Posts made by Malyvern

"What can I say," Malyvern smiles, "I like to play card games, and it's never good to show your hand too early. Same goes for magic."

With that, Malyvern begins to radiate pure energy. It seems to hum, and the mage is surrounded by a soft blue aura.

Welcome to Fractured @lukasjindrak !

Have you thought about what race you might play when the game launches?

Welcome, @Kamaitachi ! A hired rogue. Interesting. Our band of adventurers are looking to recruit a dagger for hire. Maybe you'd like to join us at the Arcanist's Mill?

@cronykil

It looks like Fractured will give us a lot of room to roleplay and write about our characters. If you're interested in writing, there are a number of us who are currently roleplaying in the off-topic section and we chat on our active discord. You can find us here https://discord.gg/k4nrVz2

“Barrows,” Ruve says apologetically to Glim and departs with a smile.

Ruve's bodyguard Ora is leaning on the merchant master's private carriage. She silently maintains an attentive glare at Glim.
“Are you sure you can trust them,” she says as Ruve approaches, just loud enough for the Nheedra to hear. Ruve nods.

Seryn is generally attending to the caravan, rigging the wagons and carriages ready to be set off. With ease, she glides between the various sections attaching ropes and pulleys all the while barking orders at the crew. She will run along the top of the carriages, and occasionally swing down on to the ground to lend a hand to anybody who might be struggling. She wears her hair in a ponytail and her gloves are a worn and faded grey.

“Not that one,” Seryn shouts from atop one of the merchant’s wagons, “keep the food supplies near the front. Somebody get that damn Chadra to move his busted gear out of the way.”

The mercenary company’s wagon has been parked defiantly at the tip of the caravan and Ixuo is refusing to budge. His arms are crossed, and he towers over the humans who have gathered to plead reason with him.
“Fixed this damn wagon up myself,” says Ixuo. “We hauled this thing through the mountains. She’s tough.” He rocks the wagon back and forth, obnoxiously demonstrating that the wheels are in working order, though they are clearly off-kilter and the balance of the wagon sends some of the gear toppling to one side.

Not content with the carriage he has been assigned, Malyvern has begun to barter with the families of the merchants who ride near the back of the caravan. He can be seen conjuring various shades of demons to scare and delight the travelers, hoping to earn their favour with his parlour tricks so that they might accept him amongst them.

“Transmutation is an interesting study,” says Malyvern to Azhidal. “Our disciplines aren’t too dissimilar, though they do have their differences.”

Malyvern waves his hand and an apple appears on the table. It’s a slightly rotten brown. It's gooey on the outside and there might be a worm wriggling about. With a flash the mage’s hands become a pale blue. Steam rises from his fingers as the air around them chills. His joints crack, and the air pockets between his knuckles pop loudly. He brings his hands up and faces the palms towards Azhidal. “Kalakoth’s Sunless Grasp,” says the mage from behind the blue glow of his frozen fingers. He goes to grab the apple, but it suddenly freezes into a solid mass; the head of the wriggling worm pokes out from the top. With a flick of the mage’s finger, the apple cracks into icy splinters.

“It’s a level one spell, usually the first that a novice conjurer would learn,” says Malyvern. “Also doubles as an effective party trick,” he says with a wink. “Perhaps as we come to know one another, we can teach each other what we have learned on the path."

Malyvern welcomes the shadown demon Esher to the table.
“Welcome friend,” says the mage, “but do you have coin to wager?"

Malyvern looks around. and orders two new glasses of Scoltail Liquor from the bartender. He opens a tab, promising to pay at the end of the night. The mage returns to the table and as he waits for the other players, he turns to Azhidal. "So tell me," says the mage, "what schools of magic do you study?" Although seemingly a friendly gesture, Malyvern needs to know what this mage is capable of. As a conjurer, he has only a basic knowledge in other disciplines.

Malyvern places the single coin left in his coin pouch on the table and motions for all others to do the same. He smiles at the mage, forgetting that he is new to Kuasrine. “This is a game we used to play long ago at the Academy,” says Malyvern, “it used to ruffle a few feathers with the professors there.” He moves his hand around the circle of cards once more. “The aim for all is to pick the Jack of Blades. At each player’s turn, they are to draw a card. The winner takes the spoils. Take the wrong card, however, and something terrible of my choosing happens.”

