• Mature • Lost Stars (Job Thread)

Olivia sings a song, and meets Woe

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Olivia Warrick
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Lost Stars (Job Thread)

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  • Cylus 12th, 717
  • Freedom! Was what was running through Olivia Warrick’s mind as she managed to escape her handmaiden, Azure. That woman kept better track of her than anyone, and sometimes Olivia just needed to… well, stage an exit. This time it had been cleverly distracting Azure in a cosmetics shop and having one of the assistants get Azure into trying on some makeup- during which, Olivia slipped out the door. The blonde noble lady was now freely jogging down the streets. She was dressed simply, in a skirt and blouse and a pair of boots. Her hair was loose, cascading down her shoulders, and her eyes were a mischievous shade of purple that day.

    Olivia, after some time of walking, found herself in a little plaza. There were several people about, selling their wares and chatting. There were even a few street performers, sat out with their instruments and their cases. What a neat idea! I wonder… I’m not very good but maybe I can make a little coin to donate…

    With a smile, Olivia moved to stand on one of the corners, as someone played a guitar in the distance, she opened her mouth to begin to sing, setting her bag down onto the ground for tip collection.

    “Please don’t see…
    Just a girl caught up in dreams and fantasies
    Please see me
    Reaching out for someone I can’t see

    Take my hand let’s see where we wake up tomorrow
    Best laid plans sometimes are just a one night stand
    I’ll be damned, Vri’s demanding back his arrow
    So let’s get drunk on our tears…

    And Immortals, tell us
    The reason youth
    Is wasted on
    The young

    It’s hunting season and the
    Lambs are on the run
    Searching for meaning

    But are we all lost stars
    Trying to light up
    The dark?”


    Her voice was soft and clear, lifting up brightly, her tone high and as steady as she could make it. Sometimes she rushed the lyrics, and sometimes her voice cracked, but for someone so new to singing for a crowd, Olivia didn’t think it was all that bad.

    “Who are we?
    Just a speck of dust within the galaxy?
    Woe is me
    If we’re not careful turns into reality

    Don’t you dare let our best memories
    Bring you sorrow
    Yesterday I saw a
    Lion kiss a deer

    Turn the page, maybe
    We’ll find a brand new
    Ending

    When we’re dancing in our tears…”


    Olivia’s smile grew with every lyric, singing her heart out even if she wasn’t that great. She had a lovely voice, even with her inexperience- and even if people didn’t like her singing, she didn’t care. She liked her own singing, and that was enough.

    Breaking into the chorus again, Olivia let her eyes close, focusing on the music.
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Woe
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Lost Stars (Job Thread)


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The ex-slave was on his way through a plaza in the middle of the city. There were shops, hucksters, and all sorts around. As usual he had little in the way of nels to spend, so was just passing through. He didn't much care for window-shopping either. Being a man that wanted mostly just what he needed, with no room for the comforts of life nor taste for extravagance. It wasn't the best season for selling, anyhow, unless you were hawking firewood, food, booze, or more illicit products or services.

It was the middle of Cylus, and the populace had had enough of the season. Most everyone was ready for a little warmth and comfort. Woe didn't mind the gloom so much. It made his job easier, taking advantage of misery and the downtrodden. One might be surprised to know how simple it was to manipulate another person, when they were down in the gutter. It was part of the reason his second job as gaoler suited him. Although it provided little in the way of incentives, and had no hazard pay or any kind of special compensation for dangerous clients, it was good practice for his actual calling,

It made for a grating experience then, when he heard signs of mirth and light all around him. Woe for his part was tone-deaf, which fostered little in the way of appreciation for that art. He simply thought that singers were wastrels and incompetents, people who had nothing concrete to offer.

Yet as he moved through that plaza, he was subjected to all forms of street callers, acrobatics, and crooners. How they justified operating out in this cold, even with the bonfires burning, was beyond anyone's reckoning. He almost wanted to shout at them, to tell them to go inside into the dance hall where they were wanted. Yet he held his tongue.

Every voice added its annoyance to a cacophony of sounds in the marketplace. Jokesters, musicians, singers and various other buskers. He would've exercised the will to ignore them all, except that one of the singer's sang out the word that served for his name. 'Woe is me. Enough emphasis was placed on that word, or so it seemed to him, that he felt compelled to stop. Perhaps it was a byproduct of always being on call as a slave, but he moved over toward the source that spoke that word.

