Roleplay
Tell stories and roleplay in the world of Flight Rising.
TOPIC | Witch [IC]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/pqljMyN.png[/img][/center] [columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/7JjBAIb.png[/img][nextcol][font=Century]The forest was not somewhere one should wander at night, but the hunters were not the sort to fear such a thing as darkness. They knew, in their hearts, that it was not the shadows that held any power, but the creatures that lurked within. And they knew, as all hunters did, that the things that crept through the woods would bleed you out in daylight just as well as moonlight. Tonight, it would be a creature of stone. Some unholy thing whose bones ground together, whose skin flaked away into dust, whose hair was little more than lichen and moss clinging to the hard rock of their skull. This one was rumored to have been an elf, and so the hunters took extra precautions. They would not be bested. When the moon peaked in the night sky, a blanket of starlight above them and the whispering darkness of the woods at their side, the hunters crept into those feared woods with their swords and their bows and their axes. They brought no light with them, lest they attract unwanted attention, and only prayed to the gods above that the clear night sky would keep. The hunters were practiced, efficient, and trained. They went into these woods with confidence, sure in their skill against this witch of stone. But it was not just stone that watched them from those dark corners. Their information had been wrong, and the hunters soon came to realize this. The woods were home to several witches, and the knowledge of that alone was enough to throw a rock into their plans. Witches did not work together, they did not live together. They certainly did not hunt together. And so when the darkness seemed to only deepen, and the hunters lit a torch, it was to see that they were surrounded by a dozen of the eldritch creatures in all their grotesque forms. They did not stand a chance. Only a few survived then, those who were willing to run. They turned and fled those woods with the sounds of the witches feasting behind them, the gruesome crunch of bones and the wet sound of blood muddying the earth. The human kingdoms did not hear anything about their renowned witch hunters for some time and, indeed, some believed they’d all perished that night. But a few survived. A few. And it’s high time they resurfaced.[/font][nextcol][img]https://i.imgur.com/7JjBAIb.png[/img][/columns] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/aAp0aac.png[/img][/center] [size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1]@ElveraBasilisk @CornixElecti @ManaCampbell @Tsukii @Neraida[/size][/size][/size][/size][/size][/size][/size][/size][/size][/size]
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7JjBAIb.png The forest was not somewhere one should wander at night, but the hunters were not the sort to fear such a thing as darkness. They knew, in their hearts, that it was not the shadows that held any power, but the creatures that lurked within. And they knew, as all hunters did, that the things that crept through the woods would bleed you out in daylight just as well as moonlight.

Tonight, it would be a creature of stone. Some unholy thing whose bones ground together, whose skin flaked away into dust, whose hair was little more than lichen and moss clinging to the hard rock of their skull. This one was rumored to have been an elf, and so the hunters took extra precautions. They would not be bested.

When the moon peaked in the night sky, a blanket of starlight above them and the whispering darkness of the woods at their side, the hunters crept into those feared woods with their swords and their bows and their axes. They brought no light with them, lest they attract unwanted attention, and only prayed to the gods above that the clear night sky would keep.

The hunters were practiced, efficient, and trained. They went into these woods with confidence, sure in their skill against this witch of stone. But it was not just stone that watched them from those dark corners.

Their information had been wrong, and the hunters soon came to realize this. The woods were home to several witches, and the knowledge of that alone was enough to throw a rock into their plans. Witches did not work together, they did not live together. They certainly did not hunt together. And so when the darkness seemed to only deepen, and the hunters lit a torch, it was to see that they were surrounded by a dozen of the eldritch creatures in all their grotesque forms.

They did not stand a chance.

Only a few survived then, those who were willing to run. They turned and fled those woods with the sounds of the witches feasting behind them, the gruesome crunch of bones and the wet sound of blood muddying the earth.