With one smooth motion, Malyvern spreads the cards face down in a perfect circle around the glass and the dancing flame. The wooden table is dark, and the lights in the tavern are dim. The cards can only be seen by the light of the flame Malyvern has conjured. Almost as though the mage is about to begin a seance, the mage carefully spreads his hand along the circle.

“The trouble,” says Malyvern to the various patrons who have gathered to take a look, “is that you’ll all have to trust me when I say the cards are all correct and in their proper order.” In truth, he’s not entirely sure they are himself, and he may have to pull a trick or two to avoid the game coming down entirely to luck.

Malyvern produces a deck of cards. It’s a regular old deck, with 52 cards. The design on each is incredibly intricate, and depict actual lords, princes and kings from the surrounding lands. They look to be hand carved from wood. The mage sets the scene while Azhidal introduces himself to Chise. He motions to join him once they have spoken.

Malyvern places the drink Azhidal had given him earlier in the middle of a round table and above it, he conjures a single, solitary flame. The light burns, and the mage invites people to gather round as he begins to demonstrate how to play the game.

“You can’t tow that wagon with the caravan,” bellows the caravan master.

“Why, what’s wrong with it.” The Chadra mercenary Ixuo taps the wooden frame of the wagon the mercenaries had been using to haul their supplies. It creaks under the weight. “This is our wagon, I’m not trusting you or your men with our gear.”

“It’ll slow us down, you Chadra dolt,” the caravan master shakes her head dismissively and grimaces, “those wheels aren’t even attached properly. What did you use? A bloody fork?”

Nearby, the merchant master Ruve and Glim are standing by Ruve's private wagon.
“I see your men are getting acquainted with the crew, Sir Glim” says Ruve to the Nheedra with a politician’s smile. “Or would you prefer, Mr. Burrows? Seryn, the caravan master, says she is happy with the arrangement. She’ll take some getting used to but she was the best I could afford.”

From Ruve’s private wagon, a small goblin wanders out with a box in its hand. She approaches the two men, dressed in human clothes. “Gold,” she says in a squeaky voice.

Ruve doesn’t appear to see the absurdity of the encounter. “Ah, thank you, Freab,” he smiles and introduces the goblin with an outstretched hand. “This is my personal assistant, Freab,” he says. “I rescued her from her life in the Wuotong Hills and she has served me since.” Freab presents Glim with the box she's carrying.

“Four hundred and seventy five gold coins,” says Ruve, “as agreed, you will receive the rest when we reach Avermore.”

“What’s in the box?”
Phorud the cook has been watching the conjurer Malyvern since he arrived, late and hungover. The mage has somehow evaded helping the others pack their gear and has been stashing away various boxes on the caravan.
“Better you don’t know,” says Malyvern, though the jingle of bottles filled with liquid gives him away.
“I’m not letting you put that on our caravan without checking what’s inside first,” says Phorud. “The Trading Company has strict rules.”
“How about I share some with you tonight?” says the mage. Phorud pauses, but can’t keep a straight face and he let’s out a hearty laugh.
“Aye that’ll about do,” the cook smiles. “Grog we’ve got is ‘arsh anyhow.”

Malyvern looks up at Kuasrine as the mercenaries pack their gear on to the caravan. The Old Academy sits above, nestled in the trees. The waterfalls to the east continue to rush down over the town, and the frigid mountains lie far to the west. Their peak is only just visible through the clouds.

(OOC@angryviking Apologies for the late response. You're doing great, glad to see new people getting involved. Check in with us at the discord for more.)

Malyvern returns to his conversation with the mage, and thanks him heartily for the drink. He seems to have a bottomless liver.
"Magic master?" Malyvern chuckles, "ain't no master, sir" he says with a wink. "Say, how about a game of Ring of Fire, friend? Surely you've played before."

We’ve been having a lot of fun over at The Arcanist’s Mill and the roleplaying community has exploded. There are now more people than ever who are interested in fleshing out their characters. While the Tavern is free for all to join, and anyone is welcome - this is something different.

The Caravan to Avermore is a ‘closed roleplay’ where we invite people to join in. We will all work together to form a story, much like a television series, only the players control the characters and decide the direction of the story. If you would like to roleplay, please join The Arcanist’s Mill - it is very welcoming and free for anyone to join.

This is a story set in the world of Fractured, including Beastmen from the planet Arboreus. It is set on the human planet of Syndesia and follows on from the Arcanist’s Mill as the characters travel from the town of Kuasrine to Avermore. An 'event' will occur every Friday that the characters will need to react to.

We hope you enjoy and follow along. This should be fun.

