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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Dec 31, 2023 22:11:04 GMT -5
T'was the eve of Winter's Crown, and all through the land, Not a Red Rogue was seen, due to a devious plan. The wealthy were tired of coffers being laid bare, While the poor hoped a miracle would soon be there.
Perhaps it was foolish to come back to Darkveil, under current circumstances. In fact, it most definitely was. It was one thing to stop in and visit the children for a little while under cover of night, touching base with Andromeda and Oriole, hugging little Cypress, and giving everyone the gifts they had picked up through their travels over the past weeks. Even this brief visit was risky. Del felt incredibly on edge, though she could not help but look forward to seeing the children once again. That alone made the risk worth it. And it would be so good to see the smile on Cyran's face when they were all reunited.
That did not make Darkveil any less dangerous... though the skies were so beautiful and clear, now. You could see the stars from the darker places of the city, now, where the lamps were unlit. It was also much cooler without the constant presence of the volcano covering the land in smog and ash.
Slipping through the shadows, Del and Cyran cautiously make their way towards Shade's Valley, taking the longest way they could. They'd loop the perimeter of the town as many times as it took to ensure they were as safe as possible. Under the cover of darkness, she reaches out for Cyran's hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze as her excitement bubbles across their connection. Though the shadows obscured them to everyone else, the smile she gave to him was as clear as day; they were almost home.
The clandestine approach reminded her of last year, the thrill of the chase through the streets, narrowly avoiding a very well designed trap and stealing the Ashland Jackal pelts to give to the people. Right around then, she had met Cyran, too, and found a home in Shade's Valley. But Del had been a sucker for the Night of the Red Rogue since her master introduced her to the tradition decades ago. She was never much of a thief, but she had fond memories of swiping precious things from the rich to make the lives of the poor a little more comfortable. Oh, and what a wonderful opportunity to give the children some hand-made gifts...
That hadn't crossed her mind for this visit. Perhaps she could persuade Cyran to do something in Dragon's Cradle, or Zeinav? As they move in tandem through the shadows, they slow to a stop, waiting for the people to pass.
Tromping past Cyran and Del are two guards, dragging someone between them by their upper arms, a bag over their head. The guards spoke in low tones to one another as they tromped along.
"How many does that make this one?"
"I dunno. Fourteen?"
"Lot of 'em, this year, ay?"
The guard's friend grunts non-committally. The person they drag between them starts to struggle in a burst of activity, before they are quickly bought back into line again with a crack to the back of their head. The hooded person slumps forward slightly, groaning with pain.
"And don't try nuffin stupid again," the one guard warns. "You and the other Rogues need to learn your place."
The guards march off with their prisoner. From their place in the shadow, Del turns to look at Cyran, brows slowly raising. An expression was starting to form on her face, a set to her jaw and a determination flickering in her eyes. She didn't like what she had just seen. She would like to do something about it.
Quest Name
| Free the Red Rogue
| Participants | Exactly Two ( Other participant can be working on opposite quest. ) | Location | Anywhere | Post Requirements
| 6 posts 200 words per post | Reward
| +2 Renown Access to listed shop | Description | Popular red rogues from past years have been assaulted and kidnapped by hired goons, nobles wanting to keep them until after winter. Many of these rogues are being held captive in camps all across Charon, and need to be rescued. If the Night of the Red Rogue is to happen this year, then those rogues need to be freed! Help us by going in, fighting off the hired mercenaries, and freeing the Red Rouges before Winter's Crown! |
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 3, 2024 13:40:58 GMT -5
T’was the eve of Winter’s Crown, and Cyran of household Fenestra-Asiliari was feeling listless.
Months of travel with no real end in sight to the manhunt for rogue and fighter had not left him as anxious as Cyran thought it might. The open stretch of road, this narrow path, was a familiar discomfort. But this time, he did not walk it alone. Through the infinite stretch of unending chaos, through the battles with the assassin who sought to repay the blood debt Cyran had accrued, through the nights spent under the stars mourning a home they’d just yet to make and the home Cyran had broken, she still somehow always managed to find him.
And yet, time enough had passed that throbbing scars lessened to a dull ache. Cyran thought he could breathe again without tasting ash. It had been some months since the late of summer, in which an elder god had risen from the earth and nearly wiped the Ash Lands off the map. Months since he’d had to leave, fearing for his life. He did not necessarily think that it was this return to their homestead that left him feeling so anxious. It was, perhaps, this time of year that instilled a sense of despondence in him. He could not help but drift in the memories of last winter; the event in which he hurt his daughter… she’d been so close, the entire time - and him, the fool, none the wiser. If he’d known, if he -
But wishes and what-ifs mattered little in the cycle of time, of life, death, rebirth, hope, joy, gains, losses. Cyran had lost his daughter and the ache was an ever-present piece of something missing that would never be filled. Despite that absence, it had not made him unlovable. Rather, it had allowed him to weave bonds that would not sever, and with people who left room for Marlow’s string to be interwoven should she ever choose to return. He had a lovely fiancé - kids and students whom he adored - and children in Shade’s Valley that depended on him.