The human kingdoms did not hear anything about their renowned witch hunters for some time and, indeed, some believed they’d all perished that night. But a few survived. A few. And it’s high time they resurfaced.
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@ElveraBasilisk @CornixElecti @ManaCampbell @Tsukii @Neraida
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Pilot
She/Her
FR +0
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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/G15CS00.png[/img][/center] [indent][font=Century][b]Rules[/b][/indent] [font=Century]• Be fair, be kind, be courteous. Disputes are only welcome in-character, of course. • Looking for mostly human applicants. The elves of the eastern isles aren't too friendly, and anyway they've got their own misery business to worry over. (Still, we won't turn away a good witch-hunting elf, but we will be picky about accepting too many!) • Up to two characters each, although this might be extended as we progress through our hunt. • Put your characters favourite colour in the 'other' section. • This roleplay is only open to a few people, though I haven't decided how many yet. Certainly no more than five, and no less than three. Join only if you're okay with being told 'no.' • No art stealing or borrowing. If it isn't yours, don't use it! (Unless stated OK by the artist, and dutifully credited back to them.)
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Rules
• Be fair, be kind, be courteous. Disputes are only welcome in-character, of course.
• Looking for mostly human applicants. The elves of the eastern isles aren't too friendly, and anyway they've got their own misery business to worry over. (Still, we won't turn away a good witch-hunting elf, but we will be picky about accepting too many!)
• Up to two characters each, although this might be extended as we progress through our hunt.
• Put your characters favourite colour in the 'other' section.
• This roleplay is only open to a few people, though I haven't decided how many yet. Certainly no more than five, and no less than three. Join only if you're okay with being told 'no.'
• No art stealing or borrowing. If it isn't yours, don't use it! (Unless stated OK by the artist, and dutifully credited back to them.)
hkrjeK9.png plaguef1.png
Pilot
She/Her
FR +0
plaguef2.png hkrjeK9.png
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/M4gLVQc.png[/img] [font=Century][size=5][b]Facts Sheet[/b][/size] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2396673/1]OOC Thread[/url] [size=4][b]Characters[/b][/size] [i]Player Characters[/i][/font][/center] [font=Century]• [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=118152]Mypilot[/url]'s [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2396673/1#post_32191686]Isolde[/url] (female, 23, human) • [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=137714]ElveraBasilisk[/url]'s [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2396673/1#post_32192094]Rònan[/url] (male, 28, human) • [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=176736]CornixElecti[/url]'s [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2396673/2#post_32194616]Maj[/url] (female, 26, human) • [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=211237]ManaCampbell[/url]'s [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2396673/2#post_32289650]Astraea[/url] (female, 20, human) • [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=46649]Tsukii[/url]'s [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2396673/4#post_32313815]Seth[/url] (demiboy, 39, half-elf) • [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=311418]Neraida[/url]'s [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2396673/4#post_32360482]Lore[/url] (female, 25, human)[/font] [center][font=Century][i]NPCs[/i][/font][/center] [font=Century]• Conan, de facto leader of the hunters[/font] [center][font=Century][size=4][b]Current Setting[/b][/size][/font][/center] [font=Century]A secluded crop of woods far from the kingdoms and those with too curious eyes.[/font] [center][font=Century][size=4][b]Facts[/b][/size][/font][/center] [font=Century]• Elves, when turned into witches, are more ferocious than their human counterparts. Elven witches are known for looking more wild in nature, for becoming more rooted in whatever magic class they took to.[/font]
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Facts Sheet

OOC Thread

Characters
Player Characters

Mypilot's Isolde (female, 23, human)
ElveraBasilisk's Rònan (male, 28, human)
CornixElecti's Maj (female, 26, human)
ManaCampbell's Astraea (female, 20, human)
Tsukii's Seth (demiboy, 39, half-elf)
Neraida's Lore (female, 25, human)

NPCs
• Conan, de facto leader of the hunters
Current Setting
A secluded crop of woods far from the kingdoms and those with too curious eyes.
Facts
• Elves, when turned into witches, are more ferocious than their human counterparts. Elven witches are known for looking more wild in nature, for becoming more rooted in whatever magic class they took to.
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Pilot
She/Her
FR +0
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Isolde watched the forest around her, the wind blowing the loose strands of her hair across her face. She saw no movement, had not all night, and so silently crept back into the shelter of the trees. Her watch was over, and another would come to take her place shortly. She didn't wait; her stomach was roaring its hunger, and it was only brought on by the sun reaching its zenith.