The ex-slave followed the sound of the singing idly, until he saw a plainly dressed, pale-haired woman, singing a song about lost stars. He listened politely but grim-faced, listening more to the lyrics as they repeated over and over. The melody was lost on one such as him.

He stared at her a little too long, before turning back onto his path. He had no time for crooners. Especially ones that had the stench of expensive perfume and the air of a spoiled noble brat. Her eyes were closed the entire time he was there. She might as well have not known he was there. And so it was, he moved on.

He was getting colder than he liked, and had no wish to catch plague with the rest of these fools and beggars.

word count: 555
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Woe
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Re: Lost Stars (Job Thread)


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Fighting Arena of Andaris

A break of walking, and the crooning and senseless wailing was left far behind him, Woe felt increasingly comfortable in his own sphere. Yet there was no time for idleness, he was about his master's work. The Arena was holding it's seasonal bouts a day earlier than they usually did. The cause for this change of schedule wasn't entirely understood to Woe, but he speculated they were waiting for a relative lull from the usual blizzard and freezing conditions of Cylus. So when the opportunity for a snow-free day came, they seized upon it.

Erastus had sent Woe there in order to suss out possible prospects, healthy slaves that could be turned into assets for Erastus' operation in Low-Town. Woe pulled his wool cloak around him as a nasty gust of wind blew around the arena. He waited for a moment before the entrance, and then proceeded ahead.

Inside, he could hear the cheers of the crowd from even where he stood. Somehow they'd be muffled by the windy conditions outside. Yet their feet stomped against the stones and timbers lining the stands, just as their voices rose above the walls and down into the galleries beneath.

Woe showed the man his ticket, which ensured he'd have a decent view of the slaves fighting for their lives. He also handed him several, weighted jute scarves. Three red, and three blue. The purpose being that one would throw a weighted scarf at the slave they wished to purchase, and the red one delineated one with whom a lusty audience member wished to arrange carnal relations. Woe had no time or inclinations for such liaisons, so he handed the red scarves back. He was only here to acquire worthy flesh for his former master.

The inside of the arena, though it had an open roof, was remarkably well heated. A testament to Rynmeran engineering perhaps, the consequence of being seated in a packed house, or else just plain luck. Woe wasn't one to question it.

He watched as the arena workers worked their system of pulleys, unleashing the beasts that were hidden behind cages. Here, they drove out captive bears and wolves, whipping them into a frenzy so that they'd be good an angry, ready to devour the poor hapless condemned men and women.

Sure enough, the trainers left the grounds, fending off their beasts with lashes from their whips. Then came the condemned through the central platform, which was swiftly risen until they were able to hop down from the dais.

Woe watched carefully, wondering if any of these prisoners would be able to fight off the animals with their bare hands. There were about three quarters of a dozen prisoners there, and all but two or three of them fell into chaos as the beasts descended on them. Between snarls and flashes of teeth and claws, half of their number went down in a time frame that seemed to disappoint the crowd. Woe smirked, mildly entertained at the tactics of the men and women who were now so far below him. It wasn't too long ago that he had shared their lot. But that time was past. Hew as a real person now.

Unfortunately, even the braver among the prisoners proved little match for the beasts. And so the floor of the arena was turned into a bloody abattoir. There was a short intermission of about twelve bits, during which the beasts were lured back toward their cages. Of course the trainers had trouble with some of the beasts, who had yet to finish their feast. These were swiftly rounded up by the wicked crack of a whip, and then sent back through the tunnels.

Soon after that display, the real games began. Women and men alike lifted their voices to greet the combatants. Here, slave and professional gladiator were regarded almost as equals. All the crowd hailed them, led by whichever duke, king or nobleman was sponsoring the event. Of course, ostensibly every event was dedicated to the King, but paid for by one enterprising merchant, prince, or other interest group with money. Whoever spent their coin to sponsor the game was given an honorable mention, but as always all praised the King for this finest of entertainments and blood sports.

Woe watched as the men and women fighters filed out of their respective stables, aligning themselves in a makeshift formation. Here, the Lost Stars troop was to fight against the Plank Company. The names didn't exactly conjure much in the way of inspiration or the imagination. However, they were descriptive enough that one couldn't mistake their specialties. The Plank Company consisted mainly of men wielding clubs, shields, and spears, while the Lost Stars wielded flails and spiked maces. Simple enough to distinguish one from the other.