It had… haunted him, Astrid’s insinuations that Cyran would ever abandon a child. He would die before he ever left those vulnerable and alone to their own devices. Hell, he’d throw himself to the gallows of retribution if it meant getting the chance to keep them safe and let them know they were loved. As it was, the two elves couldn’t let Winter’s Crown pass without giving the little lovelies hugs and gifts, no matter how risky it was. They needed to know that even while their caretakers traveled, not a day went by without Cyran and Del worrying about them or wondering if they were happy and loved.
It was a risk to visit - but for the ones you loved, any amount of risk was trivial.
And across rooftops and chimneys the rogues danced, through streets no longer strewn with ash, with bags laden with toys and gifts for the kids. The shadows obfuscated their entry into town - in the absence of ash-clouds, natural moonlight cast shade which they ducked in and out of when necessary. Every once in a while they ran across some guards, or hired thugs, that they ducked around, but otherwise, the night was quiet - like an inhale, a moment of bated breath while the world waited for something to happen. The silence felt unnatural… calm forced over the dim city streets by force. It had been months since Cyran had haunted these darkened corners. What changed?
The sound of heavy footsteps pulled Cyran out of his reverie. He and Del tucked into the safety of the dark once more, sharp eyes seeking movement in the dark. A few moments later, armored men continued their dirge, dragging a slumped over figure with a burlap sack over their head. The figure’s body language was slumped, limbs limp… unconscious? That seemed to be the case. The Legion of the Black Sun was still occupying Darkveil, and whether these guards were members or not, everyone was in a frenzy; thieves, more daring, and guards, more brutal. As Cyran watched, the captive sprang to life - kicking and wriggling, desperate to escape his bonds. His rebellion earned him swift retribution in the form of a blow to the back of his head. A struggle for freedom as short lived as their mercy.
Cyran pursed his lips.
Fourteen… fourteen of what? Who were these guards rounding up? They’d called him a Rogue, but that could mean anything. One thing was for certain, though. If there was trouble, the sight of a corrupt institution subjugating the people - if there were people in need - then Del, in good conscience, couldn’t leave without trying to lend a hand.
Cyran was already staring at her by the time she’d looked over at him, her brows raised in a silent question. Without words, he nodded once - a short, succinct reply, that conveyed his answer in the form of unwavering support.
I know.
He didn’t like what he’d seen, either.
Though he was anxious to see the kids, it left a bad taste in his mouth to leave them in an environment that was so unsafe. So many orphans in Shade’s Valley had been cutpurses and thieves. If these people were rounding up red rogues… or, just who they thought red rogues were, then it wasn’t safe for the little darlings, or even the older ones, like Oriole, Andromeda, even Iryla and Dante. This couldn’t be allowed to continue.
Her determination like a balm, Cyran straightened, running a hand through his hair. This, too, was dangerous. He didn’t want to make waves when he was already an enemy of those who were allied to the Rha’Oriyn family. Despite the situation, of everything stacked against them, Del would not stop fighting to make the world a better place wherever her path took her. Cyran loved that about her. Today, too, he would aspire to be brave. He raised his fingers to his waist, signing in quick, short movements.
Let’s follow them, love. He replied. Something isn’t right, and I don’t like the look of it.
He waited for her affirmative reply before continuing his trek - away from the orphanage, towards danger once more. Bringing Pets Cahya, Aura Hawk - counts against NPC cap The Ashen Shackle, Dancing Chain - doesn’t count against NPC cap
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 31, 2024 13:48:25 GMT -5
Cyran nodded without hesitation, and Del could not help but smile wide; he truly understood her inside and out. This was risky, truly, given their cirucmstances, and therefore not very advised. However, they both felt Darkveil was their city, and it didn't sit right to allow these things to go on when they could be avoided.
His assent was further confirmed by his hands, moving to impart a silent plan of action. In response, Del leans in, planting a quick kiss to his lips, an appreciation, a thank you, and an agreement. Then, they were off together, tracking silently through the shadows as they followed these guards and the captured person they hauled between them.