The path towards camp was a convoluted one, brought on by the rule that they couldn't wear down a trail, lest someone follow it to their hub. Isolde regularly hopped over rocks and skirted around roots, keeping herself distant from wherever she'd tread before. Leave no trace, bring no enemies.

Like a flower in spring, the camp blossomed open before her. The normal sounds of life were kept muted, although it was never too loud with them anyway. They were a small bunch now, only a handful, and kept quiet by the grim daily reminder of what they'd lost, of how far they'd fallen.

It was hard to believe they were witch hunters. Isolde herself hardly felt like one anymore, but she didn't let it wear down her skill. She trained—they all did—and they even killed a witch or two when one was dense enough to wander too close to camp. That was enough to keep most of them sated, but there was always an underlying dissatisfaction. Witch hunters did not have a camp. They never stayed in one area too long, and now they were living here.

Isolde realized she was scowling again and forced her face to become neutral. She nodded at a few who caught her eye, and then spotted a familiar rugged head disappearing into a tent. She chased after him. "Conan!"

Inside the tent, Isolde had to blink a few times to get used to the sudden change in light. She squinted at Conan's dark shape, watched as he dug through crates looking for something.

"What?" he asked, voice rough. He paused in his search to stare at her with his hard eyes, giving her a once over. "You didn't come here to stand lurking in the corner, did ya?" He waved a hand at her, resuming his search. "Speak."

"When are we going to leave?" Isolde didn't waste time skirting around her question, and Conan didn't waste time loosing an exasperated breath.

"When we're ready."

"When will we be ready?"

He kicked a chest and turned to her. "Saints alive, Isolde, I don't know! Now you've asked me this question every day for a month now. Have I ever given the impression that I wouldn't tell ya if I had answers?" He looked weary, and annoyed, and rubbed a hand through his ragged hair. "Everyone else is content in waitin'."

Isolde leaned against a wooden beam. "You know that's not true. We're all ready to hunt again." She caught his dubious look and rolled her eyes. "We've got the numbers for it again, Conan. We've waited a month, and we're all getting rusty and restless sitting in this camp. You can't keep putting it off forever."

Conan heaved a breath and sat down on the lid of a crate. "I know," he replied. "I know. I just..." He pursed his lips. He looked on the verge of saying something important, but then the energy faded. He looked back up at her. "One more week. One more week of preparations, and then we move again."

"And we hunt again?" Isolde asked, looking at him skeptically.

A nod. "And we hunt again. We'll just...start training. Like we used to, I mean. I want everyone ready."

Isolde straightened and headed for the exit. She backed slightly out of the flap and looked at him one last time. "We are ready."
Isolde watched the forest around her, the wind blowing the loose strands of her hair across her face. She saw no movement, had not all night, and so silently crept back into the shelter of the trees. Her watch was over, and another would come to take her place shortly. She didn't wait; her stomach was roaring its hunger, and it was only brought on by the sun reaching its zenith.

The path towards camp was a convoluted one, brought on by the rule that they couldn't wear down a trail, lest someone follow it to their hub. Isolde regularly hopped over rocks and skirted around roots, keeping herself distant from wherever she'd tread before. Leave no trace, bring no enemies.

Like a flower in spring, the camp blossomed open before her. The normal sounds of life were kept muted, although it was never too loud with them anyway. They were a small bunch now, only a handful, and kept quiet by the grim daily reminder of what they'd lost, of how far they'd fallen.

It was hard to believe they were witch hunters. Isolde herself hardly felt like one anymore, but she didn't let it wear down her skill. She trained—they all did—and they even killed a witch or two when one was dense enough to wander too close to camp. That was enough to keep most of them sated, but there was always an underlying dissatisfaction. Witch hunters did not have a camp. They never stayed in one area too long, and now they were living here.

Isolde realized she was scowling again and forced her face to become neutral. She nodded at a few who caught her eye, and then spotted a familiar rugged head disappearing into a tent. She chased after him. "Conan!"

Inside the tent, Isolde had to blink a few times to get used to the sudden change in light. She squinted at Conan's dark shape, watched as he dug through crates looking for something.

"What?" he asked, voice rough. He paused in his search to stare at her with his hard eyes, giving her a once over. "You didn't come here to stand lurking in the corner, did ya?" He waved a hand at her, resuming his search. "Speak."

