Best posts made by Malyvern

“We'll be glad to have you with us,” says Malyvern, and he feels a deep sense of contentment. The room seems brighter, and the patrons more cheerful and less perturbed by the presence of so many beast-kin clad in armour. "It looks like we’re all set to go," Malyvern says and turns to leave, but he is interrupted as a chadra saunters through the front entrance.

Covered in sweat and dirt, the pale fur of the chadra is matted against the leather armour protecting his torso. He wears the face of a mercenary, clearly one of Glim’s men. At his sides are two axes, stained with a dark red.

“Sorry for the delay, boss, been fixing up the wagon,” he says, “she got busted up pretty badly crossing those mountains.” He eyes the mage, “who’s this, a new contract?”

Malyvern continues to puff on his pipe, and looks weary eyed at the mountain on which Kuasrine sits. It shouldn’t be a long journey, and he beckons his companions to join him. It’s a town he has spent a long time in, though tends to visit rarely. Too many ghosts for the old mage.

The companions make their way towards Kuasrine.

As the companions approach Kuasrine, it’s impossible not to be awed by the sight of the town flanked by waterfalls either side, and the tower of the old Academy which sits above it. They can rest their mares at the stables, though the cobbled streets would likely be harsh on the Eyrwdr’s hooves. The people of Kuasrine are generally welcome of outsiders, but the sight of so many beast-kin might alarm a few. In recent years, the town has earned its name as a viable merchant’s venue for the surrounding villages and pilgrims regularly visit the Academy, bringing trade along with them. There are a number of taverns and inns to accommodate the commerce though today the market happens to be surprisingly busy.

“We should make our way to the Arcanist’s Mill once we arrive, you won’t find a finer cider this far from Avermore,” says Malyvern, and he turns to the Eywdra, “and I bet you’ve been looking for an opportunity to use that harp you’ve been hiding in your cloak,” he smiles.

(I will be opening the new thread soon, and will link to it from here.)

Malyvern bids a happy smile to the bartender and beckons a band of beast-kin companions inside who have joined him from the Singing Grotto. Having traversed the Somber forest at the base of the mountain on which Kuasrine sits, he is eager to quench his thirst with a pint of the Mill’s famous cloudy cider

Purchasing a drink, Malyvern finds an empty, round table large enough to accomodate his companions.

[Malyvern is wearing a dark blue hooded robe, with what appears to be a myriad of leather belts and bandoliers across his chest and legs. There are potions and maybe some bombs, but these are concealed. His hood remains over his head and as he speaks, it is generally only the lower half of his face that can be seen which is mostly covered by his greying beard. What skin does show appears to be burnt, though a keen eye might deduce that the scarring is lightning induced rather than flame. He has no other visible weapons, only a dusty, brown tome with worn pages which rests within his inner left pocket. On his hands are rings of various sizes and colours.]

Malyvern smiles at the fendyr, it’s rare to see one so young. It’s nestled in comfortably with the companions and appears to be enjoying the attention it’s receiving. The tavern is awash with pleasant vibes and the arrival of the bard Alexander lifts the spirits of the mage.

Ixuo looks uncomfortable amongst so many humans, but he too is enjoying the attention of a couple of the local human women as he embarasses the local merchants with his ability to finish pints with otherworldly speed.

With the tavern otherwise preoccupied, Malyvern turns to Glim. “That tower was once the Academy of the Arcane, though folks call it ‘The Old Academy’ nowadays,” he sighs, “for generations we trained the most gifted mages in the land.” He motions to a portrait on the wall that looks very much like a younger version of himself. There he is unscarred, wearing a genuine smile, the kind the companions have yet to see and accompanied by a woman he has yet to mention. He looks almost uneasy as he gazes upon it before pointing to the portrait of another mage similar to the one Malyvern had conjured in the Singing Grotto.

“Olgier,” he growls, “a promising student but ultimately the cause of the cataclysm that saw the end of the Academy," Malyvern says and pulls his sleeve up once more to reveal the scars.

As the otherwise serious conversation takes place, Alexander busts into one of his most famous jigs, whilst Ixuo continues to fend off jealous human merchants.

Just kidding.

Meet Maisy.

@whoatethecat Haha, I think I'd woken up very similarly to Malyvern in that post! It's a great name. Maisy's a rescue and one of the best behaved dogs I've ever met.