It was a fair jaunt down to the warehouses near the docks. As Cyran and Del make their way through the darkness, the streets do indeed seem eerily quiet, moreso than usual. It is in sharp contrast to when she first came here, when the roads were filled with people going to and fro, even as ash rained from the sky. The briney scent of the sea starts to fill the air, combined with the acrid scent of smoke from the poor grade oil in the lamps that lit the streets to produce a scent that was pure nostalgia. The only thing that was missing was the perpetual smoke from the volcano. And, still-- quiet.
Quickly passing a look of concern to Cyran, Del pauses at a well lit intersection as the guards approach one of the buildings at the docks.
It's well guarded; a tall wooden thing made to store a wide variety of goods, with two sentries posted out front. The two they had been following approach the door, speak in hushed tones, and then are escorted inside by one of the guards. The other stands at the entrance, alert and stoic.
Del exhales quietly. Looking back to Cyran, she moves her hands, signing a question to keep their presence concealed. Bringing people to a remote warehouse doesn't seem like official channels. What in the world are they up to?
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Feb 4, 2024 14:47:01 GMT -5
Cyran was surprised to receive a small, chaste kiss before setting off; it was a touch he leaned into nonetheless, savoring the moment before they stole away into the night. Truthfully, she did not have to thank him; he cherished every gesture, of course, though he was not put out by the prospect of finding trouble. It was a risk, but one he undertook willingly. Del always made him want to be better.
It was easy to tell how much the city had changed since they’d left. Where ash once littered the streets, cobblestone was dusted with a light smattering of snow. Barely a dusting, like powdered sugar, but it made him cognizant of bootprints left behind where they walked. Without the heat from Mount Drakolt, life felt like it was beginning to take root. Or perhaps it would have, if the city did not seem utterly and truly dead.
Even this late at night, it shouldn’t have been still.
Cyran fell in line behind Del, watching her six. But to his surprise, there was no criminal activity going on in backstreets and under the shade cast by oil lamps. No muggings, deals, murders… not even a peep from a mouse. Nothing was going wrong; which, ironically, was the sign something was truly wrong.
He stopped behind her, sharing her concern in the furrow of his brow and the purse of his lips. They were nearing the docks, the usual storerooms where goods were kept and meetings were held. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was the only place thus far that held any sign of life. The two guards they’d been following stopped to converse with the two guards on post in hushed tones that Cyran couldn’t make out before they were granted entry. Cyran turned to Del, catching the flurry of her fingers.
Official channels were a laughable concept in a place like Darkveil, where everyone knew the Ashen Fathers ruled the roost. But these looked like Officers of the Count.
Illegal roundup? Cyran mused, though why they would do such a thing was beyond him. Criminal activity in Darkveil was the world’s worst kept secret, and officers usually knew to keep the peace by avoiding poking their heads where they didn’t belong. They didn’t mess with anyone suspected to have a connection to the fathers. That was what made anonymity so powerful. But from the way those guards earlier were speaking, they had a good batch of people inside.
Whatever it is, it’s something they shouldn’t be doing. He finished his thought, tapping his fingers against his chin for a moment before returning to his signs, halted, and still a little awkward. One of them mentioned Rogues. I’d wager they’re more than your run of the mill crooks if it’s caused this big of a stir.
But without getting in there, they wouldn’t know for certain. Neither could they ascertain how big this operation is. They were merely two people, against a force they could not understand, with a particular hatred for criminals, and gods knew how many allies within.
They’d faced worse odds.
Cyran wordlessly pulled a cigar from his pocket, one that didn’t need to be lit for him to inhale and blow out a plume of smoke, which danced in the air.[1] The smoke took the thin form of a person - in this darkness, it would be difficult to ascertain whether it was a real humanoid or not. With another breath he sent it forward, walking closer to the guards on post.
Time to see how serious they really were. What were they hiding? Enough to make them shoot first and ask questions later? 1. Volcano Ash Cigar
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Mar 5, 2024 15:06:15 GMT -5
Del nods a firm agreement, frowning deeply now. They certainly should not be, and yet, here they were. The concept of Law was always a little fluid in Darkveil, of course; the Count should be no different if the right people were whispering in his ear. Of course, that meant there were certain people very interested in having the usual suspects during the Night of the Red Rogue be unavailable, and if that WAS indeed the case, then whoever was so motivated to keep these people out of the public view were powerful indeed. Or, this was happening without the Count's notice.
I agree. Del signs back. This seems like a concerted effort, but if it was legitimate, you'd think they would actually use Mallock's own guard, not these random mercenaries. AT least, they seemed like random mercenaries; it was hard to tell from a distance, but the two they had seen originally did not carry themselves with the arrogant authority of a guard, but the prowling confidence of a hunter. They didn't fit the bill.