"When are we going to leave?" Isolde didn't waste time skirting around her question, and Conan didn't waste time loosing an exasperated breath.

"When we're ready."

"When will we be ready?"

He kicked a chest and turned to her. "Saints alive, Isolde, I don't know! Now you've asked me this question every day for a month now. Have I ever given the impression that I wouldn't tell ya if I had answers?" He looked weary, and annoyed, and rubbed a hand through his ragged hair. "Everyone else is content in waitin'."

Isolde leaned against a wooden beam. "You know that's not true. We're all ready to hunt again." She caught his dubious look and rolled her eyes. "We've got the numbers for it again, Conan. We've waited a month, and we're all getting rusty and restless sitting in this camp. You can't keep putting it off forever."

Conan heaved a breath and sat down on the lid of a crate. "I know," he replied. "I know. I just..." He pursed his lips. He looked on the verge of saying something important, but then the energy faded. He looked back up at her. "One more week. One more week of preparations, and then we move again."

"And we hunt again?" Isolde asked, looking at him skeptically.

A nod. "And we hunt again. We'll just...start training. Like we used to, I mean. I want everyone ready."

Isolde straightened and headed for the exit. She backed slightly out of the flap and looked at him one last time. "We are ready."
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Pilot
She/Her
FR +0
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Maj missed having control of herself. She could do with being a stinking fox during the day, that is, if she could master the creature she'd been cursed to live as during the sunny hours of the day. She was, however, lucky in the fact that she didn't run away from the other witch hunters like she had the villagers when she was young. It seemed that her being around these people often enough translated to her times as a fox, for she hardly took notice of some of them.

Her ruddy ears twitched as someone's voice pierced the low chatter of everyone else, it was Isolde, she was calling after Conan. No doubt asking, once more, when we were going to be on the move again. she thought. It seemed the girl had peaked the fox's interest, for the beast prowled for the two, no doubt also looking for food.

She peeked her head inside the tent to see the two talking, Seems like she's having all the luck... The fox quietly snuck into the tent and sniffed around, darting crate to crate, looking for food while Maj listened in. The discussion went as it normally did and she started to lose interest when Conan gave in.

"One more week. One more week of preparations, and then we move again,"

She blinked, stunned, they would start hunting again! Maybe they would find the witch that had cursed Maj, maybe not. However, being on the move was much more appealing than sitting here, waiting for something to kill them.

After satisfied that nothing was left out to steal, the fox revealed itself, dark red fur gleaming under the bits of sun that hit. It cocked it's head to the side and approached Isolde and Conan, nipping at the woman's hand before jumping back, expecting to be swatted.
Maj missed having control of herself. She could do with being a stinking fox during the day, that is, if she could master the creature she'd been cursed to live as during the sunny hours of the day. She was, however, lucky in the fact that she didn't run away from the other witch hunters like she had the villagers when she was young. It seemed that her being around these people often enough translated to her times as a fox, for she hardly took notice of some of them.

Her ruddy ears twitched as someone's voice pierced the low chatter of everyone else, it was Isolde, she was calling after Conan. No doubt asking, once more, when we were going to be on the move again. she thought. It seemed the girl had peaked the fox's interest, for the beast prowled for the two, no doubt also looking for food.

She peeked her head inside the tent to see the two talking, Seems like she's having all the luck... The fox quietly snuck into the tent and sniffed around, darting crate to crate, looking for food while Maj listened in. The discussion went as it normally did and she started to lose interest when Conan gave in.

"One more week. One more week of preparations, and then we move again,"

She blinked, stunned, they would start hunting again! Maybe they would find the witch that had cursed Maj, maybe not. However, being on the move was much more appealing than sitting here, waiting for something to kill them.

After satisfied that nothing was left out to steal, the fox revealed itself, dark red fur gleaming under the bits of sun that hit. It cocked it's head to the side and approached Isolde and Conan, nipping at the woman's hand before jumping back, expecting to be swatted.
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Steel clunked hard and fast into the wood--then rip, chunk, and fwump. The rotation continued a few times, the aim of the axe that flew through the air digging deeper into the slot it dug on the tree. Rònan seemed lost in the cycle, his brow as determined as his focus in maintaining the sure target. At this point, however, he needn't worry so much on the action. The practice was an excuse to thought-dive.