Players involved:

Malyvern
WhoAteTheCat
Mimi
Retias
DocBilbo
Cronykil
Chise

Glim’s Mercenaries embark on a mission to Avermore, a major coastal human city. Word has spread that a rogue faction calling themselves the Outer Regions Alliance has taken the city in an armed revolt. Glim, his mercenaries and companions have been tasked with providing escort to a caravan of merchants and travellers who are making their way to the city. With them they have supplies for the families there, and there is talk of meeting a contact who is organising the resistance in the city.

The caravan is the flagship trading convoy of the The Rhila Trading Company. The merchants affectionately refer to it as “The Rhila.” It is said that Rhila means ‘journey’ and was the name of one of the merchant’s children. At the top of the caravan is a long, red flag that spreads the length of the Rhila. The caravan is lead by a merchant known only as Ruve, a member of the Rhila Trading Company. He is the man who has hired Glim and his mercenaries. Glim and Ruve have agreed a sum of nine hundred and fifty gold for the successful escort of the caravan to Avermore.

The Rhila is travelling on foot, lead by a pack of elk and large draft horses. There are seven wagons in total, with more than a hundred people. The caravan is made up of a mixture of wagons bearing goods and carriages to eat and sleep. You get a sense that they are mostly tired. The journey has been long and will be longer still. Morale is low, and some of the travelers appear slightly desperate and terrified after the run-in with the arachnid which resulted in the loss of their last escort. It carries various wines, spirits, gemstones, food and supplies intended for Avermore. Ruve’s own personal bodyguard maintains a watchful gaze over one wagon bolted shut that Ruve insists should not be opened.

The Rhila will travel to many locales before reaching its destination. One of the most treacherous is the Frigid Mountains, though it will be some time as the caravan moves much slower than a smaller band of mercenaries could.

After you rendezvous with the caravan, Ruve introduces you to the variety of people who have called the caravan home on its long journey.

Seryn the caravan master is a femme fatale looking for drinking companions and storytellers. She’s taking special care to avoid thieves, ancient ruins and cursed places along the way. She carries extravagant jewels, silks and a superbly crafted sword. She appears to come from a foreign land and her accent is incredibly charming. After some small talk she suggests that she is planning revenge on a band of mercenaries she encountered years ago.

Phorud the cook greets you with a hearty handshake, but you get the sense that he is looking for someone more important to talk to. He carries a wooden spoon and is wearing a grease smeared apron with a crooked smile. He’s always up for a good joke or story, but his own are either very crass or boring. He laughs heartily all the same.

Ora, Ruve’s bodyguard is a stoic veteran of war. She works for steady pay, probably much more than any of the travelers on the caravan could afford. She carries two swords on her back and looks capable of wielding both. She’s most often seen with a deck of cards, either playing alone or with others.

Imri the animal handler has been exiled from her land. She is a personal friend of Seryn’s. She’s fond of riddles and she travels with an owl perched on her shoulder. Her wide smile hides a sad story.

Irumac the guide is a strange hermit looking to fill his purse with gold. He carries an unusual map, which doesn’t seem to have any actual bearing on the route the caravan is taking yet he consults it with every major decision. He smells foul, and it’s best to talk more than a foot away from him.

Pharla, one of the Rhila Trading Company’s merchants is a member of a prominent family of Avermore and seeks someone to identify a mysterious artefact she picked up a few moons ago. She carries several inventories and invoices. She will trade water, provisions and other goods.

Jasoendes or 'Jaso', is a pilgrim who enjoyed stopping by the Old Academy of Kuasrine. He’s looking for someone to have a good time with. He carries a small marble statuette of a swan, a family heirloom and is looking for an old friend along the path. He brandishes a flute and threatens to play it the next time the caravan makes camp.

Osse is an enterprising trader from the Rhila Trading Company and a good friend to Ruve. He’s quiet, but from the jingle of coins each time he rustles his long leather jacket you can tell he has the best merchandise. He’s willing to purchase all types of goods and in his pocket he carries a letter that certain people in Avermore would pay dearly to read, or destroy.

Gori the hunter has an awkward gait, and simply wants to have a drink and rest. He carries several morsels of animal feed, a worn axe and a well-used fishing line.

Arshalu is an older woman clutching a young child. Her eyes beg you not to ask questions, but will gladly talk of times long gone.

These characters are free for people to use in any way, from dialogue to actions to further the story.