She watches as Cyran removes a cigar from his pockets, creating a silhouette from the cinder-less smoke that floated towards the guards. Hunkering down, she watches closely, as the guards eventually take notice to the shifting movement.
"OY." The lone sentry stage whispers, stepping forward as he draws his short sword in a clear threat in the direction of the smokey figure, perfectly blended in with the mist rolling in off the sea. "I see you there. Wharf's closed. I ain't gonna say it twice."
Well. That seemed definitive enough to Del. Her gaze shifts again to Cyran, wry, brow lifted as she mouths 'Well done'. He obviously had a plan with this figure he had conjured, and was interested in seeing just how far they could push the limits of the situation without raising too much alarm.
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Mar 14, 2024 12:48:46 GMT -5
Cyran’s gaze drifted back towards the guards, head inclining in agreement. Their demeanor indicated something… darker. Normally he wouldn’t involve himself in the matters of others, not when he had his own business to attend to. It was his own family that came first and foremost; his own family that mattered. But right now, this was important to someone in his family. Ergo, it was important to Cyran.
Alright. He replied, his resolve as immutable and quiet as the dark. If that’s the case, then they’re not technically being held here in any official capacity… and there’s nothing stopping us from stepping in as concerned citizens.
The smoke ruse told him one thing - they weren’t willing to make a fuss, not right away. Noise would alert any real guards in the area; even if they were dirty officials, it would still make trouble for whatever operation this was.
Of course, there was always the easy method. A knife in the dark, a whisper of silversteel to silence those two for good. Just a feather-light touch, silent and quick. It would be so terribly easy-
Which was exactly why he couldn’t.
Cyran closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. He was supposed to be getting better. Months since he hung up his blades and yet his first instinct was to reach for them like a creature comfort. An addict. How awful.
The shadow that Remained of the Specter summoned a mask to his hand from the shadows, securing it over his face.[1,2] The anonymity provided by the construction was a small relief. He considered the situation; an exercise in mercy. How to take care of the situation without taking a life, in turn?
There was always straight out combat - yet Cyran didn’t think he could trust himself. He turned to Del, thoughtful.
… If they’re so worried about attention, perhaps a diversion is in order? Something relatively flashy enough to bring on the heat; something that would be perceived as a suitable threat. Enough for them to slip in and free the hostages while the guards took care of things. 1. Summon: possession 2. Mask of Memories
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Apr 28, 2024 13:41:25 GMT -5
It would seem so. she agrees, nodding faintly as she signs. The guard was still on edge even as the smoke thing seems to dissipate from view, but perhaps, he figured, it was a mere trick of the light. In either case, this was not exactly sanctioned activity, and if it was, likely it was one of those things that gave the Count or the other powers that be plausible deniability. They could disavow anyone they hired, if discovered, keeping their hands clean while others took the fall. She couldn't be sure of that, exactly; there were plenty of elements in the city that would prefer the Night of the Red Rogue to not swoop through their storehouses or their coffers beyond the Count. Still, one had to wonder who wanted this erased so badly?
Through their connection, the stomach turning flip of internal revulsion Cyran experiences brushes across her mind. She reaches out to gently caress Cyran's fingers, a gentle touch of reassurance. He would not need to use his skills in any way he did not wish to. Not so long as she was here. But she would not judge him either for his reflex.
A diversion. She could do that.
Leave it to me, she signs, flashing him a playful smile before moving ahead through the shadows. The darkness swallows her, hiding her from the view of everyone but her fiance behind her. She skirts the edges of the street, looking up, around, to the side, looking for something she can use... an angle that might be worth exploiting. If they wanted so badly to remain hidden, then why not make them think something was approaching?
The shadows bend and warp in the alley, making shapes. The muffled and steadily growing sound of footfalls starts to echo in the cobbled streets. A dog barks down the alley, sharp and alert, as it appears to be leading its handler-- a hunting party-- towards the location.
The man standing guard blanches, hissing through his teeth. "Shit." He taps lightly at the door. "Got company. The rats secure?"
There's another soft exchange, and the other mercenaries, five in all exit the warehouse. The guard points to the direction of the noises, and they start off in that direction, a hurried pace to see if they can cut off whomever is nearby before they find out their little secret.
Del glances at Cyran through the shadows, smiling triumphantly. She gestures to the door, inviting him silently as though saying 'after you'.