It was about the twentieth repetition before the flutter of tent canvas and the feminine shout roused him from his revelry. He turned his grey gaze towards the main tent, spotting and ignoring the fox that snooped at the entrance. He left the tool where it was embedded, uncurling calloused knuckles from the handle. He lumbered as anyone of his size would, the need to be silent a bit lost on the fact tents were pitched all about them.

He wouldn't need to ask what Isolde was after; they all knew, they all were beginning to get restless. It seemed like Maj wanted to ask the same, in her own way, as it were. He brushed the tent open, and yet still had to duck his frame within the pointed slit before he rose again to full height, inside. He stare between the three of them before his eyes settled on Conan, arms raising to fold over his broad chest. His face was stoic, yet Isolde's eagerness was shared in his eyes.
Steel clunked hard and fast into the wood--then rip, chunk, and fwump. The rotation continued a few times, the aim of the axe that flew through the air digging deeper into the slot it dug on the tree. Rònan seemed lost in the cycle, his brow as determined as his focus in maintaining the sure target. At this point, however, he needn't worry so much on the action. The practice was an excuse to thought-dive.

It was about the twentieth repetition before the flutter of tent canvas and the feminine shout roused him from his revelry. He turned his grey gaze towards the main tent, spotting and ignoring the fox that snooped at the entrance. He left the tool where it was embedded, uncurling calloused knuckles from the handle. He lumbered as anyone of his size would, the need to be silent a bit lost on the fact tents were pitched all about them.

He wouldn't need to ask what Isolde was after; they all knew, they all were beginning to get restless. It seemed like Maj wanted to ask the same, in her own way, as it were. He brushed the tent open, and yet still had to duck his frame within the pointed slit before he rose again to full height, inside. He stare between the three of them before his eyes settled on Conan, arms raising to fold over his broad chest. His face was stoic, yet Isolde's eagerness was shared in his eyes.
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Lore shifted on the slightly damp rock, moss on its surface having caught some drops of water, whether from rain or simply a creature flinging water about didn't matter. What mattered was what she was focused on-- the rock in one hand and her short sword. Lore ran the blade of the sword against the rock, almost as if attempting to cut a knife through goat's butter. Instead, the hard surface of the rock would create a small metal-on-metal sound, but duller and slightly different due to the fact it was just a rock. It served its purpose-- to sharpen.

She looked up at the sudden voice talking about... Something. Lore couldn't hear much, though she assumed it was Isolde, most likely upset about one thing or another. She stood up, dropped the rock, sheathed the sword and walked in the direction of the witch hunters' camp. As she got closer, she started to hear more. She managed to come within earshot near the end of their conversation.

"One more week of preparations, and then we move again."
"And we hunt again?"
"And we hunt again. We'll just...start training. Like we used to, I mean. I want everyone ready."
"We
are ready."

It was surprising. Had Isolde managed to finally convince Conan? Just out of the blue, she had done it? Strange. Lore watched as the fox, Maj, nipped Isolde's hand and someone else watched. What was his name? She could never remember it, despite knowing it was something simple.

Walking over to the small group that had accumulated, she decided to play dumb. "What's happening, hm? Isolde is doing it again?" She asked to no one in particular.
Lore shifted on the slightly damp rock, moss on its surface having caught some drops of water, whether from rain or simply a creature flinging water about didn't matter. What mattered was what she was focused on-- the rock in one hand and her short sword. Lore ran the blade of the sword against the rock, almost as if attempting to cut a knife through goat's butter. Instead, the hard surface of the rock would create a small metal-on-metal sound, but duller and slightly different due to the fact it was just a rock. It served its purpose-- to sharpen.

She looked up at the sudden voice talking about... Something. Lore couldn't hear much, though she assumed it was Isolde, most likely upset about one thing or another. She stood up, dropped the rock, sheathed the sword and walked in the direction of the witch hunters' camp. As she got closer, she started to hear more. She managed to come within earshot near the end of their conversation.

"One more week of preparations, and then we move again."
"And we hunt again?"
"And we hunt again. We'll just...start training. Like we used to, I mean. I want everyone ready."
"We
are ready."

