(( Disclaimer: This is a thread for the event Darkened Skies. Please refer to the page linked for all information regarding this event before joining.))

The blue serpent's eyes shifted from one line of text to another on the worn, moss-ridden face of marble that stood in front of him, his claw running under his gaze to guide his reading, the gentle roar of the river behind him tuned out almost completely as he read. The old giant stones that dotted the landscape of Adela were of great interest to Zeyavuul, who often gazed upon the worn, faded etchings upon their surface with a fanatical wonder. The records of his kind, the chronicles of their myths and legends, all recorded on these obelisks in a tongue since long forgotten by all but a few. The young river dragon took it upon himself to copy these stories and preserve the monuments his ancestors had left before, to leave traces of what had once come before.

The dragon's claw stopped as he squinted at one word, nêkaavir, an inquisitive look taking hold in his pale green eyes. He had seen the word before on several other stelae in the mountainous areas in reference to rivers, and thought it was merely a regional loan from the language of the local gryphons, but seeing it on a stone in the forest was making him rethink that hypothesis.

"Interesting..." he muttered, his long tail swishing from side to side, "The ancients sure like give a lot to think about." With deep breath, Zeyavuul returned to his reading of the old mossy monument, the dragon's deep voice carrying for a quite a bit as he spoke aloud, "Iem tâagnen'aldt, weim nêkaavirnen waêrke balwê..."

This is all awesome! I especially love the digital stuff. Keep up the good work! :)

Character Name: Zeyavuul Krimpatûlaak
Species: River Dragon
Gender: Male
Desired Position: Protagonist
IC (In Character) Ambitions: Zeyavuul is motivated by learning about the past, particularly the history of dragonkind. He knows the myths and legends surrounding the Guardians, and is absolutely horrified at the thought of Nevira returning.
OOC (Out Of Character) Ambitions: I'd like to get pretty involved in this, as Zeyavuul is meant to be a guide and loremaster given his expertise in history and the old language of the dragons. With that in mind, I would also like to avoid character death as I have plans for this character outside of this event.

My username on SotE was originally Clever-Fox, but I changed it after a while because "Klezmer Gryphon" appealed to me more (also, my fursona is a gryphon and I like klezmer music xD). It's now become my default username almost everywhere I RP.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Zeyavuul Krimpatûlaak
Age 235 years of age
Gender Male
Species River Dragon
Height 3'6" at the shoulders
Occupation
Residence A river cave in Adela

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
Long and low to the ground, Zeyavuul's serpentine body stands at 3'6" at the shoulders, and almost 30' long snout to tail. His four legs are each tipped with razor sharp claws, and are kept that way out of habit. As a result of his kind living in the rivers of Le'Raana for as long as anyone can remember, his scales are a dark green-blue with a creamy beige underbelly, and his eyes are a pale yet piercing shade of green.

Personality
Zeyavuul is a well-mannered and peaceable creature; like most of the rivers he swims in, Zeyavuul is even-tempered and mild, prefering reason and dialogue to violence. The dragon is also the curious sort and loves to meet new people, although he will readily ignore those who disrepect him or his kind. That being said, Zeyavuul is not a pacifist, and will vigirously defend those he finds to be friends, even if he might not swim away from the encounter.

Magic/Abilities
Water Breath- An ability found within his subspecies of dragon, Zeyavuul has the ability to breathe a concetrated stream of sea water at his enemies, as opposed to the normal jet of flame typical of dragons. A spout of salt water forms the basis for this attack, travelling out of the dragon's mouth at about the same speed and force as a large waterfall. The main drawback is that Zeyavuul must consume a large amount of water reguarly to keep this ability at its maximum effectiveness.

Underwater Breathing- With a set of gills on the base of his neck, Zeyavuul can breathe under water almost indefinitely. The only drawback is that if he hasn't been in the rivers recently, his body will take a moment to adjust to breathing in through his gills again.

