The Backways Bar [RP]

"No. Hierarchy. Death. Why do I hear it?"

 

Enderae, finishing his conversation with Endistic, steps over to the group gathering around Wamlo, joining in the conversation.
"Chasing immortality. I've heard, no, seen, these words before. In my own land. I was captured as a child, raised in a brutal cult. Its leader had ambitions... akin... to the ambitions of the Cult of the Ascendant Sovereign. He wanted to restore power and release from his pain to an ancient demon who had given himself immortality, yet in an utterly tortured state. He was granted transmortal powers by the demon to achieve this, yet just a fraction of his latent powers." Enderae says, his eyes looking off into the distance, eyes "impregnated with distance", as if his gaze perceived things through the very order of time itself. "In the end, the leader was toppled, and killed. That cult was freed I saw it with my own eyes. But... I digress. I think there's a lesson to be learned here. I don't think... I don't think we can achieve Heaven, eternal bliss, not with our own mortal powers and ambitions. We're all... imperfect. With alchemy and magic, we might achieve something like immortality. But sooner or later, it'll be torture. We can achieve bliss, but temporary and imperfect bliss. Not the two together. We aren't ready for it. Not in this life, anyways. But well, I wasn't invited to this. Just wanted 'ta give my two cents." Enderae says, walking away and chuckling slightly.

 

the small ice fly flying around xownfos' head shatters as well.

Chasing immortality. She chuckles to herself. Hasn't everyone.
Looking for myths. The Genesis Relic. The Elixir of Life. The Philosopher's Stone.
Men will run to the ends of the world on false myths. The cult is foolish. Their immortality, their legacy is already assured.

At least there are some reasonable people in the world.
What is life but temporary bliss.

xownfos stares at Thedra.
"Everyone is so power hungry these days."

she pauses, reaches into her coat, and pulls out what seems to be a series of linked rings. it seems to be a puzzle. you can't tell what the solution is supposed to look like though.
she fiddles with them while distractedly muttering:
"War, conquest, the whole nine yards. But I guess it's good for the guilds. War favors merchants."
"Hmm. Maybe we should take some territory. It'd be an interesting journey. Albeit would probably anger someone's government. Maybe I can trade some information between a few higher ups and get a bit more leverage..."
"The center region between Jossic, Vylmar, and Hernan looks interesting. I remember something of the place. Maybe an alter there? Something arcane. It escapes me."
"And there's icevein plants..."
she trails off while fidgeting with the puzzle.

 

Eoc begins to stare off into space as if thinking to himself. “The artifact…”
(Definitely not an excuse for going awol)

 

(me racking my brain to find a way to make me relevant here)

 

no one really talks to me directly because im not that important of a figure, and im allied with none of the nations, so im always struggling with this lol

 

Calennius seems amused. “You are a member of Siannodel, yes? I’ve bought wares from them before, during the two years I spent on your world.
I would pay to see Darius’ reaction, though. He’s grown rather full of himself in the last few years, having Vylmaran ground taken by a merchant’s guild would be quite the sight to see.”

 

"Oh, a customer?"
she bows in your direction
"Pleasure to have done business with you before. I do hope your first interactions with us were without trouble."

She seems surprised at the mention of your acquaintance with Darius.
"It would be entertaining to say the least. And quite ironic yes. But it would probably align the three nations, if only to rid the world of us."
she shrugs it off and looks back towards Calennius, quizzically.
"You've met Darius, haven't you?"

 

Calennius’ expression seems to turn serious.
“With the time I’ve spent on this world, not meeting its most influential figures would be almost a crime, would it not?
And yes, I have; I’ve actually seen him many times before. Each time, naturally, increased my distaste of him. I can’t explain exactly why- but perhaps it’s the fact that Vylmaran practices hit rather close to home.”
Calennius is lying.

 

xownfos shrugs again and says
"I mean, I live here and I've not met any of the world's leaders. Smaller guild leaders aren't minded much by the royals."

 

ooc post

*struggle*
i have ways to heart whatever you guys say
but i don't have mind reading powers
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

 

ooc: I just updated a bit of the lore doc; also added all of the Black Guilds

 

ooc
wait question for htmn or whoever runs this thing now
is the entire rp based within this bar or does it also extend to the rest of the world

 

All RP is set within the bar but character flashbacks or other POVS(I think?) can be set in different locations

 

Lohlethean looks slightly more sane now. He looks to the bartender:
"A glass' worth of Villainscreed, with a shot of something strong poured in, thanks."
The bartender swiftly prepares a mug of a dark grey liquid. Low drinks it swiftly, then looks around.
"Ah. I... ought to leave, then."
He turns to face Eoc directly.
"Frostbringer. You caused the death of a dragon I had known for fifty years. I do not forgive you. I would kill you now, but you have aided me, and the aura of Fate lingers here. You have brought me troubling news, and I will condemn Sevrien if I can.
Fare unusually, unless someone has any dire questions to ask."
He turns to leave.