It was surprising. Had Isolde managed to finally convince Conan? Just out of the blue, she had done it? Strange. Lore watched as the fox, Maj, nipped Isolde's hand and someone else watched. What was his name? She could never remember it, despite knowing it was something simple.

Walking over to the small group that had accumulated, she decided to play dumb. "What's happening, hm? Isolde is doing it again?" She asked to no one in particular.
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Seth sat quietly in a corner of the camp overrun by wilderness, knees pulled up to his chin while resting his head gently on his arms. Small drops of rain tickled his face, running down his cheeks as if tears were streaming out of his eyes. It was quite poetic, what with his thin figure, androgynous features, and metallic markings. Reaching up, he ran a hand through the golden black hair that plastered his face, making sure it was slicked back allowing for better vision. The half-elf wore only a loose cotton shirt that slipped off his shoulders slightly and a pair of khaki shorts that barely hit below mid-thigh. Where a human might easily catch hypothermia wearing such light garments, Seth did not seem to mind the goosebumps that scattered across his skin in response to the refreshingly chilly weather.

As his gaze drifted towards the spectacle near by, he wondered why these people were so high-strung. It had only been a mere three days since he had wandered into these parts, casually tagging along with the group rather than firmly pledging his allegiance to a human by the name of Conan. He wasn't one who liked to be tied down by empty words, selfishly joining them on account he may locate his mother. Per usual, he hadn't been warmly welcomed. His slightly pointed ears and magic use tipped them off early to his bloodline, visibly disturbing some of the members.
Not that it particularly mattered to him as his goal did not necessarily concern the well-being of the others.

Sliding down from his perch, he landed silently on the muddy ground. Seth did not have any intention of getting directly involved in their little spat, but curiosity did always seem to get the better of him. A stoic expression plastered to his face, he wordlessly observed from a distance careful to keep a large gap between him and the next closest mortal. Though he had yet to learn the names of the others, he was able to differentiate easily by face and quickly recognized the girl talking back to Conan along with the male with them. The half-elf didn't feel one way or another about either of them, disinterested by their lack of erratic behavior or words. Rather, the fox was a creature worth his time and attention as her situation looked to be vastly different from the rest of the hunters.

Seth silently watched the creature's movements, inquisitive about her curse more than anything else.
'Well, no matter.' He thought to himself, regarding it as a topic off-limits to an outsider such as he.
Seth sat quietly in a corner of the camp overrun by wilderness, knees pulled up to his chin while resting his head gently on his arms. Small drops of rain tickled his face, running down his cheeks as if tears were streaming out of his eyes. It was quite poetic, what with his thin figure, androgynous features, and metallic markings. Reaching up, he ran a hand through the golden black hair that plastered his face, making sure it was slicked back allowing for better vision. The half-elf wore only a loose cotton shirt that slipped off his shoulders slightly and a pair of khaki shorts that barely hit below mid-thigh. Where a human might easily catch hypothermia wearing such light garments, Seth did not seem to mind the goosebumps that scattered across his skin in response to the refreshingly chilly weather.

As his gaze drifted towards the spectacle near by, he wondered why these people were so high-strung. It had only been a mere three days since he had wandered into these parts, casually tagging along with the group rather than firmly pledging his allegiance to a human by the name of Conan. He wasn't one who liked to be tied down by empty words, selfishly joining them on account he may locate his mother. Per usual, he hadn't been warmly welcomed. His slightly pointed ears and magic use tipped them off early to his bloodline, visibly disturbing some of the members.
Not that it particularly mattered to him as his goal did not necessarily concern the well-being of the others.

Sliding down from his perch, he landed silently on the muddy ground. Seth did not have any intention of getting directly involved in their little spat, but curiosity did always seem to get the better of him. A stoic expression plastered to his face, he wordlessly observed from a distance careful to keep a large gap between him and the next closest mortal. Though he had yet to learn the names of the others, he was able to differentiate easily by face and quickly recognized the girl talking back to Conan along with the male with them. The half-elf didn't feel one way or another about either of them, disinterested by their lack of erratic behavior or words. Rather, the fox was a creature worth his time and attention as her situation looked to be vastly different from the rest of the hunters.