The Announcer called the match to commence shortly, and Woe watched with rapt attention as the melee began.

He watched as the Lost Stars, surprisingly took the initiative. Woe would've thought the shield-bearers to exercise more boldness in the attack, yet these flail-wielding warriors wasted little time in splitting off into two separate but smaller units. This forced the shields into a wedge formation, which compromised their mobility.

A dozen against a dozen, Woe counted. Several lucky spear strikes from behind the shield wall took out two Lost Stars, but not before they struck the shields in front of them down in a fit of desperation.

Soon enough, all fell to chaos, and the groups split off into individual melee faceoffs with each other.

Woe kept his eyes peeled for any of the warriors who might catch his ex-master's interest. There was one particularly tall and brawny, mace-wielding star. A Lotharro by the look and build of him. Woe's mouth twisted at the sight of him. Too many of his kind about these days, and yet he wouldn't turn his nose up at a potential asset for his master. It brought Woe some amusement that if he took home a Lotharro, he might make a cuckhold out of Erastus. It was for that reason that Erastus tended to castrate his Lotharren slaves. He didn't care much about whether someone was getting his wife pregnant, so long as through plausible deniability he could claim the child was his. He couldn't do as much if the child that was born of his wife was a Lotharro.

The fighting went on a good half break, before the Lotharren stood above the rest of the vanquished, with a few other Lost Stars. Woe was swift to throw his blue scarf at the large man, several of them. The rest of the slavers in his stall grumbled, that he'd so swiftly picked the Lotharren, yet protocol dictated that the slave go to the first to mark him. As long as he could pay his master.



Bits later, Woe was walking down toward the event manager, who beckoned him over.

"Master Erastus wishes the Lotharren to join his household..." Woe said to him, handing over a heavy purse of golden nels. Given his cheap garb, it was plainly obvious that the nel didn't come from Woe himself. But the managers here at the Arena knew him, and knew of his connectio to Erastus.

"Very well, tell Erastus he can expect his beast to arrive in about ten trials. We'll remove him from the games in the meantime..."

Woe nodded toward him, and turned to begin his exit. He didn't give two more thoughts toward the fate of the Lotharro, who'd likely be a eunuch in a tentrial.
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Re: Lost Stars (Job Thread)


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Thread Review

Woe

Woe is Woe
Skill Points: +15 (cannot be used for magic)
Magic XP: None.

Renown: +5 (openly purchasing a slave from the arena)

Injuries/Overstepping: None.
Wealth Points: None.
Loot: None.

Skill Knowledge:
[*]Appraisal: Finding a suitable slave.
[*]Detection: Hearing your name over the crowd noise.
[*]Discipline: Ignoring buskers isn't easy.
[*]Meditation: Calmly walking away.
[*]Tactics: Formations can be exploited and torn apart by goading the ranks to break.
[*]Tactics: Single combat: Divide and conquer.

Non-Skill Knowledge:
  • none requested.
Notes: Tagged the thread mature for the added Solo part.
Skills Used: Appraisal: Untrained; Detection: Competent; Discipline: Expert; Meditation: Expert; Tactics: Competent; Endurance: Competent.
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Player Word Count: 1853 words.

Olivia

Olivia Warrick
Skill Points: +15 (cannot be used for magic)
Magic XP: None.

Renown: None.

Injuries/Overstepping: None.
Wealth Points: None.
Loot: None.

Skill Knowledge:
  • none requested.
Non-Skill Knowledge:
  • none requested.
Notes: If you return, please PM a staff member to figure out any possible knowledge rewards.
Player Word Count: 498 words.

Even back in Arc 717, Woe puns were all the rage!

"politely but grim-faced" kinda sums up Woe, as it is. Might have been better for Olivia if they didn't actually meet!

The change to the Solo part of the thread felt vastly different but considering it was written over three years later, and no direct interaction ever happened between the two PCs from the starter posts, that makes sense. I won't comment too much on it because it was meant to just wrap up an abandoned collab. I appreciated it gave all the information necessary for the scene's context, instead of assuming the reader would know what certain things meant or how arena procedures went.

Enjoy your rewards!

PM me if you have any questions, issues or concerns.

Total Word Count: 2351 words.
Review Request Link: viewtopic.php?p=148973#p148973
stampcodehere

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