Dâag-yuul- Zeyavuul's family reaches back for generations, back to the earliest known dragons. As his family's historian, Zeyavuul is fluent in dâag-yuul, the language that the oldest draconic inscriptions are written in. While he primarily uses his language skills to aid scholars looking for insight into history of dragons, there are numerous old steles and obelisks dotting the land with carvings in the old tongue that arouse his curiosity.

Relationships


History


__________________THREAD TRACKER
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Complete Threads

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Tudor Botterill
Age 23 seasons
Gender Male
Species Mouse-kin
Height 3'4"
Occupation Adventurer Woodsman
Residence Small village in Adela

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
Tudor is a short anthropomorphic mouse who comes up to 3'4" (not including his ears), with the face being a mouse comes with; large round ears, big, beady brown eyes, and a cute little nose with long whiskers on either side. His body is covered in light brown fur that fades to creamy white towards his cheeks, throat and belly. Although he doesn't particularly need them to keep warm or cool, Tudor dons a simple green tunic that ends at the middle of his thighs and a plain leather belt with a couple pouches on it for carrying things. On his person at all times, though, is his copper axe he uses to fell trees (perhaps even giants one day?).

Personality
Tudor is the hard-working sort who puts all his effort into whatever he's doing, and will not be satisfied with anything less. He's also a nice, cheerful mouse that loves the company of friends and the camaraderie found in the taverns after a hard day's worth of labor. That being said, Tudor also gets bored with his labor as a woodsman, and dreams of grand adventures and traveling to far off places. His friends call him crazy, but Tudor thinks that there are still legends to be written yet.

Magic/Abilities
Tudor is not a mage (as far as he's aware, anyway), but his ability with an axe and overall work ethic more than make up for that. While bandits aren't a common occurrence in his neck of the wood, the few times he's had to fend off the odd pair of vagabonds have ended with said vagabonds running away after being disarmed and knocked silly by a weapon that looks like it should be in a museum. That being said, his skill would be no match for a professional soldier or knight, which, coupled with his desire not to really hurt anyone (unless they've earned it), makes him a fairly easy opponent.

Relationships

History

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads

Complete Threads

The kitchen had been busy all day, and business showed no sign of slowing down. Soups to stir and laddle into bowls, puddings to unwrap and dry, and salads to toss... So many things to do, and Liarri was in the midst of it all. With several assitant cooks scurrying about to get ingredients ready, there was a clamor of pots, pans, and other cookware throughout the room, and yet Liarri's senstive ears never missed the sounds of a customer at the bar. Especially one with such a booming voice.

Without so much a thought about her flour-covered apron, hands and face, Liarri plucked down a bottle of Connlaothian mhìnòni from the back shelf, grabbed a stein from the cabinet, and sashayed into the bar area through the saloon doors to the left of the cabinets with a warm grin on her face.

"Apologies for the mess, but we're a little shorthanded today," Liarri chuckled as she set the bottle and mug down on the bar counter, looking over the interesting figure in front of her, "There's your ale, and we have a couple things cooking right now. Some leek and potato soup, a couple meat puddings, and maybe a batch of fritters. Any of that sound appetizing?"

((Mhìnòniac are a group of meads of Damhnait origin, brewed from fermented honey and spiced herbs like wormwood, green anise and sweet fennel. Liarri keeps more of this in stock than she does other beverages, which is why it's the first thing she grabs out of the cabinet.))

The Restwood Inn is a small inn located in the city of La'Marri. Run by the lovely Liarri Delmoire, the inn has gained a reputation for being high class and homely, while keeping it's prices low to accommodate the weary travelers passing through town. For this reason, the inn has been the stop of choice for many journeyers who were tempted to take their business elsewhere.

The inn itself is rather simple in design: a solid stone foundation keeps the whole building planted, with the planked wood walls and thatch roof held up by thick timbres. Inside, one will find a central hearth, surrounded by four benches for guests. To the right, there is the front counter where one can order food and drink, and rent a room for the night. To the left, there are a couple of doors leading to the ground floor rooms (usually reserved for members of the Runner's Society), and a staircase up to the second floor, where one will find four rooms available for rent.