Ruve hesitates for a moment, but ultimately turns to Glim with something of an insincere smile. "Nine hundred and fifty gold coins, Sir Glim," he says, "and a not a coin more."

“Thank you for speaking with me again, Sir Glim” says Ruve, “the caravan is due to depart in the morning. Various other companies have expressed their interest, but I come to you with an offer of eight hundred gold. You will receive half immediately upon acceptance of the contract, and half when we arrive safely in Avermore. Do I have your word, Sir Glim?”

“Avermore is the last place we should be,” Malyvern says to Glim, “perhaps that is why we should go.”

“I’ve paid nearly that on drinks since we arrived, boss,” says Ixuo, “surely we can get more out of him?”

"Just passing through," says Malyvern. "The Mill is famous for its cider." The mage passes a knowing look at Azhidal and extends his hand, " 'round these parts they call me Malyvern. Don't mind the demons," he says, "these ones are mostly harmless."

(@AngryViking , great introduction. Don't worry, we aren’t all native speakers here.)

There is a general chaos in the mill, but not the one Malyvern had envisaged. He's actually rather enjoying the philosophical debate between the Udoadra and the Shadow Demon. It reminds him of the many deep talks with various nightmarish beasts in the early hours of the morning at the Singing Grotto.

The mage senses an influx of arcane energy and the source appears to be the newly entered human. Surely another academic from the academy.

“ ‘lo there, friend,” says Malyvern to the newcomer. “Just visiting, or have you been in Kuasrine long?”

Hi @angryviking, a test isn't neccesary but join us over at The Arcanist's Mill. It's an ongoing and active roleplay we are managing in the off-topic section.

We also talk about RP on our discord server https://discord.gg/epGTD7. Drop in and say hello!

(For a bit of context on how the beastmen are reacting to the demons entering the tavern, many of them are mercenaries and have fought with them in the past. Glim has spoken earlier in the story about a particularly bad encounter. They are all incredibly wary and are certainly on the defensive.)

“Your friends are getting impatient, wizard.”

Malyvern flinches slightly, and the hairs on his neck twitch as the words ring in his ears. He looks to either side in an attempt to find the source, but perhaps the stress of the situation is beginning to set in. An epiphany seems to flood his mind. The mage dips his hand into his pocket to retrieve the bag of herbs Telwath had given him earlier.

Eheo Root, Heart Hyssop, Ochemeg, Massenise. This will do.

The mage turns to the bartender once more and orders a Dark River Stout. The bartender places a pitch black pint on the bar in front of the mage. Malyvern grips the bundle of Arborean herbs in his hand and allows his eyes to lull. He murmurs for a moment, and the herbs fall into the pint. The drink swirls and froths, flowing over the pint glass until it comes to a sudden ease.

“I should see to my friends,” says the mage and motions towards the beast-kin. He smiles and leaves his seat by the bar.

Ixuo watches Malyvern approach with apprehension, but welcomes the drink the mage presents him. “This should do,” says Malyvern, “you won’t find a drink like this elsewhere on Syndesia, my friend.”

(@Esher , your English is great. Let me know if you need any help. You can join us on our discord server too https://discord.gg/Wh6s5hF)

The lights in the Arcanist’s Mill are noticeably dimmer and the fire from the log burner has all but worn down to a glimmer of chilled embers. With the presence of three demons in the tavern, some of the locals are beginning to get uneasy. Malyvern begins to wonder if there has been a rift between worlds, and this may be the sign of something changing in the way Syndesia and Tartaros connect. Fascinating, thinks the mage, so many in one room, and with an army of beastmen too. His heart skips momentarily with a curious glee, and his stomach throws a tantrum. He turns his head and counts the beast-kin, and wonders, “who would win?” but he resists the urge to poke the fire. He’s been burned by such games before.

“Name’s Bess,” says the demon to Malyvern’s right. The mage gives him a courteous nod, “Malyvern,” says the mage, “though your kind know me by another name.”

Scenes of brutish savagery are playing out in Ixuo’s mind’s eye and he is fighting a battle within himself not carry them out. It’s a primal, intense feeling brought on from generations of conflict. Still, he places a paw on Telwath’s shoulder and gives him a look that says, “not yet.” With a long, drawn out breath, he turns to his Nheedra friend, who has proven to be the moral compass in times like these.

“I need a drink,” says the Chadra, boldly and far too loud. A thought that became a shout. “A real drink." He knocks the glass of cider on the table over. It shatters with a loud crash, and the splinters fly across the room.