 

Eoc stands to face Low. He pulls out a coin from his pocket. “Your Dragon is nowhere near dead. Calling it so would be an insult to it’s core. Perhaps you should seek out Cryst, my dear sister. Stay away from the shrines and we will do the same. Farewell.” Eoc then flicks the coin to Low.

 

"Curious," says Low, "but it could be possible that they are alive, and I simply did not recognize such. An intriguing lead indeed."
Low gestures to one of the barkeepers, and a door opens in front of him. He walks out, and the door fades away.

 

Bump for more planeshifting lore

 

Calennius watches the elf disappear. “A dragon, now, is it?” they say, seemingly addressing nobody in particular. “It’s quite odd that one would grieve so deeply for the life of a being that many others pray on a daily basis to end. Of course, I’m sure that one has his reasons-after all, I must admit that I’m no longer the friendliest towards their kind after my last encounter with one.”
Their eyes flash green.
“But then again, the one who did was driven to madness over the Power he desired.”

[OOC] There is far more lore in this one quote than the entire past page of Calennius’ statements. However, most of you probably won’t get what I’m talking about until much later on.
Here’s a hint to have you start theorizing: Power is capitalized for a reason.

 

Since we're a decent way through part 2 by now, here's a brief interlude from the POV of a character you either love or love to hate:

Spoiler: Aurelion

Only one way out.

Aurelion watches as the last of the stalkers vanishes into the undergrowth, scuttling into the violet shrubbery. For a moment, it turns and hisses, lashing its whip-like, segmented tail a final time before joining the rest of its pack in the distance.
Aurelion slashes his sword through the air and growls in return, edging forwards in a defensive stance. He stands there for a minute more, tensing in preparation.
Finally, it seems that the creatures are gone. The soldier breathes in relief and wipes the beasts’ turquoise blood from the blade with his cloak, which briefly fizzes and crackles in reaction to the substance.
The stalkers had constantly pursued him for the last two days, relentlessly following him through the azure jungle. He had slept, with his sword in hand, on a tree, only half-awake as he listened to the damnable things loping below.
According to the map he had found, carried by the man in the red robes, the settlement ahead was only two more miles away. He knew it was so close-and yet, in the jungle, such distances seemed eons away.
He missed civilization-missed the familiar sights and sounds of the Capitol’s streets, missed the olive groves of the Darax manor-even that strange bar and its even stranger inhabitants. He craved company, even if it was the tiefling Neshu; or whatever they truly were.
But here he was. Miles away from their camp, an immeasurable distance away from civilization, trapped in the jungles of Hell itself.

Aurelion sighs. There was no time to even reminisce-he had to get to the settlement, at all costs possible.
The forests are silent as he makes his way forwards, ever wary of his surroundings. It’s a rare occasion-silence in the azure forest only means two things-either that the jungle fears him-or that it's terrified of something else entirely. He'd rather not consider the second possibility.
A sudden rumbling abruptly echoes through the grove and Aurelion immediately ducks into the undergrowth, clutching the hilt of his sword with sweaty hands. Buried in the plants, he warily scans his surroundings, trying to detect movement.

What was it? A glider, searching the canopy for prey? Or worse, one of the crawling shadows, with fangs as long and sharp as knives?
He knows he can’t do much against either. His quiver is almost depleted, and his sword will barely make a dent against a shadow's muscled hide.
The rumbling grows louder and Aurelion turns his head slightly, rolling onto his back. Rather than the periodic beat of wingbeats, it’s a loud, steady hum, almost like an insect's buzzings amplified to a resounding degree. What sort of monstrous thing, he wonders, could make a noise like that?

Before he can react, the answer suddenly crests the clearing above him with a gust of wind. Aurelion gazes upwards in sheer shock, frozen in utter horror.
The creature is a colossal, cylindrical thing made of almost-metal-like hide. It bears a thin, stiff tail and three rapidly spinning wings atop its body, which seemingly are the source of the hum.
It has two pairs of translucent, vaguely rectangular eyes alongside its body, with one more on its head. The eyes occasionally flash with bright light, casting a sharp, bright glow on the forest below.
And on its side, painted in bright red, is a familiar symbol-two concentric circles crossed by a waving line.
With a start, Aurelion realizes that it isn’t a beast at all; it’s a machine, some sort of monstrous flying device made out of molded metal plate. The “eyes” are glass, windows to the vessel’s interior-and the tail is some sort of stabilizer.
As the creation vanishes into the distance, carried upon its metal wings, Aurelion is left, his mouth agape, in the windblown shrubbery. He’d never seen anything like it before-what sort of men, if they were men at all, flew in ships forged from steel?

He supposed the only answers he could find lay ahead.
After all, there was only one way out.