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Built high in the massive branches of Taldera's bloodwood forest, The Spires is a city crafted by the peaceful and scholarly Jamoura. Considered a haven for scholars and sages Mizahar-wide, The Spires is a mecca of philosophy and science that draws people from far and wide with its promise of deeper thinking and higher reasoning.
by Creeper on April 9th, 2012, 5:12 pm
Timestamp: Spring 80, 512 AV Time: Midday Location: The Cages Who: Cyllena Tarnarath
There was a lot of commotion going on around The Cages, several Hahk'Shatara members, with their large, carved staves in hand. Today they were releasing a Myrian woman they had been holding. The effects of the storm had been purged from her system, but the damage to her reputation was done. It was well known among the Jamoura that in her rage, she had slain at least eight of the Hahk'Shatara. She was a brutal killer, and some of the Jamoura couldn't forgive her. But the Hahk'Shatara rule, and they deemed her ready to be set free.
She scowled at all those staring at her, snarling at her captors. She gathered her things, which were in a sack just outside of her cage, and shoved her way through the crowd. She stormed toward the outer limits of the Base Camp, in the direction of The Spires, as she began pulling on her leather armor, and strapping various bone knives to her person. She stopped, and looked back at the cage that held her for many sunrises. She spit in the direction, half tempted to burn it down. But then her eyes saw a familiar face well beyond the crowd, standing in the doorway of one of the longhouses. That wasn't possible, she couldn't have escaped already.
The Myrian woman stormed over to the woman in the doorway. The woman was one of the travelers from Sunberth, by the name of Cyllena. The Myrian realized her mistake as soon as she entered Cyllena's personal space, halfway through an embrace. In very poor Common, "You not Muka. Look like Muka. Not Muka." Cyllena would see tears well up in the eyes of the Myrian woman, but none would be shed. The woman stood much taller than Cyllena. Her skin was olive in shade, and adorned with several piercings and tattoos. The most prominent feature was a long, jagged scar that ran from her shoulder to her elbow. The strange Myrian woman, turned back toward the direction of The Spires, forgetting the woman that looked like Muka, but was not.
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Creeper - My Bark is Worse Than My Bite
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- Posts: 482
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- Joined roleplay: March 29th, 2012, 5:27 pm
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by Cyllena Tarnarath on April 12th, 2012, 12:04 pm
Traveling from Sunberth to the Spires hadn’t been an easy one for anyone, especially on the horses of the far from little band. So when Cyllena had reached the home of Torth and the other well monkeys as she wasn’t exactly sure what they were called and hadn’t taken time during the trip to ask the leader of the scouts, the woman had tended to her steed by first removing his tack and her bags from his back. Next of course came the rub down to remove the sweat from his skin and then a nice bucket of food and water so he could relax and cool down. After this was all tended to, she headed toward the mess hall for some food herself.
Having finished down a plate of hot food and a mug of refreshing liquid drink, Cyllena had headed over toward the long house, and while she would not be sleeping in the establishment since she had brought her tent and bedroll, she did check the building out. Yes she was sure that she would not be sleeping in the structure as it was just a bit to enclosed for the woman that had oddly grown used to being outside under the stars within the ‘safety’ of her tent. However she didn’t mind visiting those of the Crimson Edge that would be staying inside, and checking out the other visitors of the Spires. After all one never knew who they might meet while visiting the Long House.
Alas the person she met that day was not what she would have called a normal person given how the female was not only acting but talking. Raising an eyebrow as the woman spoke about how Cyllena was not someone called Muka but however seemed to resemble the Muka at least according to the cracked female’s delirious mind. Now normally Cyllena would have either left the woman to her own devices or found a way to put her back into whatever cell she had escaped from. However as the Myrian woman turned away, Cy’s eyes fell upon the scar that was trailing along the woman’s arm.
“Wait one moment, what happen to you?” She asked her eyes on the scar, and then she wondered about this Muka woman. “Tell me why do you think I am this Muka you speak of? I mean whens the last time you saw her and where?” |
Common Tongue:
Speech,
ThoughtsLocations: Pre-Spr 512 AV - Ravok; 1st-48th Spr 512 AV - Sunberth, 78th - 91st Spr 512 AV, The Spires
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Cyllena Tarnarath - Player
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- Posts: 31
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by Creeper on April 23rd, 2012, 4:23 pm
The upset Myrian woman stormed over to Cyllena, getting in her face. Her face showed signs of worry, fatigue, and a bit of fear. It was apparent that Muka was an incredibly important person to this woman. "Me name Jedda of Blood Flower, me and Muka travel word to hunt many animal. We hunted in Fog, kill many animal. Then Muka go crazy. She stay as animal, forget who she. So I stay with her. Then I go crazy. They capture me, but no Muka. Tell me I had fog sickness. I need find Muka."
The woman turned to leave, when an idea struck her. This foreign woman looked a lot like Muka. Perhaps she could be of use. Turning back, "You could help. You look like Muka, and you look strong. Will you help?" Jedda then turned to leave, heading toward the forest. If Cyllena chose to follow, she might notice them heading northward, and downhill slightly. Jedda moved slowly, cautiously, as a good hunter should. Cyllena would notice the animals were stirring as normal, the signs of a good hunter. Jedda would stop just outside of the fog, turning back, "Ready?"
However, if Cyllena chose to stay behind, the Myrian woman would scoff at her and storm off. Cyllene would go about her business like a normal day, when she would notice that those in the Cages were starting to get stirred up. The birds grew silent, the woodland critters nervously chittering. The other residents of the Base Camp were growing worried, like the calm before the storm.
What would Cyllena do?
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Creeper - My Bark is Worse Than My Bite
-
- Posts: 482
- Words: 261058
- Joined roleplay: March 29th, 2012, 5:27 pm
- Location: DS of The Spires, Northern Wastes, and Overseeing Avanthal
- Race: Staff account
- Office
- Plotnotes
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