Seth silently watched the creature's movements, inquisitive about her curse more than anything else.
'Well, no matter.' He thought to himself, regarding it as a topic off-limits to an outsider such as he.
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online | offline | busy | hiatus
_________________________

liv | 19 | libra | she/her | english • korean


+ 3 FR Time | when I'm not crying over college work I like to draw things and rp
Astraea left her tent with bow and quiver in hand, ready to do a bit of practice before going out to check her traps for food. She was determined to keep her mind busy and herself useful to the others while they waited around. The sun's light blinded her when she walked out that she didn't even notice the little fox scurrying past her. After blinking her eyes a few times, they adjusted to the brightness. Astraea began to walk to her favorite target, a large oak by the south corner of the camp. But before she reached the tree, she could hear a loud conversation coming from Conan's tent.

She slowly approached the tent to eavesdrop on the conversation when she noticed Maj listening closely at the entrance. The fox, and eventually Rònan, entered the tent without noticing Astraea. Astraea let out a sigh as the tension in her body left. Astraea feared the worst of everyone's opinions on her, and avoided interactions even though she craved them. However, just as they entered the tent, Isolde's voice rose in excitement.

"We are ready."

Was the only thing Astraea could make out. In her heart she knew what that probably meant, Conan agreed to let us hunt again, and I will finally have a chance to prove myself to the others! Astraea thought to herself. But along with that thought, came an uneasy feeling within her stomach.
Astraea left her tent with bow and quiver in hand, ready to do a bit of practice before going out to check her traps for food. She was determined to keep her mind busy and herself useful to the others while they waited around. The sun's light blinded her when she walked out that she didn't even notice the little fox scurrying past her. After blinking her eyes a few times, they adjusted to the brightness. Astraea began to walk to her favorite target, a large oak by the south corner of the camp. But before she reached the tree, she could hear a loud conversation coming from Conan's tent.

She slowly approached the tent to eavesdrop on the conversation when she noticed Maj listening closely at the entrance. The fox, and eventually Rònan, entered the tent without noticing Astraea. Astraea let out a sigh as the tension in her body left. Astraea feared the worst of everyone's opinions on her, and avoided interactions even though she craved them. However, just as they entered the tent, Isolde's voice rose in excitement.

"We are ready."

Was the only thing Astraea could make out. In her heart she knew what that probably meant, Conan agreed to let us hunt again, and I will finally have a chance to prove myself to the others! Astraea thought to herself. But along with that thought, came an uneasy feeling within her stomach.
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Conan’s expression didn’t change, despite the promise in Isolde’s voice. She knew the others were itching to get going, and all were eager to prove that they were ready for this, that they would do what they could to reach their goal. If Conan didn’t see it, he was blind.

Maj entered the room, the vixen nipping at Isolde’s fingertips. Shortly thereafter came Rònan, and then it seemed half the camp had heard their discussion. Though Rònan didn’t say much, Isolde took his mere presence as a sign of him standing with her on this, and so she merely raised a brow at Conan’s half-frown.

“Yes, alright,” he said, flapping a hand at them. “I get it—you all want to leave camp.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and considered them. “If you lot can show progress, can prove that you’re ready, I’ll maybe consider leaving sooner. But until then: one week.”

“Reasonable,” Isolde replied, sounding too happy with herself. “You’ll see. It’s time, and we’re all ready.”
Conan’s expression didn’t change, despite the promise in Isolde’s voice. She knew the others were itching to get going, and all were eager to prove that they were ready for this, that they would do what they could to reach their goal. If Conan didn’t see it, he was blind.

Maj entered the room, the vixen nipping at Isolde’s fingertips. Shortly thereafter came Rònan, and then it seemed half the camp had heard their discussion. Though Rònan didn’t say much, Isolde took his mere presence as a sign of him standing with her on this, and so she merely raised a brow at Conan’s half-frown.

“Yes, alright,” he said, flapping a hand at them. “I get it—you all want to leave camp.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and considered them. “If you lot can show progress, can prove that you’re ready, I’ll maybe consider leaving sooner. But until then: one week.”

“Reasonable,” Isolde replied, sounding too happy with herself. “You’ll see. It’s time, and we’re all ready.”
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Pilot
She/Her
FR +0
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