Liarri is always looking for help around the inn, although she'd prefer that potential employees leave the magic acts at the door. Getting hired is easy enough; just ask Liarri about the position you'd like. Chances are she's in need of someone in that spot.


Notes
This organization is meant for casual and perhaps goofy threads, and while more dramatic plots are certainly welcome, just realize that most plots won't be very serious.

Some potential ideas if you're making a fresh character for this might be a chef, a clerk to help with paperwork, a host/hostess, or really anything you think might belong in the inn (just run it by me first if it's something odd or outlandish :) )

Shamgar just couldn't help but quake at every word as the dragon circled around him, every syllable that came from her lips hinting at some unknown threat she was more than capable of fulfilling. It seemed that the storm outside just kept getting worse the more scared he felt; the rain seemed to be pounding now, the thunder closer and louder, the lightning more chaotic and fiery...

"I-I..." the gryphon stammered, stumbling over a group of stalagmites as he took a step back, landing on his side, "I-I just n-need a place for the night... I'll be gone as soon as this storm passes!" His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath quick and short. Tears started to form in his eyes as he started whimpering... "P-please don't h-hurt me...."

Shamgar was surprised to see a young woman emerge from the shadows, but then he remembered that some dragons were shapeshifters. Her current form did nothing to ease his trembling, since she could easily change back and maul him at any time.

"L-look, I'm just a wanderer. I had stopped in town for a c-couple days rest my weary self, and then departed," Shamgar whimpered, backing into his corner, "W-what does it matter to you?"

Emese merely smirked when the man in armor showed his temper. She was not afraid of this fellow, and his stepping down from his horse only made him look more like a poser. As he spoke though, something made her ears stand up. Did she hear a western elvish accent in his speech?

The vixen watched as this armored figure trudged into the blacksmith. Maybe good ol' Halroth with sharpen this fellow's wits while he's there she thought. Sheathing her blade, Emese got up from her seat on the bench and walked over to the smithy, leaning against wall next to the door. As the armored figure emerged from the shop, a smirk up the corners of Emese's lips.

"Ðærasz axhacin-egyar çarakai-gyuil xhto." she quipped, speaking a dialect of her native language that was similar to Elvish.

((Translation: Your temper is split by a dull axe))

Shamgar's little nap had been a rather poor one. While he usually slept well during thunderstorms, he couldn't seem to get over something. He wearily opened his eyes and looked about the cave. So far, there was nothing in stone room, not that his half groggy eyes could see, anyway. The demanding voice coming from the back of the room, however, made him panic.

"Oh uh... hi... This is your cave?" Shamgar nervously questioned, quaking as he got up from where he was laying. He couldn't see the source of the voice, but the area was filled with dragons, and while most were friendly enough, some were... less than amicable. "I-I was just looking f-for a place to get out of the rain and stumbled in here."

While the gryphon could have easily just walked out right there, the storm outside seemed to be getting worse, with the wind howling, cracks of lightning and rolls of thunder growing more in frequency. Even the rain seemed to be getting heavier. Clearly Fate was being a cruel goddess this evening.

(( @CherryFlare ))
Rain was nothing new to Shamgar. It was just another part of nature, another thing that came and went whenever Fate decided. That didn't make it any less tolerable for the gryphon as his paws and talons trudged through the muddy trail of the mountain path. Thick sheets of water pouring down kept him confined to the ground, each drop that impacted his wings adding just that much more time he'd have to spend preening and drying his plumage before he'd be airworthy again.

Visibility was nil to none that night. The moon was hiding behind a thick sheet of clouds and the downpour made it seem the world at the moment was wearing a veil to hide itself from him; the only light Shamgar had was the occasional flicker of lightning in the night. The gryphon began to regret not listening to the innkeeper when she said there'd be a bad storm within the next few days, because she was more than right about that. Regardless of how stupid he felt, staying out in the deluge was not an option...

Whether through just blind luck, or fate, Shamgar soon found himself looking at the entrance of a rather sizable cave. With nothing to lose other than the rain, the soaked gryphon hurried inside his newfound sanctuary of stone, huddling down in a large ring of stalagmites and flowstone as his bed for the evening. While he would have done better to have first analyzed his new surroundings, Shamgar, drenched with rain and weary from travel, soon found himself drifting off to sleep to the voluminous echoes of the storm outside.