A large crowd has gathered and is being addressed by a tall man with a black robe. The bald revolutionary and his two skittish friends from the night before are at his side. Shouts of “ORA!” can be heard. Meanwhile however, Malyvern is famished and this is worsened by the alcohol in his system. Before he allows for the crowd to take his attention, he wanders through the market to peruse the goods on sale.

“Hm, blanched salty & sour pigeon, cooked fennel frog, tea-smoked Northern-Style mutton…” Malyvern ponders for a moment, and brings his hand up to his jaw. He looks as if he is about to announce something profound.

“How much for the salted ostrich?” he says to the merchant,
“Two gold, lest you’ve got somethin’ to trade,”
“How about a wager?” says Malyvern, and he produces a mug from the tavern.

The man looks at Glim maliciously, but his point has been made and the people drawn to his cause, "then go in peace friend, but do not come between us and our goals. We will meet again, I'm sure."

A friendly face moves through the crowd, a Chadra clad in leather armour forcing his way through.

“Come with me, boss,” says Ixuo, “we saw you getting up on that podium and mustered the men back at the tavern." He smiles at the Udoadra, and nods in approval.

Malyvern produces the grimoire from his pocket and chants an incantation in an unknown dialect. A small shield resembling a bubble appears around the mage and the beastmen, protecting them from the rotten missiles being hurled their way.

"Damn humans," says Ixuo, "should have cleaved the lot of them." He wipes some of the mess from his brow. He is still covered in green ichor from the run-in with the arachnid. "You handled yourself well there," he says to Telwath, "got anything in that pouch of yours to take away this damn smell?"

Glim’s men await by the wagon, and they have perched themselves by the tavern. A well dressed man with a feather in his cap is standing with them and by the looks on their faces, they are already tired of his words.

“A moment, sir” says the well dressed man to Glim, “for what it’s worth, I agree with what you said up there on the podium."

"Garh, get out of our damn way," says Ixuo, "I've had enough of your kind for one day."

Malyvern places a bottle of freshly brewed Dovetail Brew next to the sleeping Erwydra, "this should help with her hangover," he says, speaking from experience.

--

“Thank you for your audience, Sir Glim,” says the well-dressed man, “you may call me Ruve.” Ruve extends his hand to the Nheedra. He needs to tilt his head high to maintain eye contact as he talks. “I hear you and your men recently traversed the frigid mountains,” says the merchant, “A friend of mine told me of your professionalism in carrying out the job."

He produces a map with a very long line across it. In the middle of the map is Kuasrine, and at the very end, way past the the frigid mountains, sits Avermore.

“There are five wagons in total and seven caravans, with a crew of nearly a hundred," Ruve continues, "collectively we are known as Rhila Trading Company and we are transporting valuable supplies intended for the families caught up in the civil war in Avermore. We unfortunately lost our escort as we arrived here, struck by some kind of spider in the woods outside the town.”

"Wagon's all busted up, could do with the coin," says Ixuo.

"After hearing your words on the podium, I knew for sure you and your men would be the ones to hire," says Ruve, "simply name your price, sir."

[This is a set up for a future story, but it will be a while before this happens. There is still much to explore in the Arcanist's Mill, and the surrounding town.]

[OOC: We have a discord, Bessworth. You're welcome to join us there https://discord.gg/Wh6s5hF)

Malyvern takes a seat next to the demon. His posture is relaxed. “Empty glass?” he says, comfortably, “this round’s on me.”

The mage tips his hand to the bartender, who is doing his best to remain calm. This isn't the Singing Grotto, where they're somewhat used to the occasional demon. The bartender sets down two shot glasses and with a wave of the mage's hand, a flame appears above each one.

By now the entire tavern has their eyes on the two demons. Malyvern shares a knowing look with Rikki and smiles at her introduction.

“You've got everyone's backs up,” says Malyvern to the pair of demons either side of him with a slight chuckle. “You know I've spent some time on Tartaros. Can't find Agony Branch nowhere else, and it's an essential ingredient in some potent potions," the mage muses. "I'd wager you’re taking a mighty risk coming to a human tavern like this.”

Ixuo however, has not stopped watching the pair of demons since they appeared. His grip on his axe is as tight as when they were confronted by the arachnid earlier in the day. He looks to Glim and Telwath with a snarl that says “what’s that blasted mage doing now?”

(@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.

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."

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.

(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."

“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.

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.

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 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.”