his head.
  • Crystalline legs from his toes to the mid of his thighs (like stockings made of quartz embedded into his skin).
  • An ever-moving inky tattoo, with Rorschach-like designs, on his back.

Scars

Llyr currently has 9 major scars, referenced on his CS.
Most noticeable is two parallel lines, with an triangular arrow point connecting them, on the center of his forehead.

Totems

When in a totem's body, Llyr's mutations persist but his scars do not.
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Rakvald
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Re: Shirts vs Skins

Wed Jul 10, 2019 2:19 am

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What in the world had he said?

Rakvald was being rather open with his plans to bring his child home. Wasn’t that a good thing? And yet this man was crying openly, in chaotic bursts. Was he alright? The trouble must lie with him. Rakvald couldn’t find fault with anything that he said.

All the same, he felt obliged to grant the man some cheer in the form of a wine skin he untied from his loin cloth belt, and held out for him. ”Here, have a drink.”

Rakvald sniffed the salty air, it smelled of ash, shit, and sulfur. He forgot how much he missed Quacia. ”Come,, I want drink. Where can go get drunk around here. Didn’t spend much time in Vices when lived in Quacia.”

He thought to himself ahead of hearing Zarik’s response, trying to remember where he’d gotten Ildred that bottle of cavern wine. Then he remembered, it was gotten in that place where the Theocratum never went. Or were said never to go. He couldn’t remember what the Quacians called it… It was… Ah yes! The Lair!

That sounded like a good place to get wasted.

He slapped Zarik hard on the back, and barelled ahead of him, back on the path toward the city, dragging the Biqaj along behind him.

Once they arrived at the gates, about half a break later, the guards gave the Lotharro odd looks, but accepted him back in, and nodded cordially to Zarik.

A few twists and turns found them in the midst of the Lair. There, in front of them, lay a lesser known tavern, with a sign depicting a small treeman soaking in a horn of beer. It was called The Creep’s Bath. Rakvald remembered the treefolk of Desnind, and how he’d reacted to the appearance of that tiny stick of a being. It had been a jarring experience, especially given he hadn’t been anywhere but Quacia for more than a few generations.

Anyway, time was wasting, and Rakvald wasn’t getting any less drunk. He forged ahead, pushing aside chairs and patrons alike as he approached the bar. There, he pounded the board, and shouted for the tender. ”A round of Pray Soup, for the entire bar, tender! I wanna get wasted.” A small cheer rose up from those surrounding the bar, and others seated at tables either grumbled or jumped up to rush the bar, and pretend a right to these drinks.

”Take care friends, don’t trample each other.” he slapped a bag of nels down on the counter. After a few bits, his drinks were ready. He grabbed the horns and pitcher and brought them out over to Zarik, if the mage was still with him.

”Eh, sorry for dragging you about.” Rakvald defaulted to Vahanic again here, common tongue be damned. He pointed to Zarik’s face, ”Talk Common, none of that Vahanic from you. And drink, for fucks sake.” He pushed one of the horns toward Zarik, and filled it to overflowing with the pitcher.

The liquid inside was well spiced and full of a tea-like sweet brew, with a few bits of Pray floating at the surface. ”This shit will fuck us up, properly.” Rakvald said with a grin, as he drank directly from the pitcher.

"By the way... you have some really nice mutes, mate. You a mage I take it?" Rakvald eyed the biqaj as his eyes began to dilate.
word count: 590
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Llyr Llywelyn
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Re: Shirts vs Skins

Thu Jul 11, 2019 9:50 am

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Zarik glanced at the wine skin that got offered in response to his questions. It had to do with his crying, he supposed. He forced a smile, then rubbed his eyes again and took the wine skin when it didn’t move away from him. It wasn’t something he’d normally do – accept a drink from a stranger. Especially not with how most of his drinks were going, stranger or otherwise. He hesitated, held onto the wine-skin, and watched the Lothar with wide eyes of blue color.

“Drunk? Oh, uh, well, there’s sometimes drinks in the parlors,” he said, then answered, “But there’s always La- - air!”

The last part of his sentence got slapped out of him. He coughed from the impact on his back. He stumbled while he got dragged along toward the city. They reached the gates, having run the whole way, and Zarik found himself feeling a little more alive. He had a light sweat to his brow, his cheeks flushed silver-blue, but he somehow felt better than he had when he’d been aimlessly wandering on the beach. Maybe it’d been all the heavy gulps of fresh air before they returned to the thick atmosphere of Quacia.