[1] Mass Shadow Control - Shadow Dancer II [2] Dark Form - Shadow Dancer III
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on May 4, 2024 11:43:21 GMT -5
A brush of fingers against the back of his own brought Cyran out of the cavernous depths of his thoughts. Just a touch of fleeting warmth; like the gentle whisper of a hearth, like the first sip of warm cider in the back of his throat. Cyran hooked one of his fingers around hers for just a moment, a returned smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Then he pulled away as Del continued signing. There would be plenty of time for warmth when they were celebrating the holidays together. But not yet. First, there was a job to do. As silent as a mouse Cyran took to the shadows behind his ever-so-lovely intended, reminded of the day they first met; a day not unlike this, if you replaced snow with ash. [1,2] She’d been tucked away in the shadows then, too, content to remain hidden from the world… and Cyran was grateful to have seen her. Then, and now. As he traipsed in the space between light and dark, watching her back for any danger, Cyran felt an odd sense of content wash over him. Peace. The knowledge that time would change - as would the nature of their bond. But its strength would not waver. The yawning dark stirred - Cyran felt the movement more than he saw it. To him, the sensation was like a familiar pull, a blanket silencing all of the world’s noise. Cyran raised his hand, summoning a wrought-iron weight to his open palm. [1,2] The lantern radiated no light; shadows played along the mask covering his face, the air darkening around him. Del’s manipulations seemed to grow even darker… each curve of her shapes taking on sharper definition, growing longer and deeper as the light around them died. The dark was like home to Cyran and Del. But for the others… They would find themselves struck with an uneasiness that they could not shake. In the distance, Cyran heard the barking of a dog, the sounds of conversation before the thugs dispersed. Perhaps the smarter decision would have been to send a few out to investigate the disturbance, and leave a few behind to remain at their post, but fear bred irrational decisions. The gambit worked. Behind his mask, Del couldn’t see his grin but she would see his nod all the same. They only had a small window to work with, here. As Del gestured towards the door, Cyran was already moving, a keen understanding of what she meant. They’d always been on the same wavelength. Unfortunately for him, the door was locked. He did not curse his fortune - there was no time to do so. Nor could he be impressed that these criminals, whoever they were, had done the bare minimum of keeping their hostages contained. Instead, he dragged his finger along the edges of the doorframe, creating an outline in the shadow. Darkness flickered at his call. [3] Reality slipped away, as if by his call, the motion had created a bridge between the world of the living and the forgotten. But it would give them just a moment to slip through the door without leaving any trace the scene had been disturbed. Once they were both inside, Cyran closed the entrance behind them. The inside of the warehouse was just as bleak as the outside. Dust covered every visible surface, remnants of ash fluttering in from windows coating the ground. Cyran could make out old footsteps, patterns etched into the ground from ancient habits. [4] He wasn’t certain which crime lord this stock belonged to, but the who was less important than the what at this point in time. Namely, that it appeared this warehouse had been taken over mid-robbery. Dust everywhere was dislodged, crowbars and thieves tools scattered on the ground in front of a half-open box. Signs of a trap, already sprung. And beyond that, lined up against the wall - over a dozen people, with fabric over their heads, and rope around their hands and ankles. Cyran turned to Del. At the very least, that solidified his theory this was some sort of roundup of thieves. Whether this was some sort of slight against the Ashen Fathers was yet to be seen. Given the circumstances the lovers were in, Cyran doubted that risking their ire was at the top of their priorities. Not when there were people who’d been imprisoned - people who needed their help. His Heart always did always desire to help who she could - even at her own detriment. Cyran nodded once, resolute. He was far more used to harming others than freeing them. The rogue would just have to follow Del’s lead as best he could. If you go for the hostages I’ll play lookout. He offered quickly, hopeful. At the very least, this was something he could do for her.
1. Summon: Possession 2. Lightdrinker (Custom Item) - Pervasive Shadows (1/2 uses) A wrought-iron hand-carried lantern similar to the kind commonly seen in the streets of Darkveil. Rather than a regular flame contained within the glass, however, there is an enchanted dark light that almost seems to absorb the very air around it. It is difficult for most to make out the sheer scope of darkness contained within. For those that have levels of shadow dancer, they are able to make out the pure, harnessed darkness inside the lantern, and are not as effected by the horrifying visage. However, those who are not as attuned to the darkness are fully affected by the shadows that dance around this lantern. Any sources of light that exist within a 20 foot diameter range of the lantern will have their effects reduced by half, making the area dimmer and darker around the item.
Twice per topic you can cause the shadows within the lantern to pulsate outwards, growing in strength. For two post after activating, Novice light domain spells can not be cast into or out of the lanterns reach and anyone standing inside the aura who is not a shadowdancer will become afraid, unable to attack or make offensive actions against the person holding the lantern. 3. Create Door 4. Tracker Extraordinaire
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