Welcome aboard! If you have any questions, feel free to ask in the chat box, or on the Questions board. :)

A painful expression hung on Rashid's visage as the newcomer's question sank in. He was fighting a strong urge to storm back to his hut, a single tear rolling down his face as he looked at the orc, examining the marks on his arms.

"My mother... passed away a few scant months ago. I would rather not discuss the nature of her passing here with a complete stranger," he said, still looking over the marks on the orc's arm. They seemed suspicious, as the primary element were the markings of an outcast in Morrahlique society, but Rashid was not going to let tradition cloud his judgment, "however, if you are not here to destroy us, why do you wish to join us?"

(( @Valyras  ))
Rays of sunlight filtered through the open shutters of Pippin's small cottage, gently illuminating the quaint central room as the griffon gently flipped through the pages of an open book, a half eaten quince sitting next to it on the low lying table. A single talon slid daintily across the parchment as the red feathered creature's eyes pored over the page in front of them, only stopping to make a note on a spare quire. He hardly read anything other than magical texts and treatises, but a recent trip to the library found him walking out with a history of La'Marri and it's surrounding area.

Taking a bite out of his quince, Pippin looked up from the pages of his book and peeked at the water clock he had sitting across the room. His eyebrows raised in shock. Five o'clock already? Dâlaoki! he cursed silently, closing his book with a dejected sigh. Dinner would have to be one of the left over puddings his neighbor brought over. He tossed the quince out the open window and walked over to the cabinet in the corner, rumaging through it without a thought as to what might be behind him.

The otterkin gave a quaint look at the dwarf when he asked about the house. Painu had met several dwarves before, and knew how they prided themselves on their mountain strongholds and their intricate carvings, but this fellow seemed like he had stayed a little too long in his stone vault.

"That...," he declared, pointing at his wattle and daub abode, "....is m' house. I'm a ferryman, not a bloody architect, as 'ee can probably tell. It mi' be just a bunch o' sticks an' mud to a mountain lubber like yourself, but it's home for this one. Keeps me stuff dry, and keeps them barmy bilge rats up the river out of me things."

((I'm assuming in this post Emese was further in the town and didn't hear or see the commotion Khadys had caused earlier.))

It was unusual for Emese to be in town any time before the late afternoon as she was usually out training or hunting, but as any good user of the sword knew, a dull blade is not something to shrug off. So, a few coins and an hour later, the silver vixen sat on a bench on the inn's front porch, admiring the edge of her newly sharpened spatha.

Without a thought, her eyes shifted to the road as the sound of hooves on cobblestone signaled the sound of a new arrival, soon finding the object of her curiosity. He was a tall figure, clad in dark plate armor with spiked pauldrons and a long cape. To most, he would be an intimidating figure, especially with the blade hanging from his hip. To Emese, he seemed like a poser.

Feeling she had nothing better to do, she took the flat of her sword and used it like a mirror, reflecting the light towards the helmet this guy was wearing. While seemingly just an annoying trick, anyone who knew Emese knew it was her way of silently getting someone's attention from afar... Not that Mr. Spiked Armor would know that.

Well, howdy there Nobody! (Is your username a reference to the Odyssey, by any chance?) Welcome to SotE! If you haven't already, check out the World section to read up on the world. If you have any questions, you can ask on our Questions and Suggestions board, or you can ask in our chat box down on the bottom of the index page.

Once again, welcome to SotE :)

Really, there was only one thing that made Painu happier than fishing; having company while fishing. Looking up from the waters as his line sat idle, the otter couldn't have been more delighted as he saw the dwarf rounding the corner of his house. Pulling the still empty line out of the river, the ferryman set down the pole and walked to the edge of the dock, waving the newcomer over to him.

"Good aft'noon t'ya! Ho' can I help y' today, matey?" Painu said, extending his paw towards the dwarf.