He tidied himself up, for the guards’ sake, then the two men made their way into Lair. Zarik still held onto the wine-skin, though he hadn’t taken a single drink from it. A tavern was chosen by the Lothar and Zarik simply followed along.

The biqaj lowered his posture, not wanting to be so noticeable, and hoping that he wouldn’t run into anyone he didn’t want to while down in Lair. He winced when his new acquaintance pounded at the board and shouted and – ordered an entire round for the whole bar. “Wh-what,” he whispered in shock. The cheers that followed made him glance about. His survey landed on the bag of nels and he stared at it for a few long trills.

Zarik murmured something about finding a place to sit, then. He wandered away from the bar, averted his gaze until he paused when an arm outstretched to stop him at one of the tables. The blond looked at a man who stood and said, “Have our table, if you’d like.”

It was a well-placed round table at the corner of the room that would be able to see the rest of the tavern. From his survey, he knew it was one of the most advantageous spots- especially given the nearby side door in case a quick escape would be required. He looked at the man but didn’t recognize the salt-and-pepper beard from anywhere. “A-are you certain, mister?”

“I don’t want to move,” said the man’s companion who looked like a slightly younger brother.

“You’re going to move,” replied the bearded Quacian. “This here is one of the men who kept Braga from getting rolled over. We can sit elsewhere.”

“What?” said the brother while he got up with a heave and glanced over Zarik. “That rake? How’d he-”

The conversation moved away, however, while the bearded Quacian grabbed his brother’s shoulder, then moved to a different table. Zarik blinked a few times. Rakvald joined him with horns and a pitcher.

“Guess this is where we’ll be,” said Zarik. He sat down at the table and shook his head in response to the Lothar’s apology for dragging him about. He nodded and repeated, “Common then, tho-“ he didn’t finish as one of the horns got pushed over with a command to finally drink. His blue eyes widened as the liquor overflowed past the edge. “Ca-careful!”

Zarik took a sip to keep it from creating too much of a mess on the table surface. The bridge of his slender nose wrinkled. He coughed quietly, then squinted at the bits of mushrooms floating on the surface. Surprisingly, he’d rather missed all the fungus in his diet after spending the trials on the island. He assumed they were just alcohol-soaked mushrooms, since those were common in Lair. He knew Lair dwellers enjoyed them a lot.

“Mut- oh yes,” he nodded at the question. “I am. I- uh… thank you.”

He sipped some more and then said in slight surprise, “This is tastier than it looks.” Zarik’s tongue slipped out from between his lips and he gathered a mushroom bit to chew at it with a contemplative look on his youthful features. “Hmm. I’ve never drank in Lair before, but if it all tastes this sweet, I suppose it makes sense. Better than cave oats or parlor tea.”

The biqaj, young and naïve when it came to participation in Lair – as his visits always coincided with business, his father usually was waiting for him to get home, and drinking anything but tea was still relatively new to him – drank more than he likely should have in those first few bits.

He admitted, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a tavern before… to drink that is. To talk, yes. To trade, yes. To drink? No, no…”

A quiet hiccup escaped him. His face, which had paled when they first entered the tavern, blushed again like it had when they’d ran across the beach. He scratched at the scar on his forehead and muttered, “Gets so itchy sometimes… when I’m hot.”

He stood, without warning and no matter what conversation Rakvald had thought was occurring between the two of them, and he said, “I know!” He snapped his fingers, pointed at the Lothar, then leaned forward. His hand landed with a smack to the table, to steady himself, and the young mage’s halo glittered in the tavern light. “You like my mutes, yes? You- hic -want to see more? I have more. I’ll show you, if you’d like.”

“You think,” he tapped a finger at his halo. The digit went through the ring of light. He pressed under his eye, opening the lower lid some to show the changing colors of his eyes – which had gone in shimmers of various tints of blues and pinks and purples. “You think these are something? These- these wings?” His wings flared out. A woman seated behind him scoffed and noticeably shivered where they’d brushed against her shoulder.

“Whoops, sorry, ma’am,” he said, then turned back to Rakvald. He leaned closer, and a restrained giggle sounded from the blond. He whispered to the Lothar, “You want to see, don’t you? Can’t show you here, no no…”

“Come,”
he grabbed onto the Lothar’s hand and yanked for the larger man to stand up. “My turn to drag you about!”

With that, they were up and out of the tavern within bits. Whether the Lothar lingered to grab more drink for the trip or not, Zarik waited so that he could lead the man out of Lair.

They went through the vice-ridden area, up a path known only to locals, and through a corroded gate toward a quiet and dark swath of the city: the Arboreal, an abandoned residential sector that had no bloodlights maintained and only vagrants and their rats would be around.

Zarik didn’t seem too concerned about the ominous shadows or dreadful silence though. His halo lit up the space around them and he led to another iron-wrought fence. The Transmuter placed his hands on the bars and told the Lothar in a whisper, “Watch this.”

Under his hands, the iron bars curled away from his touch – rusted as if undergoing centuries of time and great amounts of rain. Once done, he kicked out and the section of fence merely crumbled into red dust. Zarik slipped through the newly created opening, then gestured for Rakvald to follow him.

“This is one of my favorite spots. Follow me, over here,” he laughed some as he led. His gossamer wings fluttered, halo-light refracted off them. “Climb up this way, it’s easy.”

He climbed onto a pile of stone rubble, then grabbed the roof above the spot. Zarik lifted himself, then rolled onto the top before gesturing for Rakvald to do the same. Easy.
word count: 1391

Etzos

The following visuals are not applicable in the Etzos territory during Ymiden: Gossamer Wings, Halo.

Eyes

Llyr's eyes are constantly changing based on a blend of his emotions.
When an emotion dominates, the pigment expands past his irises to the entire eye - faintly glowing in that emotion's color.
See Color References here.

Mutations

  • Gossamer wings resembling a cross between the wings of a dragonfly and a flying ant.
  • An iridescent halo that hovers over his head.
  • Crystalline legs from his toes to the mid of his thighs (like stockings made of quartz embedded into his skin).
  • An ever-moving inky tattoo, with Rorschach-like designs, on his back.

Scars

Llyr currently has 9 major scars, referenced on his CS.
Most noticeable is two parallel lines, with an triangular arrow point connecting them, on the center of his forehead.

Totems

When in a totem's body, Llyr's mutations persist but his scars do not.
User avatar
Rakvald
Approved Character
Posts: 273
Joined: Fri Aug 24, 2018 11:17 pm
Race: Lotharro
Profession: Rancher
Renown: +210
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Wealth Tier: Tier 5
Medal count: 1

Contribution

Re: Shirts vs Skins

Sat Jul 13, 2019 1:52 am

Image
”Ye, never had the mushroom drink myself till now. Pray is kinda new to the Lair I hear.” The Lothar grinned and winked to Zarik.

The man confessed not to go to the tavern much to drink, apart from business meetings and trade. Rakvald could see that. The boy looked like a real light-weight. The Lothar almost took him for a teatotaler. But apparently he had the virtue of being open-minded.

Rakvald grinned widely as he drank from the pitcher, watching as Zarik got progressively more wasted in little time at all. He’d never taken Tobold out to drink before, so he was rather curious to see what it looked like when powerful mages got drunk. ”Hu hu hu…” He chuckled as Zarik jumped up in his seat, and invited Rakvald to come see his mutes.

”Yeah! You know!” Rakvald shouted as he shot to his own feet, pushing the chair out from behind him.

”Those wings are fucking incredible!” Rakvald said in vahanic. ”Like some kinda fey creature you is. I wonder if you can grant wishes with wings like that?”

Rakvald grinned at the woman that Zarik nearly pushed over, thumbing his nose with his tongue out at her. He winked in her direction once, before turning his attention back to Zarik. ”Yeah, fucking show me right here right n…”

Zarik said this was no place to show off, and so now it was Rakvald’s turn to get dragged out and around. He farted lightly as Zarik took his hand and pulled him along, the pig farmer chasing after the mage with long strides.

The trip out of the lair seemed like a blur, or Rakvald was more likely drunk, and losing sense of time. That was the most likely explanation. Anyway, they came to a part of Quacia that was completely deserted but for the human and rat-filled refuse. A necropolis of sorts, or what one would look like if a civilization didn’t care for their dead.

Rakvald’s eyes went wide as he saw Zarik turn the bars blocking their way into this area, to rust and broken iron. Holy shit, he was a transmuter, just like Tobol! ”Fucking yeah!” Rakvald shouted at the top of his lungs, ”Show me now! Right fucking now, man!”

Without skipping a breath, Zarik led him up and over a pile of stone rubble. Rakvald tried several times to jump up and get purchase. However, he was a terrible climber, and had to rely on his persistence and strength to bring himself to the top. In a bit or two he managed to make his way up to where Zarik was, albeit out of breath now.

”S… so what is it? This better blow my fucking mind, lad! After that climb…”
word count: 474
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Llyr Llywelyn
Approved Character
Posts: 1053
Joined: Sat Feb 02, 2019 12:24 am
Race: Biqaj
Renown: +440
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Wealth Tier: Tier 5

Re: Shirts vs Skins

Sat Jul 13, 2019 4:08 am

Image
Zarik rather liked his newfound acquaintance – whether due to the compliment toward his wings, or the enthusiastic energy that stoked his own inherent enjoyment of life, or the respite it provided from what’d been trials of sorrow and anxiety and the stress of everything on the isles, or the distraction from difficult decisions he’d have to make soon, or… maybe it was the Pray Soup – that when Rakvald shouted at the top of his lungs to be shown the other mutations, in the abandoned neighborhood, Zarik fell into a fit of laughter.

He continued to lead, steps light and halo bright, but he couldn’t talk only wheeze with pure and sincere laughs.

The blond looked over at the following Lothar and teased between mirthful gasps, “I’ll – show – you – I will! I – promise – will fucking show you.” He interwove the Vahanic curse-word into his accented common, then fell into quiet giggling while he climbed up onto the stone roof of a squat house.

Then Rakvald struggled to follow… and Zarik couldn’t help but laugh more. By now, his cheeks were on-fire from blush. He laid on his stomach, wiggled to the edge of the roof, and watched Rakvald jump and fail, jump and fail. With his chin rested on the palm of his hand, he grinned and cheered the Lothar on, “You’ll get it! Keep trying! Put more lift in your legs! Use your arms!”

Finally, in a bit, the Lothar joined him on the rooftop. Zarik rolled onto his back, then continued to roll toward the center of the roof until he lifted in a graceful jump with the aid of his wings that brought his momentum upward.

The young mage's grin turned coy. He winked at the Lothar, then repeated the Vahanic phrase in a way that made it sound a great deal lewder than Rakvald had probably intended. His voice lisped, “Ohh yes, blow your fucking mind.”

Zarik, then, without any hesitation or further word, took off his boots. He stumbled slightly, but managed to stay upright, wings aflutter. He removed his trenchcoat, his cowl, leaving him in Quacian-styled shirt, vest, and trousers… or… it did, until he unbelted his fitted trousers and removed them without any other prelude about it.

The youthful biqaj stood then, shirt and vest and tiny black undershorts sculpted to his form, with his slender long legs of crystalline quality from the tip of his toes to the mid of his thighs. It was as if a pair of stockings made from a mixture of quartz and bone had gotten seared into his fair skin. Along the shins were two thin, horizontal cracks that sparkled and glistened under the light of his halo.

“These are my legs,” he said as if showing off a prize-winning hound. He gestured toward them, then spun around so that the refracted light glistened along the stone roof. “No, no, not only… These were first, my first mute, not that much.”

Zarik looked at Rakvald, then he fell forward into a handstand. Truly, he felt uplifted – intoxicated past his awareness of just how much so, forgetful of many things in the moment – and he watched the light and colors blur along the stones under his hands while he kept his lean body balanced in the acrobatic position. He exhaled slowly, then said, “Next one… next one then…”

He languidly slid out of the handstand, coming to rest on his knees directly in front of the Lothar. Zarik smiled, a sincere and happy expression, then he took off his vest. His shirt followed along. The biqaj, now, only wore his undershorts. Along the sides of his slender waist, witchmark tattoos that mimicked the design of his wings shimmered with iridescence and with the Pray Soup involved, the tattoos seemed to move in slow swirls and rippled colors.

The blond winked again, then laughed, and he turned around to show the other man, the mutation on his back: the inky-black tattoo that moved and danced along the full width and length, gathering around his spine before bleeding out to different designs. Zarik glanced over his shoulder, then he teased, “That’s not all...”
word count: 712

Etzos

The following visuals are not applicable in the Etzos territory during Ymiden: Gossamer Wings, Halo.

Eyes

Llyr's eyes are constantly changing based on a blend of his emotions.
When an emotion dominates, the pigment expands past his irises to the entire eye - faintly glowing in that emotion's color.
See Color References here.

Mutations

  • Gossamer wings resembling a cross between the wings of a dragonfly and a flying ant.
  • An iridescent halo that hovers over his head.
  • Crystalline legs from his toes to the mid of his thighs (like stockings made of quartz embedded into his skin).
  • An ever-moving inky tattoo, with Rorschach-like designs, on his back.

Scars

Llyr currently has 9 major scars, referenced on his CS.
Most noticeable is two parallel lines, with an triangular arrow point connecting them, on the center of his forehead.

Totems

When in a totem's body, Llyr's mutations persist but his scars do not.
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